[Column 657]^[1]

My father, Rabbi Avrom Abeleh HaCohen Rapoport (may his memory be for a blessing). Born in Ostrowce in 1842. Died in Kurow on Friday, September 2, 1904.

Copy of the text on the gravestone of my father (may his memory be for a blessing)

Here lies
Rabbi Avrom Abeleh HaCohen Rapoport (may his memory be for a blessing), of priestly lineage. Son of Rabbi David HaCohen Rapoport (may his memory be for a blessing), head of the rabbinical court of Ostrowce, descendant of the great scholar Shabtai HaKohen, the author of Shach^[2]. He was an expert on the Torah and renowned in his generation, modest in his habits and decent in actions. He was always engrossed in studies, and composed many sacred books.
Died in 1904, on Friday, September 2, 1904, at age 61.
May his soul be bound up in the bundle of the living.

My grandfather (my father's father), Rabbi David HaCohen Rapoport (may his memory be for a blessing), head of the rabbinical court of Ostrowce. Died on June 20, 1887.
May his soul be bound up in the bundle of the living.

My grandmother (my father's mother), wife of the rabbi of Ostrowce, Sarah-Alta-Sheyndl (may she rest in peace). Died on Tuesday, January 13, 1885.
May her soul be bound up in the bundle of the living.

My mother, Maytele (may she rest in peace). Born in Kurow in 1848, died in Shem-tov on January 3, 1925, and was buried the next day, Sunday, January 4), at age 77.^[3]
May her soul be bound up in the bundle of the living.

My grandfather (my mother's father), Rabbi Zvi Hirsh Flakser (peace be upon him) of Kurow. Died on March 20, 1840.
May his soul be bound up in the bundle of the living.

My grandmother (my mother's mother), Beyle Flakser (peace be upon her). Died in Kurow on October 1, 1888.
May her soul be bound up in the bundle of the living.

In Deep Mourning
My wife, Khaya-Sarah (may her memory be for a blessing), born in Opatów in 1874, died in Toronto on Friday April 8, 1949, at age 75.M
May her soul be bound up in the bundle of the living.

[Column 658]

My brother, Ya'akov Yitzchak (may his memory be for a blessing), died young following a long illness, and was buried in Kurow.
May his soul be bound up in the bundle of the living.

My sister, Rivka Feygl (may her memory be for a blessing), died following a long illness, in the town of Bełżec, Lublin province.
May her soul be bound up in the bundle of the living.

My father-in-law, Rabbi Ya'akov Vizenfeld HaCohen (may his memory be for a blessing), head of the rabbinical court of Zaklików. Died on March 26, 1926.

Copy of the text on the gravestone of my father-in-law (may his memory be for a blessing)

Here lies the rabbi of the town of Zaklików, Rabbi Ya'akov Vizenfeld (may his memory be for a blessing). Born in Opatów, where he lived for most of his life as a merchant and wealthy man. He combined wealth and learning, and focused on learning. He became the town rabbi at age 50, and served in that position for 25 years.
The great rabbi (may his memory be for a blessing) was of priestly lineage, a descendant of scholars. He himself became widely known as an important scholar, and his charity and pure spirit were impressive. He died after a long, serious illness, on March 26, 1926.
May his soul be bound up in the bundle of the living.
My grandfather-in-law (the father of my father-in-law, the rabbi of Zaklików), the wealthy scholar Meirl Vizenfeld HaCohen of Opatów, died on August 8, 1908.
May his soul be bound up in the bundle of the living.

Tsvi, son of Sender Keslbruner, Rabbi Rapoport's grandson, son of Penina-Perele, cut down young.

[Column 650]

Copy of the text on the gravestone of my son Shabtai (may his memory be for a blessing)

Here lies Shabtai Rapoport

Renowned person of noble spirit, educator, writer, community activist, Shabtai HaCohen (may his memory be for a blessing), son of Rabbi Tuviya (may his light continue to shine), grandson of the Shach (may his memory be for a blessing). Died on January 10, 1951. 1898-1951.
May his soul be bound up in the bundle of the living.

My brother-in-law Moshe (may his memory be for a blessing), and his wife, murdered in Biała Podlaska.

Tsipele Rapoport, daughter of Rabbi Tuviya Gutman, murdered by the Nazis in Biała Podlaska.

Rostovski, Tsipele's husband, murdered.

[Column 660]

Penina Perele Rapoport, daughter of Rabbi Tuviya Gutman, died in Lublin.

The gravestone of Penina-Perele Rapoport in the Lublin cemetery.^[4]

Miriam Rapoport, daughter of Ya'akov Yitzchak, son of Rabbi Abeleh – murdered.

Translator's Footnotes:

1. Columns 657, 658, and the first paragraph of 659 are memorial notices in the traditional form of death announcements. Return
2. The Shach is a 17^th-century commentary on the Shulchan Aruch, which is in wide use to this day. Return
3. I could not determine the meaning of the Hebrew Shem-Tov, which seems to refer to a place. Return
4. I could not translate the word volya, which appears at the end of this caption. Return

[Column 665]

My mother, Matele (may she rest in peace) was cheery, loved to converse, and was a very good storyteller. She loved to recount memories of old times, of the traditional Kurow way of life, customs, describe her parents, episodes of her youthful years, and her wedding.

Over the years, I have forgotten most of her tales; but a few bits and pieces of her truly legendary stories still remain in my memories. I would like to set them down here, as I think they are of historical value. Modern readers will certainly view them as a distant, faint echo of bygone worlds.

My Kurow grandfather's name was Hershl Flakser; but the Jews of Kurow, like those of the entire vicinity, called him “Hershl of Rabi-Shoyv,” as he was originally from the town of that name, in the Chelm region.

(In those days, the Jews tended to change the names of towns in their own particular style: Opatów became Apto, Radom became Rodim, Ostrowiec became Ostrovtsi, and Kurow became Koriv. Hrubieszow was completely converted to Judaism, and was called by a real Jewish name: “Rabi-Shoyv.”)^[1]

My grandfather did not come from a rabbinical family. His parents, and his family as a whole, were ordinary middle-class Jews: simple merchants and storekeepers. Grandfather, too, was a bonnetable, experienced merchant, and lived his life in the world of commerce.

His main trade consisted of lending money, with interest, to the landowners in the vicinity. They would repay the loan and interest mainly by means of grain and potatoes. His business flourished.

The basis of his livelihood was indeed lending money to the landowners in the area, for whom the issue of interest was secondary and incidental. Most of his income was derived from selling the grain that he bought from them

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at great profit. However, he was also a moneylender who did business with the Kurow traders, Jews and non-Jews. Like other moneylenders, he was unyielding: one had to be accurate, repay the money at the set time, or be denied further credit. However, that was only one aspect of his character. Mother provided facts that reflected Grandfather's nature quite differently: he was a warm person. Below is only one fact:

There was a certain Jewish grain merchant in town, who did business almost entirely with Grandfather's money. At harvest time every year, he would borrow several hundred rubles from Grandfather, which he always repaid on time, with interest. Once, when the due date had come, the man did not bring the money. Grandfather waited for several weeks, but he did not show up. This was suspicious. He also noticed that the man was avoiding him, turning away each time he spotted him. Grandfather became irritated, and called for him. Well, when Hershl Flakser summoned you, you had to show up; the merchant came immediately.

Below, I would like to present the dialogue between Grandfather, the lender, and the borrower, the grain merchant (as my mother recounted it).

Grandfather (severely): Tell me, you, what's the matter with you? You're not repaying the money, or the interest, and I notice that you're hiding from me. Do you think I'll keep quiet? I'll destroy you completely.

Merchant (weeping): Dear Reb Hershl, I'm impoverished, I made some bad business deals, and lost all my money. I'm no longer a merchant and have no means of livelihood. My only choice is to leave town and become a beggar.

Grandfather (angrily): If that's the case, you're really a sinful Jew, and don't believe in God. After all, you're a merchant, and have always made a good living. The first time your deal turned out badly, you

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lose your faith in God, blessed be he. You should go on making deals; God can help you to be successful once again.

Merchant: What will I deal in, now that I have absolutely no money?

Grandfather: And what about Hershl Flakser? Have you forgotten where he lives? Why didn't you come to him and tell him everything? (Grandfather often referred to himself in the third person, as a kind of grand gesture that was common for wealthy people in the Jewish communities.)

Merchant: I couldn't show myself to you; and whenever I saw you from a distance I became dizzy.

Grandfather: You should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself. A Jew should not despair. But let's make a long story short; tell me, do you have anything to trade with?

