[Page 404]

President of the Lancut Relief Organization in 1963. Benjamin Sauerhaft, his wife Sylvia, And their children, Shlomo and Tehilim

Louis Stutzel		Zygmund Blitzer		Herman B. Ofner

Yaacov Stutzel		Moshe Sauerhaft		Yaacov Flashen

Bernard Frid		Moshe Flashen		Elias Ruter

Saul Bronstein		Louis Gartenhaus		Charles Lilien		Sam Flashen

[Page 408]

A group of Lancut People after the Shoa From front row right: Henia Domb, Miriam and Chana Anfang and Joseph Ringel Second row from right: Aaron Worm, Chana Shteier, Melech Kesten, Shmuel Zawada, Michael Shipper, Tzvi Bauer, Kresel Anfang and Chaya Kezstecher Third row from right: Benzion Worm, Sima Laufer, Psachya Katz, Berl Damf, Israel Lipshitz, Yitzhak Weisman, Anmut, Lola Langzam, Feiga Kaganowich, Joseph Tzelner, Kezstecher, Ada Kornblau, Melech Anfang, Felnder Lena Ramer, Breindl Lindenblit and Abraham Halpern

Lancut people visiting the grove of Lancut Martyrs First row from right: Dvora Tuchfeld, Mania Flink, Feiga Har, Feiga Paster, David Har, Moshe Milrad, Kalman Tamari - - Yechezkiel Teitelbaum and Leah Weinstein Second row from right: Eliezer Disha, Dr. Nathan Kudish, Ada Fenick, Bluma Hecht, Dvora Tzvibel, Michael Walzer, Abraham Felner, Moshe Jonah Flashen and Zalman Hitter

Welcome the guest, Dr. Nathan Kudish welcomes the guests Kalman and his wife From the right: Moshe Milrad, Joseph and Leib Shpiro, Menachem Stempel, Dr. Tzvi Heller, Engineer Anshel Reis, Michael Walzer , Nachman Kestenbaum, Kalman Buch, Dr. Nathan Kudish, Israel Hertzberg, David Haar, Mrs. Hertzberg, Tovah Buch, Sarah and Menachem Felber

A welcome reception evening for Betzalel Shternheim and Leib Feigenbaum First row from the right: Michael Past, Esther Felber, Dvora Shternheim, Michael Walzer, Kalman Tamari, Zalman Hiter and Moskovitz Second row from the right: Sarah Felber, Betty Katz, Sima Shternheim, Leib Feigenbaum, Clara Shkolnik, Chuma worm and Dvora Moberman Third row from the right: Yitzhak Celner, Naomi and Ephraim Zisappel, Moshe Milrad, Yehuda Greenbaum, Popiol, Abraham Margal, Kayle Esther Wiener, Regina Margal, Aaron Worm, Mania Engelberg, Shalom Buch, Ethel Shtreitfeld, Ephraim Ruter,and Moskovitz Fourth row from the right: Abbe Pearlmutter, Tzvi Landau, Yitzhak Shternheim, Israel Birnbaum, Naphtali Reich, Shmuel Kezstecher, Eliyahu Popiol, Meir Birnbaum, Yaacov Trumpeter, Moshe Katz and Pesach Gotlieb

Revered Brothers of Lancut!

Three months ago, we founded in Eretz Israel a Lancut organization which was joined as members by all Lancut people that are in this country.

What moved us to found the organization, and what are its goal and purpose?

When the Nazi came to Lancut, they expelled all Jewish inhabitants, except the old and the sick. The expelled from Lancut, resided in Sieniawa until October, 1941 when the Russians evacuated them to Siberia. Our brother had wandered a long time until they reached their final exile place: Samarcand, Tashkent, Yakut, Kirgizia and other parts of Siberia. Many of the exiled on their wander, or after their arrival, had died. They succumbed to illnesses, hunger and the cold climate. And many widows and orphans were left helpless. (Ten of the orphans reached Eretz Israel).

To many, the trouble and suffering were, in a way, a blessing, hence, being in Russia, they remained alive. Because those who had remained in Galicia, according to what we were recently informed, very few of them had survived except the people who were hiding in gentile homes or forests, they were still jittery about the following day.

After the beginning of yester-year's winter, we started here in Eretz Israel to receive pleas from relatives, acquaintances and friends to have mercy and to send them packages of clothing or food in order to survive. As long as there were only a few individuals please, every one of us individually helped with clothing and food according to one's ability. (Even though every package cost seven pounds). No plea from a Lancut brother was refused. However, at the beginning of winter 1943, many people from Lancut that were granted by God life in the wastelands of Siberia, compassionately pleaded for packages. We had already received confirmation of the packages that were sent with thanks, hinting that the little food or the peace of the yard, could save and rescue them from doom.

