Page 161

Rabbi Feivel Melamed

Translated by Myra Rothenberg and Melvin Schmier

Feivel Melamed was a handsome Jew with a full yellow beard. But he wasn't seen as a hearty healthy man because he was always hoarse. His big, angry eyes peered out from under his thick bushy eyebrows. His neck was always bound by a kerchief. He didn't make a move without a little stick in his hand. . The cane(stick) was used to give a little whack to someone who wasn't listening or not understanding the lesson in the Talmud. He also used the cane to give himself a little scratch between the shoulder blades, deep down through the collar of his shirt, or to help wipe the smoky lamp glass with a kerchief.

Feivel Melamed was also in the habit of constantly demanding of the rebbetzin- Peniah was her name- a glass of warm tea. And if G-d forbid she forgot and didn't immediately bring the tea, he would cry out to his daughter, Zipporah: where is the tea? What's taking so long, Zippor-AH? And when she finally brought the tea, he grabbed it from her in anger, laid down the stick on the table, scratched his left ear and standing thus with his left foot up on the bench, he drank and listened to what the students were reading in the gemmorah. (Every minute was precious.)

At 1:30 they went to eat lunch. On the way back form lunch, the children brought back with them something to eat between minkha and ma'ariv [the afternoon and evening prayers] - two pieces of bread with schmaltz, or prune jam or herring. There were children who were not embarrassed to bring something cooked in a pot. Only after davenning [praying] minkha and ma'ariv and after eating, did the real learning begin.

A hanging lamp was let down from the ceiling, in the middle of the long table. And the students on both sides of the table began to chant together in harmony at the top of their voices in the traditional religious melody, the parsha from the chumash [portion of the week from the Five Books of Moses] or the lesson from the gemorrah. All this they did without stopping until eight o'clock at night. The students were happy to hear the big old wooden wall clock with its two heavy weights (one of them was bound with an exquisite covering). Clang clang: boom boom, eight times. The religious books were closed, the hanging lamp extinguished, the children put on their jackets, the lanterns were lit and all together they went down the street - home.

It is easy to say "home". But the night was dark, the mud or the snow was deep, (only in winter did they learn at night) and home was very far away. The school was on the Zamlinieh, beyond the mill, and they had to go carefully so that no one would encounter a shagetz [a non-Jew] or the crazy one, "Heniele". Their greatest dread was going past the Polish Cloister. They stayed close together, and crept as though blind. They were afraid to lift their eyes up to give a look there, where the devils and "the no-good ones" played inside, the whole night.  But as if to spite us, our eyes were drawn there, as if by a magic spell.  Little by little we finally arrived at the right path, not far from where Mother sat and warmed up dinner.

With Feivel Melamed students learned three or four terms until they could learn for themselves in the Beit Midrash, that is, until they became Beit Midrash bokhers [young men].

When Feivel Melamed died, he was accorded the greatest of honors.  He was carried to the mikvah, washed with the water, and as it is said, it was as though he had immersed himself. The Hevrah Kedisha (burial society) quickly performed his rites. Purified, they wrapped him in his shrouds, put on his tallis and laid him in a coffin. Six of his closest friends from the Stretiner Hasidim carried him on their shoulders into the little shul and there they marched with him around the Bimah carrying the Torah scrolls in procession and said the prayer,“Ma'avar Yabbok”** [Yabbok Pass. This is a pass across the River Jordan, mentioned in the story of Jacob preparing to meet his brother Essau, Genesis 32 Verse 23]. The rabbi delivered the eulogy and the whole town, Belzer and Stretiner Hasidim alike, followed the procession all the way to the cemetery. Almost every one of his students stood by the grave and each one sprinkled a little bit of earth on the coffin , while shedding a tear.

For a long time after that, the children couldn't stop telling the story of Rabbi Feivel Melamed's death. They spent a lot of tearful and sleepless nights.

** [Editor Note: “Maavar Yabok” is the place where Jacob's family crossed the Jordan River to visit his brother Esau (Genesis 32:23). It is also where Jacob struggled with the angel and where his name was changed from Jacob to Israel when he prevailed. He fought with the angel for his very life, as we all do at one time or another.