Merchant: Yes, I know a landowner with whom I can make a deal, and I think it will make a lot of money.

Grandfather: How much money, for example, would you need for this deal?

Merchant (meekly, quietly): I don't know… I might need about two hundred rubles.

Grandfather (loudly): What do mean, “might”? You mean you need more. Well, tell me how much you need.

Merchant (smiling humbly): Well, if Reb Hershl asks, I must say that I actually need a total of four hundred rubles.

Grandfather: So tell me why you're acting like a fool? Hershl Flakser will not, God forbid, let you fall. After all, you have a wife and children. Hershl Flakser also needs to make a living, and you will pay him interest. Sit down; I will count the money out for you.

And grandfather set a flask of brandy on the table, drank le-khayim with the borrower, and wished him success:

“Remember that you already owe me three hundred rubles and interest. The payment date was several weeks ago, which adds to the interest. Write down the due date in your notebook, and remember to pay on time!”

The upshot was that the deal was successful, the borrower made a nice sum, and repaid my grandfather for both loans, with interest, in full. Grandfather later boasted:

“Hershl Flakser doesn't give away money. You must return the principal and interest to the last penny. If you can't do it the first time, do it the second time, or the third time – but pay him you must…”

That was not the only time that Grandfather showed consideration towards the Jewish merchants of Kurow. He would grant loans to support anyone who suffered a setback.

[Column 668]

Yankl Flakser, Hershl Flakser's relative, born in Kurow in 1869, moved to Warsaw in 1907, and was murdered in 1943. He is the father of the survivors Moyshe and Hesse, who live in Paris, and is a third cousin of Y. L. Peretz.

Grandfather was not only a moneylender. He was also a generous benefactor. More than one young woman of Kurow would never have married if not for him. For example, a Jewish shopkeeper made a match with a girl, and undertook to pay 150 rubles when signing the engagement contract.^[2] However, he could not draw such a sum from his resources –150 rubles was then a medium-sized sum for this purpose. Well, he went to Hershl Flakser, who loaned him the money, to be repaid in installments. The installments could stretch over several years.

Grandfather also loaned money to young married men who had just ended the period of parental support and were beginning to learn how to conduct a business.^[3] (Such young men were often considered novices. Grandfather, with his business sense, would say, often with a smile, “One cannot charge these novices interest, as they have never earned anything in their lives. However, one can entrust money to them, because even though they are unpracticed, they are more energetic and confident than older traders.”)

[Column 669]

Actually, Grandfather made such charitable loans only in return for guarantees such as pledges, jewelry, or objects made of silver, which he kept in his iron safe and did not worry about. He wrote each person's name on the object. (At the time, Grandfather was the only person in Kurow who owned a large iron safe.)

The wealthy Mendl Bayer of Piława first made his fortune with a charitable loan of 200 rubles from Grandfather, in return for pledges of jewelry and a full set of silver flatware. Mendl Bayer became rich, and, of course, retrieved his jewelry from Grandfather after repaying the loan. However, he gave Grandfather the flatware silver as a present, to commemorate that first act of charity. My parents still owned a few spoons engraved “M. Bayer.” By then, Bayer was a millionaire.

Although Grandfather was affluent, really extremely wealthy, and money seemed to flow to him ceaselessly, he was also close-fisted, and a legendary miser. In everyday life, he counted the pennies. Several examples follow:

[Column 670]

Yankel Shnayderman (“Mashinist”) occasionally led the prayer services in the small synagogue. He was murdered, along with all the other Jews of Kurow.

Mother told us many similar stories, but the few I have presented here are enough to prove that he was none too open-handed.

In many respects, my grandmother Beyle (my mother's mother, may she rest in peace) was the opposite of my grandfather. First of all, she came from aristocracy: her great-great-grandfather was the great rabbi and righteous man, Rabbi Yaakov Yitzchak HaLevi Horowitz, (may his righteous memory stand us in merit), known as “the Seer of Lublin.”^[4] She was very proud of this lineage, and often

[Column 671]

spoke of the legacy left by her ancestors. The actual heirloom consisted of a large two-handled glass pitcher, the size of an old-fashioned copper pitcher that was used for ritual hand-washing. According to Grandmother, the Seer of Lublin used it as “Elijah's cup” during the Peysekh Seyder. Although my Kurow grandfather had plentiful silver goblets, large and small, only this glass pitcher was used at our Seyder for “Elijah's cup.”

Grandmother Beyle had another precious heirloom from the Lublin Hasidic dynasty: a small gold Hanuka lamp that, according to tradition, had been used by the great rabbi himself for Hanukah candles. Grandmother loved that lamp very dearly. She had a special silver case made in Lublin, in which she kept the Hanukah lamp all year round until the Hanukah ceremony. However, Grandfather used his own silver Hanukah lamp. He said that an ordinary Jew was not worthy of saying the blessing over candles in that particular lamp, as it was impossible to know the special intentions and prayers of that righteous man as he was saying the blessings. So Grandfather blessed the candles in his silver lamp, and Grandmother blessed the candles separately (like a man) in her inherited gold lamp. She justified it by saying that she was permitted to do so, as it was a legacy from her grandfather. However, eventually she regretted using her ancestor's gold lamp.

Beyle, daughter of Hershl Rapoport and great-granddaughter of grandmother Beyle Flakser

[Column 672]

A Kurow Legend About the Inherited Gold Hanukah Lamp

An uncanny event took place concerning the Hanukah lamp, which agitated the entire town. It was a general topic of conversation, and eventually became legendary.

Besides the women whom Grandmother employed as servants, Grandfather had his own servant (only for his businesses, such as collecting money from borrowers, handing money over to landowners, etc.), This servant was an ordinary, unlearned, unmarried man named Akiva. However, he was honest; Grandfather thought of him very highly, and in fact trusted him with large sums of money. For many years, the servant was employed by Grandfather. Eventually, he was married in Kurow. Grandfather was very involved in the wedding, and spent quite a sum on it. The wedding was just before Peysekh. Immediately afterwards, the newly married couple went to London, planning to continue to America.

Well, Hanukah arrived, and Grandmother took out the Hanukah lamp from the safe, to bless the candles (the lamp was kept in Grandfather's iron safe all year round). When she opened the silver case, the Hanukah lamp was gone, and the case was empty. Grandmother almost fainted. What had happened? No one except Grandfather had a key to the safe (and it was a key that could not be copied). The town was in complete uproar. People gathered to discuss this unfathomable event. Some suspected the servant of stealing the lamp while leaving the case behind, so that no one would notice it was empty until Hanukah. But Grandfather said, sensibly, that it was impossible, as he always wore the key around his neck. Besides, he had previously

entrusted the servant with huge sums, and the latter had always been honest. Well, the rumor began that it was not a simple burglary, but that Heaven had intervened, and it was not for us to understand… Of course, some people stubbornly reiterated that it could only have been the servant, and that one could not prevent an insider household theft. But the scholars and Hasids were sure that the lamp had disappeared into the heavenly domain… They based this opinion on a similar tale in the Talmud (Tractate Ta'anit, 25, 1), and that it was retribution, because Grandmother, as a woman, was forbidden to bless candles in the Hanukah lamp of the holy righteous man, the Seer of Lublin.

[Column 673]

Grandmother Beyle goes to Lublin to Visit the Graves of her Ancestors

According to Mother (may she rest in peace), the children would ask for her thoughts about this incident. She would always say, “Children, don't talk to me about it.” Some time later, she went to Lublin, pretending that she was going to shop there. But the children discovered that she had visited the grave of her ancestor, the Righteous Man of Lublin, where she had cried her heart out, and begged for forgiveness. So, the matter of the Hanukah lamp continued to hang over Kurow, an eternal secret and a holy mystery that developed into a town legend.

Immediately after Grandmother returned from Lublin, where she had confessed at the grave of her ancestor, she traveled to Turisk to confer with the rabbi of that town. She told no one what the rabbi had said (in general, she would not speak to anyone about that Hanukah lamp). However, after she returned from Turisk she did not bless her own Hanukah candles. But she lit a large wax candle on the first night of Hanukah every year, placed it in a corner, and murmured a quiet prayer. The secrets of the vanished Hanukah lamp hovered above that flickering candle.

Let this article of mine be a “literary property” and a historical contribution to the “living archive” of survivors. It is they who have the honor of setting up a memorial to the bygone, sweet and sad, legends and folklore of our Jews of Kurow. Tales such as these nourished the fantasy of our bygone Jews, who were murdered so tragically. They provided a kind of “spiritual nourishment” in the form of synagogue conversations during the long winter nights of Kurow.