We, here in Eretz Israel, were convinced that individual people could not do too much and we, therefore, founded a “Lancut Organization in Eretz Israel”. Many similar organizations were founded from different small towns and big cities in Poland, with the task of helping and rescuing their “Landsleit” with the help of our official public institutions.

We elected an action committee consisting of seventeen people and all people from Lancut had contributed a one-time larger contribution, everyone “according to his financial ability” and promised to pay a monthly contribution. The organization had already sent clothing and food packages for all the Lancut town people whose addresses were known to us.

And now, we were calling on you brothers of the Lancut people.

It is true we, here, were closer to the trouble because via India and Persia, help to our brother could reach them faster. But you shouldn't distance yourself. You cannot cold bloodily and unconcernedly, stand by when your own brothers and relatives were starving and suffering from the cold weather. “Do not hide from your own flesh”. “Call an urgent meeting, let one brother wake the other to the great mitzvah. It is a big mitzvah!” One shipment of food products for all the Lancut people in Russia would cost 210 pounds. We would get a 50% discount from our national institutions. In order to really help our brothers, we had to send packages twice a month. This, the Lancut people in Eretz Israel could not afford. They were mostly field workers and manual labourers.

Maybe it was not incidental that destiny brought you to the United States, that you should be able to rescue the small remnants of the Lancut brotherhood, who at present, are in far away Siberia. There was the possibility that, God forbid, that the one and only was left of the Lancut Jewry. So let us help them. We here, are doing everything possible and hoped that you too would make a strong effort to enable us to extend a long-lasting help. We, with our best will, would not be able to extend long-lasting help. Therefore, let everyone one of you who survived the bitter destiny that befell our brothers, open his heard and hand and help until no Lancut brother will yearn for a slice of bread and warmth. As long as we hope, we will succeed in pulling them out from there.

Here are the names of the action committee: Rabbi Hurwitz Yaacov, Hertzberg Israel, Dr. Julius Weisman, Dr. Nathan Kudish, David Haar, Chaya Katz, Moshe Milrad, Zalman Jasem, Chaim Kezstecher, Moshe Estlein-Brand, Yitzhak Celner, Shmuel Kezstecher, Peninah Popiol-Margal, Necha Baum-Sauerhaft, Shmuel Greizman, Michael Walzer and Chaim Hebenshtreit.

Year after year, a crowd, the remnants of our shtetl were flowing into the “Bait Hachaluztzot” hall which is located in the noisy Tel-Aviv. Like invisibly hidden from eyesight, they were attracted from far and near to the same meeting place, to be seen again.

In groups, they crowded the threshold of the house, some even blocking every passage which extended to the end of the sidewalk outside. They stood packet tightly and whispered to each other and a torrent of memories would flood them when seeing each other. They talk got louder. The place resembled a beehive.

It was pleasant to pass the group or, to stay a while here and there, to observe, to put an eager listening ear, and from parts of conversation, crossing glimpses, threads were stretched and weaved in images of the past, starting from the cradle, the yard, the street or the market place, Friday nights, holidays, the entire world. An old couple would approach, he with a grey beard wearing a black hat, moving slowly and she, wearing a wig. Veins of my soul tremble, warmth engulfs me, hence I see in them my parents and the entire holy shtetl community.

Bearded fathers, shawl wearing mothers. They did not caress us in public parks nor in the city streets. But we knew the taste of their hugging. In wooden cradles, on fresh straw mattresses, we slept. A sweet baby slumber while their feet would rock us.

And who among us did not enjoy playing with the pins stuck in our mother's wigs, damaging the thin net? The forgiving gaze and patient muttering of lips that taught us from our earliest childhood to recite: “Modeh Ani” and “Shema Israel”, always encouraging our mischievousness.

At present, my eyes glimpse upon many and upon me, the granddaughter of Zisele the scribe, and these glimpses have multi-meanings. A spark of youth light up our eyes, theirs and mine. Together we submerge into a sea of memories.

The image of my father appears wrapped in his Tallith and phylacteries. I see the square box on his head under the edge of his tallith and the black straps stretched on his arm.

How deeply engraved in my memory is the beauty of our ancestors. I am paving my way to the “atheists”, the way it was called by our fathers. According to the concept of our times, today the “Elite Veterans”. Their faces are ploughed with wrinkles from years of toil and war, for existence, have stamped them with the stamp. The country has blurred the signs of the Lancut shtetl and they are different in their appearance because they rebelled the Diaspora many years before the Holocaust began. They yearned for a new life, struggled hard to put down roots and realize their destination, to build and rebuild themselves.

Were they blessed with a special perception of time and emigrate, or had destiny elected them to serve as the emissaries of shtetl?

Here are the alumni of “Poaley Zion”, “Freiheit”, “Hashomer Hatzayir”, the sturdy silky young men from “Mizrachi”, “Hanoar Hazioni”, “Akiva”, members of “Vizo” and daughters of Yaacov.