There was a book written in Hebrew by the name of “Maavar Yabok” in the year 5386 (1625) in Montova, Italy, by Aharon Brachia son of Rav Moshe of Modna. "Maavar Yabok" is a collection of mitzvahs related to 'bikur holim' (visiting the sick), all that one must do for a sick person while he is incapacitated, and everything having to do with the dead until burial. In other words, the mitzvahs we are required to perform while a person is struggling with the angel and until he is laid to rest.]

Page 163 (Yiddish)

The Teachers of our Shtetl during the years 1900-1920

by Abraham Fischer (New York)

Translated by Myra Rothenberg and Melvin Schmier

Moshe Leib (teacher of young children)
Berl Spritzer (teacher of young children)
Eli Moshe (died in 1903)
Chune Meyer (Boontz)
Yossel Haber (Yossel Borsht)
Yehuda Haber (Yuda Melamed)
Reb Feivel (Fovil) Schmier (teacher of gamorrah and tosafot for adults)
Reb Yecheskel Auerbach (Chaskale Melamed, teacher of gamorrah and tosafot for adults)
Reb Zalke Kessler (Zalke Melamed, teacher of gamorrah and tosafot for adults)
Chana's Leibish (at the end of his days, he went to the land of Israel, so he could be buried there)
Chana's Dovid (teacher in Talmud Torah)
The Hivniver Melamed (teacher from Hivnov)
Nathaniel (Sani) Melamed (brother-in-law of Feivel Melamed)
Ephraim Fischer (Froyim Melamed)
Ezra's Uri
Pineli Lineal's son-in-law (who considered himself a modern teacher)
Naftali Altman
Shlomo Roth (From Romanov)
Moshe Kutzen (teacher during World War One)
Nachum Katz (Nacum Mazer)
Mordechai Yossel (loived in America and returned)
The Short Beard

The Rabbi's personal assistants (shammeses or sextons) in shul, in the house of study, in small shuls and other organizations where studying could be conducted

Dovid Plager (Dudi Shames) The chief sexton in shul
Shmuel Yuzip Brandwein, the second sexton in shul
Chaim-Abbale, sexton in the Beit Midrash (house of religious study)
Yisroel Shames, Chaim-Abbale's son
Hersh Melech Kroithammer, shames in the little shul. He announced the new moon, on the Sabbath when the blessings for the new month were said.
Channa's Dovid, shammes at the "association".
Yitzak Pepitz, shammes in the Shtortkever shul. (Besides, he proved his luck in business. Each year he bought garlic and kept it so it would increase in value; but he always kept it too long and ended up losing money because eventually he had to throw it out.)
Meier Danziker, shamash in the Belzer shul.

Ritual Slaughterers (Shochets) of Boiberke

Rav Hershel Shochet
Rav Moshe Nass- (Moshe Shochet)
Rav Michel Shochet- (Hershel's son)
Rav Kalmen Shochet- (Rav Michel's son)
He was dismissed however, from the practice of ritual slaughtering - because of "an incident"
Rav Moshe Avram Mehl- (Moshe Avram Shochet)
Rav Shloime Peltz- (Shloime Shochet)
Rav Aron Fruchter- (Moshe Shochet's son-in-law)
Rav Avramtzi Shochet, (Moshe's Shochet's son)

A special part of the ritual slaughtering was the right to take a piece of lung and a piece of kishke from the slaughtered beasts. Two months of the year, Teveth and Shevet (approx. December & January), they had a right to take leg from every slaughtered goose.

Page 171 - Yiddish

Baking Matzohs at Rabbi Avraham Breitfeld's House

by Dvora Rauch-Breitfeld

Translated by Regina Russak

My sister Hinde's friends and also my friends, whom we invited a week ago, started gathering, white kerchiefs on their heads and wearing well ironed only-for-Passover aprons.