Grandmother Beyle's character and behavior was completely different from those of Grandfather. Where Grandfather was very careful with money and watched even the pennies, Grandmother was generous and sweet-natured. Her household was comfortable, reflecting their wealth: there were always two servants, and the home was lavishly supplied with only the best and most expensive of everything.

However, she was not self-absorbed, but very generous and hospitable as well. Any Jew who arrived in Kurow received food and drink, as well as a fine gift of money.

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In general, she was very open-handed towards anyone in need.

She was a follower of the Turisk Hasidic rebbe, and sent him a note with 100 rubles twice a year, before Peysekh and the New Year.

Let me praise my grandfather as well. He thought very highly of her, and, even though he himself was parsimonious, he allowed her to run the household in her own manner and give charity as she saw fit.

In addition to her general generosity, Grandmother practiced an unusual charity, which was renowned in Kurow as “Beyle Shoyver's Birthing Act of Charity.”^[5] The expectant mother's family would send for her even before they sent for the midwife. (The Yiddish term for midwife, heyvn, was the only one used in Kurow; the other terms: heybam and akusherke were not used).^[6] As my mother told it, the only midwife in Kurow at the time was the mother of Khayim Shmuel Lustman, who was well into her nineties. When she was needed to assist at a birth, she was carried on someone's shoulder, as she could no longer walk. Grandmother would stay until the child was born, and would do the good deed of making the first “contribution” for the newborn. Anyone who dared to refuse Grandmother's gift placed himself in danger. It was a good deed that she took upon herself to do, for rich as well as for poor (so as not to embarrass the poor persons). She also remembered to make sure that the new mother had nourishing food for the first few days, such as a good chicken soup, a good wine, and a few saucers of esrog jam.^[7] (She did that for the poor only. Esrog jam was considered especially beneficial, as it is one of the species that is blessed during sukkes, and would confer a blessing on the newborn. If the child was male, Grandmother would be the first to come to the bris celebration, and would certainly not come empty-handed.) If it was a girl, Grandmother wore her finest clothing, wrapped in the traditional “Turkish shawl,” entered the women's section of the synagogue and handed out nuts and raisins in celebration.^[8]

Nowadays, naming babies is not a problem. There is no shortage of names, and in our State of Israel it is really simple:

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one takes a name from the Bible; and names like Hedva, Ora, Tsahala etc. are fine.^[9] But in those days, such ingenuity was unknown. Names had to commemorate previous generations; as there were many children, names were in short supply, and people went to great lengths to give a suitable name. (Incidentally, I would like to note that the matter of naming, either according to taste or in commemoration of ancestors was discussed problematically by the sages (Mishna Berachot, 35; and Bereshit Rabba, 37.)

(The mothers of newborns would seek Grandmother's advice, as she was so experienced with new mothers.) For example: a boy was born, but had to be named after his grandmother (as his grandfather's name was already taken), and the grandmother was named “Simi” – how could the problem be solved? Grandmother immediately ruled: the child should be named “Simkha”! I take the responsibility. It's the right name! May you derive much pleasure and joy from this child!”^[10]

In the opposite case, when a girl was born and had to be named after the grandfather, whose name was Moshe – certainly unsuitable for a girl. But Grandmother, thanks to her experience, immediately said: “Here's an excellent suggestion: call the bride-to-be Masha, and you will have both names in one person: Moshe and Masha.”

Once, Grandmother was faced with a problem: a girl who was born had to be named after her grandfather, who was named Ber. Even my experienced grandmother found no solution to that name. Well, she conferred with her sons-in-law (at that time, my father – may his memory be for a blessing – was being supported by my grandfather, as were my mother's brother-in-law, the husband of her sister Rive, who was later the rabbi of Tarnogród). Between them, they somehow turned “Ber” into a suitable feminine name.

Usually, Grandmother did not interfere with Grandfather's business. As we have said, she was a housewife. Matters of new mothers and naming occupied a good deal of her time. She glowed with joy during a week when she was helping a new mother.

(Let me take a break from my biographical notes. Now, as I write a few paragraphs about birthing mothers and newborn boys, I must write about old-time customs in Kurow pertaining to that field).

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1. Birthing Mothers and Mohels in Kurow, Customs and Ways of Life

When a mother was about to give birth, a copy of the book The Angel Razi'el was placed under her pillow (as a charm to ensure an easy birth).^[11] If the baby was a boy, the mohel's special knife would also be placed there the night before the ceremony, and would stay there until the bris actually took place. (Notes with amulets for “Protection of the Mother” were pasted onto the wall next to the mother's bed; they were used to drive demons away from both male and female babies.) During the week before the bris it was customary for the boys from all the kheyders to be led by the helpers to the new mother's room, and recite the Shema there. The boys were given small conical paper bags containing round, cooked peas. The boys' joy was tremendous (I think I was never as happy as when I received that conical paper bag full of peas).

My father (may he rest in peace) used to talk about a very old custom of the mohels in Kurow. Jewish law states that a child who is sick may not be circumcised, and the mohel is charged with visiting the new mother several times during the week before the bris to find out how the child is doing. However, rather than saying “How is the child doing?” he had to say, “how is the non-Jew doing?”^[12] This custom was instituted by the long-ago rabbi of Kurow, the great righteous man, who was known as “Rabbi Noyekh,” the author of the renowned book Kav-khen. As I later heard from the respected scholar of Kurow, Reb Shmuel-Leyzers (whom Grandmother married after the death of Grandfather Hershl), the custom began long ago, in the times of Shmuel-Leyzers' great-grandfather, the Kurow rabbi of that time, who was called Rab Shmuel Koriver. He gave strict instructions to the mohels to phrase his question only as “How is the non-Jew doing?” The custom was carried on from Rabbi Shmuel to his disciple, the later Rabbi Noyekh.

My father explained that this phrasing was not just a whim, or – God forbid – a joke, but had a sacred purpose. The first cry of a newly circumcised baby causes the mother great sorrow, and she often bursts out in tears (especially when the child is her first-born). This phrasing is meant to show love for the commandment of circumcision.

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Let the new mother remember that the child becomes Jewish only after the bris. Up to that point, he is an ordinary orel (non-Jews used to be called that).^[13] However, the custom disappeared over time, and was even completely forgotten.

According to scholars of old customs, similar boxes were placed in almost all the oldest, historical synagogues (our synagogue in Kurow was in that category; “We mourn for those who are gone and are no longer with us”.^[14]

The young people of today will certainly deride such seemingly ridiculous customs; but scholars who study the spiritual life of bygone generations will find them to be characteristic. Only the eye of a student of the soul can see the bright sparks given off by such customs.

The history of our martyrs is replete with prohibitions of circumcisions. Only the greatest devotion of the Jewish people to this most significant of commandments – to bring Jewish children into the covenant of the patriarch Abraham – has overcome all the prohibitions. Our Jewish people of bygone times intended the custom of keeping a box for foreskins to be an eternal commemoration of the commandment when the prayer mentioning the covenant of Abraham is chanted (during the ten days that precede Rosh HaShana and at the concluding prayer of Yom Kippur…).

Not only did the mohel not request payment (a request which is a transgression, according to Jewish law – Shulchan Aruch 10, 261, in the commentary by Isserles), but a mohel considered himself favored to have been requested to perform a bris.^[15] I remember that when I was living in Kurow, there was a competition between the mohels: each wanted the honor. Some even paid the father in order to receive the honor.

My mother (may she rest in peace) would say that when my father (may his memory be for a blessing) decided to become a mohel as a young man, Grandmother Beyle paid families considerable sums of money so that they would grant him the honor.

I remember one fact: my grandfather was renowned as an expert mohel. He was very nimble, and after the bris was performed, his knife was unstained with any blood. Once, a “circumcised” child was born in Lublin, and a mohel with specialized knowledge was needed (the child was not completely “circumcised” and needed to undergo a bris). The Lublin gaon and tsaddik,

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later Hassidic leader, Rabbi Tsadok HaKohen (may his memory be for a blessing), advised the father to consult with Reb Abele of Kurow, as he was the greatest expert in Lublin Province.

The father and child immediately came to Kurow, with an extra carriage, hired for a two-way trip. Naturally, my father did not hesitate, traveled, and performed the bris, which required special experience. My father was very successful, and all the mohels in Lublin were astonished. The story became famous in all mohel circles. The father of the child was extremely wealthy, and wanted to please my father with a gift of 25 rubles (not, God forbid, as compensation for his work, but as reimbursement for travel expenses). However, not only did my father (may his memory be for a blessing) refuse to take money, but he was adamant that he would pay the cart-driver in full. Only in that way would he receive the full merit of performing the commandment. They went to Rabbi Tsadok HaKohen (may his memory be for a blessing) for a verdict according to rabbinic law. He proposed a compromise, saying to the father, “Do as I say, for the sake of Reb Abele. Let him pay half of the cart-driver's pay.” My father (may his memory be for a blessing) was happy with this outcome.