A welcome reception evening for Eliezer Stempel and his wife Inga (Argentina), Heshayahu Stempel (Jamaica), greeted by Dvora Tuchfeld (Lipschitz)

We are taken over with sadness, looking at the dwindled numbers. Where are the many good-looking and honest brothers and sisters? They too, like we, absorbed the values of the Zionist movement and carried in their soul a yearning for Eretz Israel. They were full of energy and enthusiasm. We remember them when they came to the railroad stations to see us off, the emigrants to Eretz Israel. Their youth was cut-off prematurely, their lives descended into graves.

My search here for my neighbour from our courtyard was in vain. The Jewish courtyard of many happenings, which surrounded with homes in all four corners, stuck to each other like a wall.

It is hard to agree that the pulse has stopped and sadness has taken over our soul. The Sukkah in the courtyard, the lighted candles seen through the cracks, the small windows from the attics and basements and also the solid walls where the bookshelves were built to fit the width of the Talmud tractates. The wide windows with its sills, the gate locked with the iron bolt – this courtyard was broken into, defiled and its occupants were taken away.

One person from a street survived. I observed the survivors of the Holocaust – a dim light in their eyes. Those who went through the travails of the war including the martyrs of my family, my tender sisters with babies in their arms, who did not merit the pain filled years and different metamorphosis they experienced during the Holocaust.

The people of Lancut during a memorial service for the Martyrs Tel-Aviv, Bait Hachalutzot

Memorial service for the martyrs of Lancut From right: Abraham Katz, Joseph Gotesman-Shpiro, Anshel Katz (speaking), Shmuel Greizman, Dr. Nathan Kudish, a cantor, Kalman Tamari (Teitelbaum) and Michael Walzer

The excited crowd who stood earlier on the threshold of the entrance to the hall, is beginning to enter and where they begin to spy, with their eyes after one stormy soul, the one that has woven for years the shape of the city. He was one of the first emigrants from Lancut to Eretz Israel – Misha the dreamer in whose mouth there was love and poetry. When he emigrated, his soul was dedicated to the future, now he carries his soul to the past; he keeps searching everything about the Lancut way of life with all its venues and streams, and brings up whatever possible to rescue from oblivion. And this young man, the alumnus of “Hashoer Hatzayir”, surprisingly, is immersed in the world of Hassidism. He associates with the shtetl with every part of his body. Circles around in homes selfishly and is involved in the holy work with devotion to achieve his goal, because Divinity selected him to be the city's emissary to perpetuate the Holy Lancut Community.

Silence has prevailed in the assembly room. There is a feeling of some secretive trait, like the preparation for a funeral procession. Tears flow, eyes are directed for a second to the black letters on the sign attached to the wall and the lighted memorial candles.

Wrapped in sadness, heads bent down, we are joining with the natives of our shtetl. The sound of the cantor makes the heart tremble, reciting the “El Male Rachamim”. In this atmosphere, the holy souls of our mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, relatives and the rest of our community, are hovering in the vacuum of the hall. The pounding hearts are with the shtetl. Who is listening to the trembling, broken sighs, to the sound of crying, their supplications and hopes of our martyrs, at a time when their hearts were in shock within? Their moaning and whispers were carried to heaven. My heart tells me that our martyrs were holding on to us during their last moments.

We are standing astonished! Why did the wicked hand uproot them and not allow them to enjoy the tree of life? Why haven't we had a chance to help them? Isn't their blood shouting to us? Earth, do not conceal their blood!

The monument in memory of the Lancut Community martyrs in the Holocaust cellar on Mount Zion in Jerusalem.

Silent, I will stand before the monument on which it is written: “An eternal monument in memory of our shtetl Lancut which was destroyed and exists no more.”

The heart trembles and pains, the eyes are a well of tears and no word comes out of my mouth. Human lips are poor to express the depth of pain and sadness. With shivering hands, with a sacred tremble, I am lighting the eternal light in memory of my childhood cradle on foreign land, which was a well of human love, a place of effervescent life, destroyed and silenced forever.

In memory of our dear and devoted parents that were tortured with horrible brutality in a land of a defiled nation, where they returned their souls to the Above in purity and holiness.

In memory of our sisters, the beloved and the pleasant during their lives and inseparable in their death, who drank the poisonous cup to the end and expired somewhere in the death camps, lonely and abandoned.

In memory of our honest, toiling brothers, who led a faultless way of life, gentle souls that were burned alive and their purified soul went up in flames to heaven. And to the memory of our families who perished in the valley of death, the branches of splendour that were cut-off and uprooted from their roots.

Dear people of Lancut! O how you went to the slaughter by the foe!

Our hearts, our hearts are with you, dear and beloved, who can replace you?

We will carry their holy memory with love in our pained hearts and never be forgotten. Let these words be the candle for their souls.

Memorial for the martyrs of the Lancut community in the Holocaust Cellar on Mt. Zion, Jerusalem

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