The water carrier form our street, Chaim (the gravedigger's son), had koshered the pails especially for the occasion. All dressed up in holiday clothes, he came over very early. It wasn't for everybody that Chaim agreed to carry water. For us he had a special feeling and felt a spiritual uplifting. Actually, he hoped that one of the two daughters in Reb Abraham Hirsh Mayers's household, would be his wife. First of all, we had the well in our yard. Second, our home had a tin roof (a very great attribute in a small town). And third, our father was the sexton in the big shul. And if Avraham Breitfeld will not give him one of his daughters, surely he could find a wife amongst the many girls who are rolling out the matzohs.

The roller of the wheel (the matzoh piercing wheel), through whose hands the matzohs passed, the head of the household, was my father Reb Avraham Breitfeld, may he rest in peace. There was one craftsman still missing who played a very important role in matzoh baking, known as the “pusher” (he pushed the matzohs into the oven with a wooden shovel). It so happens at that time, a student from Boiberke, Feivel Shleider (now Dr. Shraga F. Kallay) came home for Passover from his studies in Rome, Italy. This guest was a daily visitor in our house and my father immediately designated him the “pusher”. And so we began to work.

The girls started banging with their rolling pins, there was a cheerful atmosphere in the house, we sang songs form the “Hashomer Hatzair” because all the co-workers belonged the youth movement and Chaim the water carrier was very happy and had a big smile spread all over his face.

My father took over the piercing with the wheel and studies which is the perfectly round matzoh, and finds out that his daughter Hinde rolls out a perfectly round matzoh, as if it were cut out with a circle, and he shows the other girls how to roll out a matzoh.

The pusher of the matzoh was hot and red-faced and his shovel ends up touching the pretty Yetke Gottlieb. “Help”, yells my father noticing this. “You bandit, you will contaminate my matzoh “(G-d forbid!). The crowd is smiling and the beautiful Yetke blushes a little. The day was gone before we realized it. There were a whole lot of matzohs baked.

My father thought of all his relatives and matzohs that had been baked for them. Then, close to the end, we drank a toast “l'chaim”, and we wished each other the privilege to bake matzohs again for years to come in the Land of Israel.

Pages 175-177 (Yiddish)

Childhood Years in Buberika

Translated from the Yiddish by Fanny Pere

Strangely, even today they still ring in the ears, and one is tempted, on hearing all of this, to burst into uncontrollable laughter. But afterwards, you will gnash your teeth for what is so really serious and tearful, upon realizing that your happy and carefree childhood years are gone.

But, that is how things were, and maybe it was all fated to be that way. Perhaps it was all worthwhile, in order to lay down healthy foundations of Yiddishkeit and to gain the strength to withstand our bitter exile, until now.

Nursery School Today and Beginner's Cheder of Yesteryear

Then, if they finally find such a place, and the blessed day arrives, the child is clothed with the nicest and best new clothes, hat, new shoes, perhaps even a furry coat. His food is packed with the nicest apple, banana, and also a little sandwich. The father excitingly seats him in his car and drives him directly to the kindergarten. He says goodbye with a kiss, asks the teacher to make sure that he eats all of his lunch. For a long time, the father stands behind the door, looking in to see how his sweet boy is feeling in his new environment.

The child really enjoys it all. There is singing, dancing, playing, listening to music, hearing the nice stories read by the teacher. Finally, the children are seated around a clean table to eat. Soon after eating, the father returns with his car, inquires as to how his child has adjusted, and brings him home to his mother joyfully. Well, the child has survived the couple of hours without her. This is how it goes, on and on.

But, in the old times it was quite different. Instead of nursery school, there was a cheder, with a strict teacher for beginners. When the first day of cheder finally arrives, the mother stands a little freer in spirit than usual, and starts getting busy with you. She pours a little water from a pitcher on your little hands, puts the yarmulke on your head, says a little prayer of thanks (Modeh Ani and Asher Yatzar). She washes your face, gives you something to eat, dresses you warmly, wipes your nose, and awaits the person who carries little ones to cheder. He comes in, puts you down on the bench, intones a couple of “barachas” with you – some in the holy tongue and some in Yiddish – then puts you on his shoulders and carries you right into the cheder.