Only in such a merit-seeking environment could someone like Grandmother Beyle Shoyver emerge. She devoted a considerable part of her life to charity towards birthing mothers. In general, people were not paid in those days for fulfilling commandments; leading prayers during the High Holy Days was considered a great honor.

Sometimes, in the darkest hours of the night, when an involuntary personal reckoning arises, and national sorrow manifests itself, I think of the great folklore treasure that we have lost, a Jewry rich in spirit and soul. What remains is Jews, some of whom have impressive bank books but, at the same time, are “spiritual paupers.” All the great religious commandments have been exchanged for an ordinary “job,” and I am overtaken by melancholy.

I am devoting a special section to the bonnets that women wore in bygone days. I consider it to be not only appropriate, but also as an obligation, to set this down for future generations. Whereas many other old customs and ways of life continue to this day (though with certain changes in the spirit of these days), the traditional bonnet that was played such an important role in feminine wear for many generations: the beloved bonnet that our mothers and grandmothers so lovingly decorated and embellished,

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and enhanced with lace and flowers. The bonnet adorned them when they traveled to see a prospective bride for a son, when they accompanied a daughter to the huppah, and at every holiday or party. The more flowers, the better and the more impressive. The bonnet, however, has passed away, lonely and with no descendants, as though it had never existed. Well then, it surely merits description, or it will be overlooked by history. Incidentally, bonnets are closely connected with Grandmother Beyle's biography.

Itta (Abeles), Rabbi Rapoport's sister, murdered by the Nazi killers

The “architecture” of the bonnet was very complicated. It consisted of three different sections, made in the shape of Noah's Ark: “lower, second, and third stories” (Genesis 6, 16). The lower story was in the shape of a masculine bonnet (excuse the comparison) that any well-to-do Jew of Kurow would wear, even a young talmudic student,

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under his hat, so as to cover the entire lower portion of his head. Only craftsmen were free of this obligation. This lowest section of the feminine was termed “the underbonnet.” It was topped by two more sections that were decorated with lace and flowers.

As all the women in Kurow wore bonnets, there was a shortage of people skilled in this craft. There were only two women in town who specialized in it; they were called “bonnet decorators.”

If any of the readers would like to see what such a bonnet looked like, they only need to look at the picture of my mother (may she rest in peace) in this book wearing this historic bonnet, with the caption “Matele Rapoport.”

The history of old-time women who were active in the synagogue, read prayers out loud for other women to repeat, were mourners, and averters of evil spells, is quite rich. They included many interesting types, and were the focus of many fascinating and amusing bits of town folklore. Here, however, I would like to describe only Gitele, the synagogue activist of Kurow. It is also connected with my grandmother's biography.

She was not a native of Kurow, but came from the nearby town of Wąwolnica. She was widowed there (may it not happen to us), moved to Kurow to live with her daughter. She quickly became renowned among the women as extremely pious; and indeed, she was very strict and God-fearing. She prayed three times a day, and in public, in the small women's synagogue. In addition, she was very learned. She possessed very many women's tkhines^[17] for every problem, and knew almost all of them by heart. She also fasted every Monday and Thursday, and was the only person in Kurow who kept up the custom of measuring graves in the cemetery.^[18]

The custom was as follows. When a child became sick, God forbid, the first thing done was to exorcise the evil eye (euphemistically termed “the good eye”). When that did not help, one would call the folk-healer (there was no doctor in Kurow at the time). If his remedies did not work, people

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rushed into the small synagogue, chanted prayers, and wept before the open ark. When none of these means succeeded, the last resort was to hurry off and measure the cemetery.

Measuring the cemetery was done in the following way: two women went to the cemetery fence, with a length of thread (the thread was not the kind used by tailors, but rather of the type of wool that was used to mend socks. The thread had been exorcised.) Once they were at the cemetery fence, they stopped, and took out the large skein of thread. One of them held on firmly to one end of the skein, and tied the end around her finger for security. The other began circling the cemetery, holding the other end. They walked all the way around the cemetery, going in opposite directions, until they met. At that point, they tied the ends of the thread together all the way around the cemetery, saying this prayer: “God, Lord of the Universe, just as we have drawn the thread with all our strength and it has remained intact, so may all the evil powers come to nothing, and the dear child's life not be cut off, God forbid.”

The cemetery was measured only by Gitele, the synagogue manager. As long as she lived, she was the only woman to do that. She usually brought along a deputy manager to help.

Once, Gitele almost had a misfortune. She was measuring the cemetery for an extremely ill child. She was just about to tie the two ends of the thread together, and had said her regular prayer, when the thread suddenly broke! A child could have left this world. But Gitele, the experienced synagogue manager, with her agile mind and powerful use of words, found a solution on the spot. She changed the version of the prayer: “Master of the Universe! Just as the thread broke, so may the severe verdict break.”

Her reputation increased so that women no longer her called her “Gitele the Synagogue Manager” but “Gitele the Angel.”

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How Did Gitele Come to be Called “the Angel”?

She achieved that rank because of something else. Kurow, like all the other small towns, suffered from fires almost every summer, and firefighters were then still unknown. People grabbed enema syringes, basins, buckets, and ran to the pump, the spring, and sometimes even to the ritual bath; those were the firefighting tools. The only “salvation” was to be found in the courtyard of the administrative office, where a large barrel of water stood (sometimes empty) with a hose (called ”the sprinkler”). But by the time the barrel and hose arrived, half the town was in flames. This was the situation before Gitele became a Kurow resident. As soon as she arrived, the fires stopped. There was no fire in the town for ten years. All the women believed that it was thanks to Gitele, whose additional “special prayer” every day protected the town from fires.

It so happened that Gitele left town once to visit the graves of her ancestors in Wawolnica. And, of course, a fire broke out the very next morning and almost half of Kurow went up in flames.

(I remember my mother, clever Matele, may she rest in peace, often talking about the fire, and declaring: “It was a real disaster. If Gitele hadn't gone away, the town would certainly not have burned.”)

As a child, I heard people in the small synagogue talking about the great fire and saying that Gitele was a rabbi and an angel. This happened only in the women's section. But the men, especially the Hasids, joked about her; they even knew her prayer. Every morning, when she prayed in the women's section, the men heard that when she came to the phrase “Where are the offerings slaughtered” and reached the section about “the bullocks that are burned entirely and the male goats that are burned entirely,” she would say, “Lord of the Universe, what's past is past; let there be no more such fires in the future.”

^[19]But never mind what the jokesters of Kurow might say. The Mishna says specifically, “Every generation has its jokesters” (Talmud Yerushalmi, Tractate Shekalim).

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Gitele was, and remains, the female rabbi and angel of Kurow.

The story was as follows: My grandmother Beyle was a great giver of charity. But the highest level of charity-giving is giving in secret.^[20] She could not find a way to do it, and secretly asked for pious Gitele's advice, proposing that she, Grandmother, would give her a few rubles each Thursday, and Gitele would distribute them to poor women to help them prepare for Shabbes, on one condition: it must be in secret. No one was allowed to know that the charity came from Beyle Shoyver. Everything was private. Each of the women who received Grandmother's money from Gitele could not know of another woman, to keep it all covert. Each one to whom Gitele gave money for Shabbes preparations believed that she was the only one being helped. Gitele always told the beneficiary that she had collected it from different people, and told Grandmother that she wanted to benefit from the good deed. Grandmother had no choice – she gave Gitele her sacred word that she would be an equal partner in her share of the world to come (but only for that good deed; she needed to earn rewards for other good deeds for herself and her children). The most interesting aspect of this arrangement was that Grandmother did not even tell her own children about the “world-to-come partnership” with Gitele, for fear othat one of them would blurt something out about the secret charity-giving. She told them about it only when she herself was advanced in age, and Gitele was no longer alive.

It was Grandmother Beyle's custom to order a new bonnet for each Shabbes Mevarchim.^[21] As she explained it, “We have a kind God who provides us with a new month every four weeks, and we need to make him joyful as well. How can I, an insignificant Jewish woman, please the Eternal One? Let is at least be a bonnet.” Grandmother's bonnet decorator knew that she had to bring a brand-new bonnet to Beyle Shoyver for each month. Of course,

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she had to create a different style each month. One month, the bonnet could be ornamented with flowers; the next month, there had to be different birds; and ducks the following month; etc. But – what could one do with so many bonnets? Gitele the angel, Grandmother's partner-in-the-world-to-come, took care of that. She visited Grandmother every month, took the previous month's bonnet, wrapped it in paper, and brought it to a poor woman who had to make do with the same bonnet year after year.

Whereas Grandmother promised Gitele half of the share she would get in the world to come in return for secret charity-giving, giving away bonnets caused a dispute between them. Gitele felt that she was entitled to half of Grandmother's share of the world to come for the bonnets as well, as that, too was a form of giving in secret; Grandmother thought that it counted only as half a good deed, as she did not know who received the bonnets, but the beneficiaries certainly assumed that they came from Beyle Shoyver, who was well known to be someone who ordered a new bonnet every month. It was therefore only half a “giving in secret” and thus only half a share in the world to come; and she did not want to squander half a share by dividing it into two. Grandmother prevailed, and Gitele agreed that she was doing it with no thought of reward (as she put it, she was giving God a gift).

As Peysekh approached, Grandmother ordered a new bonnet from the decorator that would be free of any trace of leaven. When Mother recounted the detailed instructions that Grandmother gave the decorator, we were left speechless:

She had to buy a new spool of thread, that had never touched a table where leaven had been placed. The needle she would use had to be seared by a flame, and her hands, of course, should be washed well with extra water not taken from the household barrel. The most important thing was for the bonnet to be brought on the eve of Peysekh, after all the leaven had been burned.^[22] But if misfortune is fated, nothing can be done. The decorator mistakenly brought the new bonnet over early, before the leaven had been burned, and set it on the table. Grandmother's table was very clean (or the decorator would not have set the bonnet on it). But a flask of brandy that was not kosher for Peysekh

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stood on one corner of the table. Grandmother immediately began shrieking, “Wretch that I am! I have no bonnet for the holiday!” She immediately told the decorator, “Make me another bonnet. I'll pay you for both! You must help me! What will I do on Peysekh without a bonnet?”

The decorator wept and said that she could not make a new bonnet that day, the eve of Peysekh. Grandmother had no choice but to wear the one that she had brought over, but kept saying during the entire week, “The bonnet has ruined my Peysekh.”

I'd like to end the series of bonnet-related tales on a happy note: a comical episode about my mother's Peysekh bonnet that occurred when I was a young child.

My mother usually paid the bonnet decorator considerably more for the Peysekh bonnet, to ensure that it was as beautiful as possible. Well, one year during the week of Peysekh, I was sitting at home with my father, studying Peysekh regulations in Orakh Khayim.^[23] The door opened, and in came the bonnet-decorator with the bonnet that my mother had commissioned. When she saw the bonnet, she was overjoyed.

Matele Rapoport, the mother of Rabbi Tuviya Gutman, born in Kurow in 1847, and died in 1924

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It was outstanding, replete with flowers and trees, as well as birds. Mother rushed over to us and exclaimed, “Will you look at this! A bonnet straight from the king's treasury.”

My father (may his memory be for a blessing) became annoyed at the interruption of our study, and said, “Matl, stop your nonsense. It's just a rag.” Mother, poor soul, was taken aback. I was a cheerful boy who loved jokes and immediately announced, “Daddy, why do you say it's a rag? It's a real Peysekh bonnet. You could even call it a Song of Songs bonnet.”^[24] “What do you mean?” asked my father, with some irritation. “It's very simple,” I said. “Just look at the scenes on the bonnet–it has everything: grapes, flowers, ears of wheat, and even summer birds. Anyone wearing this bonnet is like the phrase in the Song of Songs: ‘Your head rises above you like Mt. Carmel.’^[25] Father really liked my witticism; I had never seen him laughing so hard. Mother joined in the laughter, of course. This was how my wits saved the day, and Mother's fine mood was restored, as well as her pleasure in the bonnet.

Grandmother did not pay too much attention to her everyday clothing, and wore anything that came to hand. However, she was always covered by a very broad apron with two large pockets at the sides. One pocket was for small change, and the other for silver coins, so that she could immediately give the type of charity that was the most suitable in each case. There was a tiny pocket in mid-apron, which held an amulet written by the Rabbi of Turisk to ward off the evil eye and make sure she wouldn't stray from the right path. On the other hand, she devoted great attention to her Shabbes costume. I'd like to note several different articles of clothing that Grandmother would don Friday night, at the beginning of Shabbes (as reported by my mother):

1. Shabbes-bonnet. She wore a new bonnet for the beginning of each new month, and that was not all. She also had a special silk ribbon on which expensive Orleans pearls were sewn, spelling out the words “In honor of Shabbes.”^[26] This ribbon was placed around her Shabbes bonnet.
2. The shterntikhl, sometimes known as shternband.^[27] It was a silk ribbon

that encircled the forehead and was fastened at the back. Her shterntikhl was adorned with a menorah embroidered in gold thread. It covered almost half her forehead, and was festooned with dangling objects such as earrings. She also had a golden shterntikhl that she wore only at her childrens' weddings.
3. The silver “little heart” breastplate for Shabbes. It was so called because it was worn over the heart, while the Shabbes candles were being lit. It resembled the old-fashioned silver “crown” on a tallis.^[28] Only the wives of rabbis or very observant women wore it. But Grandmother considered herself to be of fine lineage, and wore the breastplate every week when she lit the Shabbes candles.
4. The Shabbes gold piece: an additional special piece of Shabbes jewelry, that was worn while lighting the candles. It looked like an old-fashioned “tenner” coin, but in gold, and engraved “Jerusalem” in Hebrew letters. It was worn over the breastplate.
5. The traditional “crinoline” which was then stylish. Girls and young women wore it as their best outfits. However, as I mentioned above, Grandmother did not like to deck herself out on weekdays. She compensated for it by wearing a real traditional Shabbes crinoline before lighting the candles. It was very wide, embroidered with silver flowers, and attached at the bottom to a whalebone hoop. (The hoop was whalebone, which is elastic and enables the wearer to pass through doorways.)

Winter. Men, as well as almost all women, wore boots. Some women who were more attuned to modern fashion wore bootees made of very thick leather and thick soles, to survive the muddy winters. The problem were the laces, that were often too flimsy for the mud of Kurow. In fact, poorer women used strong cords colored with dye, and knew that they wouldn't have to worry about laces at least until Peysekh. (No one in Kurow owned galoshes, not even the richest of the rich, except for Khayim Shmuel Lustman, who wore deep rubber overshoes).

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Khayim Shmuel Lustigman, the popular and long-lived physician who helped many, and died at a very advanced age, before the war. He was one of the first Zionists in town.

While I have so far touched on insignificant things like boots, bootees, slippers, the “quilted undershirt” was extremely important in the history of bygone traditional Jewish clothing. It was as follows: When I was a child,

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Hasids and “respectable Jews” (i.e, those who wanted to be considered respectable Jews) wore long coats of satin on Shabbes. They included bakers, whose work was considered to be refined; but not the other artisans. By then, some bakers already wore satin coats. It was a sign of progress, a bit of civilization. In the previous generation, Jews did not wear satin, as it is too fragile. Rather, they wore serge, a fabric that could last for generations. Even Hasidic leaders and rabbis wore long coats of serge; one would last for a lifetime, with no need to consider the topic again.

With age, such a long serge coat began to change hues; but that made no difference in a Shabbes garment, as long as it was whole. Later, Jews did begin wearing satin coats (in fact, I remember that most of those were torn and pieces of the padding dangled free. But it did not bother them; a Shabbes garment is accepted as is). The sole relic of the old-time serge garments was the “serge undershirt.”

(When one says “undershirt,” one thinks of a cheap article of clothing; but in fact these “undershirts” were valued garments. Those who wore them were considered important, “scholars” rather than ordinary people or craftsmen.)

An unmarried man, even the best student, was not permitted to wear a serge undershirt. But a married man boarding with his in-laws, absolutely had to own such an undershirt. The padding was quilted in rough squares, and even the collar and lapels had to be padded. It was part housecoat and part long coat. One sleeve was normal, but the other – the left one – was halfway open, which was more convenience for wearing a tallis and attaching tefillin. However, that sleeve could be closed by loops that were sewn on.

It was an old-fashioned custom, practiced on holidays after prayers: wearing the outer garment (it was called a jacket) on one arm only, while the other sleeve hung empty. I don't know why or how this custom began. In my time, only one Jew in Kurow wore his jacket on one arm. He had an iron-work shop and lived right next to Yankl Mashinist; I do not remember his name.