The Beginner's Cheder

Sitting at the head of a long table is the rabbi, with a stick in one hand and a pointer in the other. Near him, on the side, sits a crying child, who is looking deeply into a yellowed, tobacco-stained thick siddur in which the enlarged letters of the Aleph Bet stand out. From a small, wooden pushka the rabbi every now and then takes out a little tobacco between his fingers and stuffs it into his nostrils. The droppings of the tobacco fall down onto his heavy whiskers. His long white beard is almost always shaking. His sharp eyes dart here and there, and he hollers at a child who is fighting with another not far from him. With his large pointer he gives the child a jab every now and then. A child sits crying near him, and he orders him to look carefully at what the rabbi is showing him in the siddur: “Look, you little Goy, look good, good. Do you see what an aleph is? A crooked little stick with two little feet, one on top and one from the bottom. Say it after me – aleph, aleph, aleph. And what do you see under the aleph? A little line, in the middle of which is a little foot. This is a kametz and together it makes aleph aw.” A whole row of children on the bench learn this way – kametz aleph aw, aw, aw.

In the midst of the lesson, the children's carrier barges into the cheder. He is a tall, skinny boy, with peyot askew, the collar of his shirt open, wearing filthy boots, his skullcap displaced. He carries two heavy, long baskets. A hot vapor erupts from them. Inside are pots of food for the children. The rebbetzen calls the rabbi to come into the kitchen, so he should also grab something to eat. The children seat themselves on the bench and on the floor. The carrier starts dishing out to each one his pot of food with a spoon inside.

The noise becomes a little quieter. Altogether is heard the shouting of the baracha by the children and the carrier, thanking God for the food. The carrier tells them, “Eat, children, eat.”

Soon the rabbi is coming back and the carrier hollers to the children to eat faster. The rabbi comes back, hasn't ended his prayers, murmuring them between his teeth, and quoting, “A youth I was and I have gotten old.” He shakes out the pieces of noodles that have fallen from his beard, wipes the potato grits from his mustache, seats himself down again at the head of the table, takes his stick and marker into his hands, and starts again with one child, with a second, with the third – kametz aleph – aw, aw, aw.

We learn, we groan, we cry into the dark evening, as he says then, “Dear children, go home.” And the carrier carries those that need to be carried on his shoulders, and the rest – the bigger boys – walk home alone.

This is how it is, day in and day out, with serious little faces – out of the house into cheder, from cheder to home again. But, the dirty faces become happier as they go home. Between the cheder and going home, the carrier carries them and they all say the Shema together.

Sometimes, a break. Toned down, though still noisy, the children go quickly until they come to a special, blessed house where there is a newborn baby. Happily and loudly, the children push their way into this house, where the new mother lies covered with a sheet. On the walls and on the sheet are glued congratulatory letters for new mothers and blessings written in large letters. Shouting loudly – good evening, mazel tov – the children repeat the blessings of the carrier.

A woman with a fine apron starts portioning out little pieces of lekach (honeycake) and a drop of Vishnik for the lips. Happy and satisfied, the little children run home. But this exceptional enjoyment doesn't happen every day.

And the lessons in the cheder go on and on. One boy goes away and the second squeezes in. In the meantime, the learning becomes more difficult, not only Hebrew letters of the alphabet do we learn, but also whole words translated from Hebrew to Yiddish and trope. Fear grows from the long words and the trope and the stick that grows longer each time. And this is how a little boy sits for so long, until with good luck, he becomes a choomish bucher. From the translations alone, you had to get up from time to time to stretch until the next parsha. But, soon things become smoother and you end this reciting of the parsha happily with a blessing from the rabbi.

You drink l'chaim and nibble on food – and are rid of it. But the heavy learning starts with you only a day later. You start with the choomish, really from the beginning, choomish with Rashi with all the meaning – those that are found with difficulty and those that the rabbi tells you by heart. Translation from the forefathers, the Exodus from Egypt, receiving the Torah, the Golden Calf that Aaron made – you become one with the generation of 40 years in the desert until you reach Eretz Israel. And you learn this over a span of six years, hating it like the Goyish Cross that stands before your eyes every day, and you must bear it. And so you must torture yourself for six years until you become a Bar Mitzvah.