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Clothing as Part of History (Author's Note to the Reader)

A reader might ask the traditional talmudic question, “What does this mean to us?” Actually, why do we need to know about bygone articles of clothing in Kurow such as bonnets, caps, shterntikhls, bootees with laces, quilted undershirts, jackets worn on one arm, etc.? Seemingly, these are rags. However, I would like to note that clothing plays an important role in the history of nations over the centuries. Important and world-famous historians and scholars of ancient times have written entire books about clothing. Among them are figures such as Garve, Betteiger, Heeren, Meiners, and Hardin, who devoted much time and effort to the matter of old-time clothing. Later, a scholar named Hartmann summarized the work of the earlier historians; he was followed by the famous scholar of religion, mysticism, and folk customs of many nations, Dr. Shloyme Rubin, who wrote a book titled Clothing in Biblical Times.^[29] These authors and other such authors believed that, when writing history, descriptions of people's clothing are very important. People are often judged by their clothes; and an entire generation can also be judged by its manner of dress, which supplies insight into its world-view and its standard of living (see the introduction to Rubin's Hebrew book Ge'on Yehuda vi-Yerushalayim). Therefore, in this project “The Biography of a Generation,” I have considered it fitting to touch on the clothing customary in bygone Kurow.

People say that God has created a cure for every ailment; in other words, it is natural for people to suffer from various diseases (may it not happen to us), but God, blessed be he, creates cures.

We, in this generation, when medicine is so highly developed, and hundreds of physicians and hospitals, and rapid help through ambulances, are ready to tackle illnesses yet the hospitals are overfilled with patients; we find it difficult to imagine how earlier generations in small towns lived with no medical help. To tell the truth, the idea is difficult to grasp; it belongs to those secrets of divine nature that were originally created flexible in order to adapt to time, conditions, and circumstances. (As the folk saying has it, “God warms the weather to suit your clothes.”)

Actually,

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this topic merits several chapters, as it can provide important material for future historians; the methods and medicine applied by a certain generation also paint the best picture and reflection of cultural conditions in that generation. But that would be too much of a digression, as my current mission is to write the biography of previous generations – and that also includes depicting the environment in which they lived. The environment provides the canvas on which images and characters are delineated. Besides, individuals are products of their time and environment. For all these reasons, I feel that I must at least present several short notes. As the Hebrew phrase goes, “something should be said about the topic.”

1. Tie a red thread around the child's throat.
2. Hang various amulets, circles and hand figurines made of bone to ward off the evil eye.
3. Attach garlic cloves onto childrens' shirts (especially during the three weeks between the 17^th of Tammuz and the 9^th of Av).^[30]
4. Dress children in white linen clothing until the age of 13 (an assurance of a long life).
5. When a child becomes sick, quickly apply remedies to ward off the evil eye. An additional special remedy was to dress the child in an inside-out shirt (an assurance immediately warding off the evil eye).

1. Warding off the evil eye.
2. Smoking out a disease (causing it to fade away like smoke).
3. Shrieking away a disease (terrifying it to the point of fleeing).
4. Making the disease's existence miserable (until it flees as far away as possible).
5. Protecting the throat (making a bandage out of a handkerchief, inserting two small tallow candles, drenching it with urine – pardon the expression – and wrapping up the throat. This medicine is part of the “making the disease's existence miserable” group.)
6. Remedy for lumbago. The best remedy for severe lumbago was to remove two crow chicks from the nest (if none were available, young doves could also be used), kill them, and then burn the carcasses up completely, including feathers. The ashes should be mixed into water or tea, and the patient should take one tablespoonful each day.
7. A woman experiencing a difficult childbirth, which was becoming harder (and

of course, there were no physicians), was treated with the following remedy: the kerchief was removed from the head of the woman in labor and buried in the cemetery. People thought that the “disease” of difficult labor would then be buried.
8. Prescribing a “rose.” This was one of the most popular remedies, and there were few residents of Kurow who had never used it.^[31]

One of the town Jews was named Rabbi Levi-Yitzchok (originally from Garwolin). He was a remarkable person, with a heart of gold, and a true friend to all. Always the first to visit a sick person, he visited anyone who had a problem, helping through his conversation and consoling presence. He was something of a scholar, but did not give himself airs. Anyone he met on the street – even a skinner, or a cattle-driver – would be greeted with a broad “good morning.” People joked and nicknamed him “the Kurow Rabbi Levi Yitzchok of Berdichev” (he really did have a spark of the Rabbi of Berdichev in him). This Levi-Yitzchok was a forest manager for many years, and thus was experienced in many traditional medications based on forest and meadow plants, as well as an expert on various remedies. Levi-Yitzchok was the real physician of Kurow, and a general consultant on solutions to various illnesses. He was also virtually the only person in town who could avert the evil eye, and prescribe a rose. He was truly an expert on prescribing roses, and they almost always cured the illness.

I once encountered one of his “roses,” and would like to share my knowledge with the esteemed readers of our memorial book.

The first think to know is that “prescribing a rose,” and “rose-medicine” in general is suitable only for skin conditions, swelling, body rash, or any kind of skin itch (the rose could not help any other diseases, God forbid them from happening to us). Prescribing roses was done as follows: one took a piece of paper, drew a circle in ink, and inscribed the word “Begone” seven times around the circle. However, it

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all had to be in Latin letters. Inside the circle, the following was written (in Yiddish letters): “We order you, evil rose, to leave immediately and go to your own place. Hide in deserted fields, gloomy forests, and wasted deserts. Let there be no trace of you be in any place where Jews go. Let it be God's will, Amen.”

Afterwards, the slip of paper was smeared with honey, placed on the location of the irritation, and bound up. (This was Levi-Yitzchok's version. I don't know whether there were other versions – I was too young, and did not think to study the topic.) Nor do I know how often the “rose” helped; statistics were not kept then. I do know of one case in which the “rose” was useless, and I describe it in the following section.

This happened long ago, more than seventy years ago, but it is still as fresh in my memory as though it was yesterday. This is what happened:

Everyone knows that most children become sick in their first years, and need help, the help of a physician. However, there was no such help in Kurow at the time. If a child became seriously ill, and the traditional medicines and remedies did not help, a physician had to be brought from Lublin or Puławy. Many Kurow Jews did not even have the cash to pay a physician's traveling expenses. And, indeed, the mortality rate among small children was relatively very high, especially among the poor who could not afford to send for a physician. But, as they say, “one grows used to troubles,” and people lived thanks to miracles. Those whose children did not sicken hoped for God's help (most older people, too, could not get medical help and relied on miracles).

However, a real epidemic suddenly broke out among the children in the town. Several small Jewish children died each month, and the situation was dire. What did old-time Jews do during such a calamitous time? The only solution was to impose a fast day. The date of a community fast was announced in the House of Study. The entire town fasted, and the “And Moses prayed to God” prayer was said, as is mandatory on community fast days.^[33] But that did not help; children continued to

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die (God protect us). The householders and the important Jews of the town were assembled. They concluded that the town had sinned; who knows what sins were being committed in the town. A search for sins began. Naturally, the young folks were the first to be searched. A committee was quickly formed, to patrol the road to Lublin on Shabbes and check whether young men and women were strolling there together. Every young woman and man in Kurow was carefully watched. The watchers easily found a girl of Kurow who was having a romance with a young man. Her parents were soon notified, and a scandal broke out. She was tormented at home, and pious women abused her on the street (they, poor things, were afraid for their young children). The upshot was that the girl became very depressed, and was physically ill for a long time. (She came from a very important Hasidic family, whose name I will not mention here.)

When the town had finished with the young people, and nothing changed, while children continued to die, it was time to turn to the older generation. The first thing to be done was to inspect the “alcoves.”

When I begin writing about the historic alcoves, I feel my pen trembling.

^[34]I remember the sorrowful verse that our national mourner voiced in his Lamentations: “I am the man who has seen affliction,” meaning “I am the man who has seen the great poverty, sorrow, and anguish of people.”^[35] I spent the first and best years of my childhood in such an alcove, at the home of my early melamed, Kalmale. He had his “alcove residence” in a house that belonged to Menashe Brener.^[36] Menashe was given the name ‘Brener’ by the residents of Kurow after the following incident: he entered the ritual bath one Friday and poured so many scoops of water over the hot stones that the heat was terrible. Everyone left the benches in the bath, but he sat there for so long whipping himself with branches that he became a torch. Once he was finished, he went down to the well and drew several dippers of cold water until he was extinguished. He was never ill, God forbid (though they say that people live thanks to miracles, that's not the case here).

However, that's not my topic. I want to recount the “technique” that allowed the alcoves to function. The house consisted of a single large room, with several windows opening onto a back street (the house front

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faced the market). The house was divided into two sections, by a low partition that extended from wall to wall; this enabled some light to enter the house's back half. The front half, which had windows, was reserved for the alcoves, where the owner and several tenants lived. The alcoves were also separated only by low partitions (apparently, wood was expensive at the time). The second half – the dark one, where a kerosene lamp constantly burned) served as a kitchen and held the oven for all the residents (as in the Torah, “ten women shall bake your bread in one oven” – Leviticus 26, 26).^[37] On the other hand, a strict arrangement regulated disposal of the contents of the private chamber pots belonging to the individuals living in the alcoves. Our rebbe's wife was one of the luckiest, as we pupils took care of that chore. We carried the chamber-pot in pairs, each holding one handle, scoured it out with a stiff broom, and tipped the contents into the marketplace. In those days, the Kurow market was organized according to very social principles: it was in the public domain, and people could do as they wished.

Now, I'd like to address the matter of “seeking sins in the town and the inspection of the alcoves.” It was common to have spaces in which couples lived separated only by very low partitions. Well, as long as there were no problems in the town, no one was concerned – it was common practice. However, if a calamity occurred, such as an epidemic among children (may God protect us), people began to think that it might be due to their parents' sins. People in the town now considered such low partitions between couples to be a grave sin… Inspections of the alcoves began, the owners were summoned, and ordered to extend the partitions up to the ceiling. The upshot was that the epidemic (may God protect us) stopped, possibly for a reason other than the partitions. Now I'll tell you why and how this happened.

One beautiful summer day, the police chief, Zhemski, arrived in Kurow with several policemen, and arrested all the mohels. They were all placed in a cart, surrounded by police, and taken to Pulawy, the county capital. Kurow immediately began to seethe. “What

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happened?” people asked each other, and a lively discussion began in the House of Study. Some said that it was a decree forbidding circumcision; others said that if that was the case, the decree should have affected Lublin as well (no one thought of Warsaw – it was too far away). A third opinion was, “It might be true of Lublin as well. Let's wait until Khave the cart-driver, Miriam's daughter, returns from Lublin with her cart, and reports everything.” (Obviously, there were no telephones and telegrams in Kurow.) But matters became clear quite soon: it became known that all the mohels of Kurow had been brought before a commission of the county physicians. The Their health was reviewed individually, and it became clear that one mohel was suffering from a venereal disease! As they had all continued to practice the traditional custom of performing oral suction of the circumcision wound, he had poisoned the children.^[38] It soon became known that the local medical practitioner had secretly informed the police after he realized that the epidemic was spreading only among boys, and that girls were not affected (child mortality was considered quite natural in Kurow). Over 90% of the dead children were boys. He informed the county, surmising that there must be a diseased mohel.

The mohel immediately fled town. Women who had borne girls were overjoyed and thanked God for blessing them with a female child (though they complained about not having a boy). The parents of the deceased children, poor things, were distraught: they had lost a child for no good reason (it would be better to have happened as God's punishment because of their sins). They cursed the mohel again and again for murdering their children, mentioning all the forms of divine punishment mentioned in the Bible. The owners of the alcoves were pleased: they had saved themselves the expense of raising the partitions. The young people, of course, grew more confident, knowing that they could continue to stroll along the Lublin road with no supervision.

The last thing I'd like to tell you – which is really the saddest – is that the whole story soon became known in the town. A younger brother of that mohel, who had returned from army service, was staying with him. He had contracted a venereal disease and infected his brother, the mohel, who suspected nothing had no idea that this had happened. The mohel contracted a less serious venereal disease (which was,

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however, enough to infect the small babies). The mohel himself did not know that he was ill. He was a hasid, and knew nothing about such diseases. He would break out in a rash from time to time, and the whole town knew that the remedy was a “rose”… Reb Levi-Yitzchok, the only “doctor” in the town, would presecribe his famous “roses”; but they did not help the poor mohel at all.

My heart weeps whenever I remember the poverty, gloom, superstition, and medical helplessness among these dear old-time Jews in the gloomy small town.

Now, I return to writing the biography of Grandfather and Grandmother.

I have already devoted a considerable number of chapters to descriptions of my grandmother, her home customs, behavior, charity-giving, general world-view, quest for good deeds, and hopes for the world to come. I began by describing Grandmother, as a wife is above all the manager of the house (“His house is his wife” – Mishna Yoma, 1). The wife is the one who forms the image and character of the house. As I begin to describe Grandfather and Grandmother, I feel I should begin with their home, which was a fine Jewish home (traditionally, that was understood to be one that was charitable and rich in good deeds). Let me now describe my grandfather.

I've included a few notes about my grandfather's character in earlier chapters, but have described only his business persona; I presented him as a successful old-time well-regarded rich man, whose basic principles were two: honesty in business, and strict practicality–a person who flourished through business. However, in actual fact, Grandfather was not only a businessman. The fact that he had a reversible robe is emblematic of his character, which ranged from everyday practicality to elevated, festive spirituality. Grandfather had his own spiritual world. I emphasize “his own,” because his spiritual world was essentially based on practical foundations, and eventually developed into an elevated spiritual perfection anchored in his entire original philosophy of life.

Grandfather adhered to the philosophy of Ecclesiastes: “There is a time for everything,and a season for every activity…a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing” (Eccl. 3). He would often say,

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“Here, where there is no need, one penny is gold; on the other hand, when there is a need, thousands should be like mud.” He practiced this philosophy.

In his daily life, he calculated everything down to the penny; but when it came to major charity, he exhibited great prodigality, mainly in the following two areas: 1. Community charity, especially when it came to inalienable assets, so to speak. 2. This was even more pronounced as regards matches for his children, mainly his daughters. Where this was concerned, Grandfather was quite extravagant, often approaching the nobility's profligacy.

Here are several examples of his community charity.

According to my mother (who had it from her mother), the cemetery needed a new fence. Grandfather said that the new fence should be brick-built, to honor the deceased. Besides, it would not only be a temporary act of charity towards the dead, but would also be the religious real property of the community, smacking of eternity. In any case, it would be considered to “honor the living and honor the dead.”^[39] He would donate half the cost of the brick fence. The community members said that a well-constructed ordinary fence would suffice, and a brick fence would be too costly. Grandfather became angry and said: “If it's to be a wooden fence, I'll pay for it all; I don't want community help.”

And Grandfather did indeed pay the entire cost.

According to my mother, and even my grandmother, my Kurow grandfather established the Kurow House of Study with his own money alone. It cost him 1500 rubles (a huge sum in those days). I cannot say whether it cost more than that, and whether the community also contributed; but I know that it cost him 1500 rubles.

Potatoes for the Jews of Kurow, for Peysekh

It was Grandfather's custom to commission a large wagonful of potatoes (about 30-40 bushels) to distribute to the poor Jews of Kurow, for Peysekh. Grandfather had a long-standing assistant who managed the potato distribution according to his understanding; he had experience with

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the poor people of Kurow.

The old Kurow cemetery, near the synagogue. The structure commemorates the grave of the rabbi known as Har Ha-Carmel.[40]

In short, things were bad. While people managed somehow,

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all year round, but when Peysekh approached, people thought of the matzah they would need. This was a major issue; white flour was even more expensive. That was when my grandfather exhibited his extreme generosity in regards to necessities. During the charity drive to supply the poor with matzah, he was the first to contribute 200 rubles. He also doubled his potato contribution. During that year of great expense, he ordered the local non-Jewish landowner to send two open-sided wagonloads of potatoes, as well as ten more sacks of onions.

All this was done by the grandfather who broke a match in two, and wore a reversible housecoat – one side for Shabbes, the other for holidays. Clearly, his soul was also reversible.

Writing the biography of my grandfather, who supplemented the needs of the town during the year of great expense, I think it only fair that I, his grandson, should honor him by also contributing a “supplement” for my Kurow fellow-townspeople (long may they live). I would like to do this in the form of a bundle of “expensive-year episodes.”

In my youth, I, too experienced high prices in Kurow, when a 5-6-pound loaf of bread was a few pennies more expensive. I do not remember how the local Jews reacted to the high prices,

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but I do remember that a community fast was not decreed (by then, Kurow was more civilized). I also remember a few episodes that were not “historic,” but interesting and appealing, and suitable for inclusion here.