A Bar Mitzvah Boy

Today, if you want to become a Bar Mitzvah, it is enough for the Bar Mitzvah boy to make a visit to the synagogue once or twice, allow himself to be called to the Torah, say the blessings of the Haftorah with the tune he has learned through suffering and that has sadly cost his parents not a small amount of money. In the true Bar Mitzvah, it is not worthwhile to outlay so much money to say the Haftorah one time and to learn how to use the phylacteries. However, for today's Bar Mitzvah boy it is really worth it – a little work and lots of gain.

In these times, the parents make a great celebration in his honor – it is called a party. They invite many, many people. You are given a nice present from each guest. You simply become rich with money and gifts. Yes, you must also have something to say at the party – a speech, the speech you have been taught to say by heart – but all of this is well worthwhile for you. Sadly, though, it has cost them the real equivalent of a dowry or a wedding. Many parents are put into debt but this is the pattern of what parents do as of today. This is all today.

But in those other times, it was quite different. First of all, the Bar Mitzvah boy suffered long months, learning all kinds of laws of the Talmud, using the phylacteries (teffilin), the laws of prayer, laws of blessings, rituals of cleanliness (immersion in the mikvah for the purifications of the body, and other little laws without end), not to forget half of the Shulchan Aruch (laws governing the life of an Orthodox Jew). The tefillin procedure had a face of its own like real, true teffilin – large as a large apple, enough room for four sets of teffilin. The Shin was boldly seen. The leather bands were wide, strong, and black, and inscribed upon them by a genuinely religious writer (written according to the laws of writing prayers), not like today – teffilin are fabricated and small as nuts.

The day of the Bar Mitzvah, the father would awaken you at daybreak and lead you to the mikvah for dipping into the waters of it (the father had previously requested the mikvah be properly cleansed). Then he takes you to the House of Study, and you walk with the velvety tefillin case under your arm. You are honored with liquor and honey cake, not more. And they put you into a corner and request that you say the necessary prayers without any mistakes. You roll up the sleeve of your left arm, say the prayer while putting on the tefillin. You kiss them here and there and prove that they are in the right place – against the heart and against the forehead – entwine the fringe on your finger, and you stand and daven with the minyan, word by word. One must not make any mistakes. You stand like a bent fool and can't move. If it is Monday or Thursday, they call you to daven also on Saturday. The father blesses you after you are called up to the Torah with a blessing of your new status (probably “blessed that I have done my duty, now you are on your own.”) From now he sheds responsibility for your sins, from today you also carry the entire yoke of being Jewish like all grown Jews. Getting up at daylight for a minyan, fasting for whatever written reasons, must not do any sinning, not carry anything on Shabbat, not go outside the limits, not do childish things. You are already a complete Jew! If not, they will torment you in the next world. For you alone, the Bar Mitzvah boy, life has become a little more difficult. Not a single gift do you receive, only a heavy yoke is put upon you, a yoke of 613 mitzvot – a yoke taken away from your father and it hardly cost him anything. Yet you have gained a little something from this experience – a little “cuvid” (respect). You can fill in for a minyan, if needed, and you already can read at Purim the Magillah for the women, and can even possibly earn a couple groshen. Together with this, you, in the meantime, become a Gemorah bucher, given more respect. Until now you had only a smattering of portions of the Gemorah. Yes, now you are given a bigger portion to recite, almost a whole page of Gemorah, and with it a piece of additional prayer. No more less important readings. Whether you understand or not, nobody says anything. And you must know all this because after his Saturday meal, the Rabbi comes to your house to listen to you daven. You no longer are learning from the “yiddele teacher” but by Fivel, the real learned teacher. If this doesn't satisfy Fivel the Melamid, he gives you over to someone else to teach you more about additional prayers, rules of trope, or intricacies of slaughter. He has aspirations to make a rav out of you, or at least a tutor.

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