It was the peak of cucumber season, when the sun likes to creep out of its “feedbag.” Because of the intense heat, the Kurow House of Study was empty; only a few boys sat inside, with open volumes of Talmud, but no studying was taking place. There was idle conversation about this, that, and the other. One of the Kurow melameds also sat with us, Yoshke (Yosl) the Tall. Poor guy, he groaned at having to work with students on such hot days, when all they want to do is run to the river, and can't begin to understand what they are being taught. He also said that he had heard that “abroad,” students are released from study on such hot days, but that he didn't believe it.

Suddenly, the door opened, and in burst the studious, merry, absent-minded beggar, Hersh (Gershon's son). As usual, the visor of his cap was off to the side. He walked right over to Yoshke and said, “Tell me, Yoshke, what do you have for breakfast in these expensive times?” Yoshke responded, “What should I have? Bread with sour milk.”

The moment Hersh heard Yoshke say “Bread with sour milk,” he became excited and uttered a yell that resounded throughout the House of Study. “Whaaat? A melamed treating himself to bread and sour milk during these expensive times? You're crazy, you'll be left with nothing. Bread and sour milk are a guarantee of poverty.”

“What, then, should I eat?” Yoshke asked humbly (Hersh had to be addressed politely, because he was very sharp-tongued). “What do you mean, what should you gobble?” Hersh yelled in his normal style. “Are you Shoul Levinzon?^[41] Are you too sick to eat potatoes and radishes, like all the other melameds? Bread and sour milk really do lead to poverty!”

There was a Jew in Kurow who would be a perfect subject for a psychologist. He would have been a good topic for a good study.

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However, as I am not a psychologist, I will only present some of his features. He was a bit older than middle age, and had the brains of the historical “Vayzatha” (in the Book of Esther).^[42] Not only did he know nothing of the wide world; he did not even know what was happening in Kurow, either (almost all the Jews of Kurow were smart, and some were really sharp-witted). But it is well known that in such people garner God's sympathy; as they say, “they are given a push.” And this little man really was very wealthy (according to Kurow standards). He had a shop so packed with goods that the shelves broke. He would travel to Warsaw every few months to buy merchandise, and dealt in various sewing notions, and would linger in Warsaw for a whole week on these purchasing expeditions. He would leave on Sunday, and only return home before Shabbes (I will refer to this man only as “John Doe”). At that time, there was talk in Kurow of preparations for war. On winter nights, people would gather around the warm tiled stove in the House of Study, usually speaking only of wars. They would mention the great Napoleon and his end, and talk about the battle of Sevastopol.^[43] Some even wanted to imagine what the Battle of Gog and Magog, heralding the coming of the Messiah, would be like.^[44] However, they were mainly interested in the impending wars that were being talked about. The group waited for someone to return from Warsaw and bring some news (reading newspapers was forbidden at the time in Kurow, but a person could report news). John Doe would return from Warsaw, come into the House of Study for prayers, and become surrounded by a large group of Jews.

“Tell us, Mr. Doe, what's the news in Warsaw?”

“And what's the news in Hell?” he would respond, mockingly.

“What do you mean, ‘what's the news in Hell’?”

“Just what it means! Warsaw is a hell.”

“But nevertheless, didn't you hear anything?”

“Yes, I heard the tram bells ringing.”

“ But we mean something about wars. They probably know everything in Warsaw.”

“Don't bother me with wars. Me, I don't mess with community affairs.”^[45]

But it was this Jew who was smart enough to make change from a two-ruble piece, and was notorious throughout Kurow as a great miser (and calling someone a miser in “rich” Kurow was significant).

Translator's Footnotes:

1. In this interpretation, the Hebrew words rav (“rabbi”) and the acronym shoyv for shoykhet u-voydek (“ritual slaughterer and inspector”) are construed as the elements that comprise the town's name. Return
2. At the engagement ceremony, agreements are made that formalize the mutual commitments: to marry at the agreed- upon time and date, and to participate in wedding expenses as well as the anticipated startup costs of the new household. The parents of the couple often represent their children and take upon themselves the financial responsibilities involved. Return
3. The parents of the bride or groom were often obligated to support the new couple for a specified period. Return
4. Horowitz (1745-1815) was a Hasidic rebbe from Poland who was a leading figure in the early Hasidic movement. Return
5. I was not able to determine the meaning of “shoyver.” Return
6. The writer provides information about the terms used for ‘midwife.’ Heybam and akusherke may have been regional or considered old-fashioned for Kurow at the time. Return
7. The esrog is citron. Return
8. I was unable to determine the significance of “Turkish.” Return
9. These feminine names are adapted from biblical Hebrew words. Return
10. In traditional Ashkenazi Jewish culture, Simkha is a masculine name. Return
11. The Angel Razi'el is a kabbalistic book from the 13^th century, which was considered to contain proetctive and healing texts. Return
12. The phrase uses orel, (an uncircumcised person) a Hebrew term for non-Jews; the term has come to be pejorative. Return
13. The Hebrew word for foreskin is orla, and a non-circumcised male is termed an orel. Return
14. This mishnaic phrase (Sanhedrin 111a) often concludes the eulogy for a great scholar. Return
15. Rabbi Moshe Isserles (1530-1572) was an eminent rabbi, talmudist, and expert in Jewish law. Return
16. Shive Brokhes is the Hebrew name for a series of seven blessings, said at the festive meals that are part of the week-long festivities that follow a wedding. Return
17. Tkhines (supplications) is a genre of private devotions and paraliturgical prayers in Yiddish, written by women and men, recited primarily by women. Return
18. Fasting weekly on those days is considered to signify great piety. “Measuring graves” or cemeteries with lengths of thread is a form of supplication for someone in need or dangerously ill. The cemetery, or individual graves, are measured by women with thread that is then worked into a wick for candles dedicated to charity, or used on holidays. Return
19. The verses are from Mishna Zevachim (sacrifices} and are said as part of the regular morning prayer. Return
20. Giving charity in secret is when neither benefactor nor beneficiary know the identity of the other. Return
21. Shabbes Mevarchim -- “the Saturday when we bless”. Special blessings are said each month, on the Saturday before a new Jewish month begins. Return
22. In the morning of the last day before Peysekh, it is customary to burn the last traces of anything that contains leaven or has been in contact with it. Return
23. Orakh Khayim is a section of a compilation of Halakhic law. Return
24. Song of Songs, 7, 6. Return
25. Return
26. The reference to Orleans is unclear; Orleans, France, might have been a source of freshwater pearls.. Return
27. This was an elaborate headdress worn by married women, which often included gems and pearls. Return
28. The embroidered strip of material, at times even made of silver or gold, situated where the tallis is placed on the head, is known as the “crown.” Return
29. Arnold Heeren (1760–1842) and Christoph Meiners (1747-1810) were German historians who were members of the influential Gottingen School of History. Shloyme (Solomon) Rubin (1823-1910) was a prolific Hebrew author who studied the clothing of Jews during biblical times and published the Hebrew book Ge'on Yehuda vi-Yerushalayim (1910). I could not identify the other persons mentioned here. Return
30. These three weeks, traditionally the time during which Jerusalem was besieged, leading up to the destruction of both First and Second Temples, and are a period of mourning. Return
31. A few paragraphs down, the text provides a detailed explanation of this remedy. Return
32. Rabbi Levi Yitzchok of Berdichev (1740–1809) was a beloved Hasidic master and a key figure in Polish Jewish culture. Return
33. These verses (Exodus 32, 11-14) comprise the prayer of Moses to persuade God to forgive the Israelites for the sin of the Golden Calf, and are said in the synagogue on community fast days Return
34. Alkierz is Polish for ‘alcoves.’ Return
35. Lamentations 3,1. Return
36. “Brener” is Yiddish for burner. Return
37. Lev. 26 details the rewards for obedience and punishment for disobedience; ten women baking bread in one oven signals deprivation. Return
38. The italics are in the original text. The widespread custom of oral suction of the wound on the penis apparently began for reasons of hygiene. Return
39. The phrase is adapted from Mishna Sanhedrin 47. Return
40. Rabbi Eliyahu ben-Yechezkel of Bilgoraj wrote this work of Responsa in the 18^th century. Return
41. Shoul Levinzon seems to have been famous for his wealth. Return
42. Vayzatha, the youngest son of Haman, is traditionally considered to be dim-witted. Return
43. This probably refers to the major battle of 1854-1855, during the Crimean War. Return
44. Gog and Magog are first referred to in Ezekiel 38-39, in which they are enemies of Israel to be defeated by the Messiah at the End of Days, a defeat that would usher in the age of the Messiah. Return
45. The writer inserts words from a register of Yiddish that was considered low-class. Return

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