[Page 152]

It was the time of the British Mandate in the land of Israel. The aliya restrictions imposed by the Mandatory Government were at their height, and the national institutions in the land attempted all types of means and tactics to circumvent the decrees and bring Jews to the Land. One tactic was arranging fictitious weddings between citizens of Palestine and girls from the Diaspora. In brief, we referred to these as “fictions.” I was also obligated to fulfill the commandment of a “fiction.” I received money for the trip and was supposed to bring a girl from Maciejów after I would “get married” to her. This was a golden opportunity to visit my family and the town that I had left in 1929. I do not feel obliged to describe my feelings about this upcoming trip, especially as I approached Ratno.

When I arrived in Kowel, I met two girls from Ratno who were studying in Kowel. I asked them to inform people in Ratno about my arrival, for I knew that the entire town, that is -- the Jews of the town, would come to meet me at the bus station. I deliberately got off next to Marsyk's house and walked to my home in a roundabout fashion. However, Shachna, the owner of the bus upon which I was traveling, did not keep a secret, and told people that I had got off the bus near Marsyk's house. This caused crowds of Jews to congregate at the house. I was not able to have time alone with my sister and family, for many Jews streamed to the house. The joy and emotions overflowed. The meetings in various houses, in the chapters of “Hechalutz” and “Hashomer Hatzair” and the many parties in my honor began the next day. I did not tire of speaking, and they did not tire of listening. They wanted to know everything that happened to me in the Land, with details and minutiae. I had the feeling of being on a mission. I was one of the pioneers who had traveled to the Land of Israel from Ratno. I was bound to the townsfolk with thousands of strands, and I felt like an emissary. What did I not tell them about? I did not hide any thing, even small matters. I told about my first three years in Givat Hashelosha, about my work in the Dead Sea Brigade, and about our valuable work on the Kalia-Jericho Road, about our hikes from Givat Hashelosha to Kfar Giladi, about my visit to the Western Wall in Jerusalem, about the notes that I removed with great curiosity from the walls of the Western Wall to find out what Jews were requesting from the Creator of the World, about my work in digging wells, about the building of a new settlement -- Kfar Sirkin, about my roles in defending the settlement during the disturbances of 1936, about my work with defective buildings, etc., etc. I saw that my listeners were drinking up my words with thirst. I saw tears in the eyes of some of them, and if my memory does not mislead me, my eyes were also not dry as I was telling and telling. I remember that many people

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asked to see my hands -- the hands of an Israeli worker -- to see if there were any calluses on them or perhaps just to see what the hands of a worker in the Land look like. Even the Ukrainian residents of Ratno who remembered me well did not take their eyes off of me. They looked with awe upon the grandson of the merchant Liber Kirsch who had become a farmer in the Holy Land. I told them as well about my work in the orchards, about my various attempts at agriculture, and about the differences between the work from here and there. They would wink their eyes and express astonishment. (Who could imagine that within a few years, many of them would become involved in the murder of Jews?)

{Photo page 153: Chanuka party with the participation of a guest from the Land of Israel -- M. Gefen. 1936.}

My visit to the home of David-Aharon Shapiro is etched in my mind. As is appropriate for an honorable guest such as myself, refreshments were offered, and, among other things, oranges were served. They was not, Heaven forbid, whole oranges, but rather orange slices. Only a wealthy Jew such as Shapiro would have allowed himself to purchase oranges. When the orange slices were served, I took the opportunity to tell them how we grow oranges in the Land, and how we eat oranges (entire ones, not slices). Among other things I told them that I worked as a harvester in an orchard during my first years in the Land, and my job was to transport the fruit on a plank that contained four crates of freshly harvested fruit. Along the way to the packing plant, my friend who was my partner with the plank and I would take oranges from the crates, cut them into four pieces with a pocketknife, squeeze the juice directly into our mouths, and bury the peel in the ground. Once, the orchard keeper noticed that we were delayed in arriving at the packing plant. He came out to meet us and caught us in the act of burying the peel of the fruit that we ate. He shouted in Hebrew, “Gefen, don't bury the peels. This wastes time. Leave them as is.” I told them that after this event, we continued

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to squeeze the juice directly into our mouths, but we did not bury the peel because it would be a waste of time... Everyone laughed at this story.

Despite the fact that my task for this visit was the “fiction,” that is, to marry the girl from Maciejów, I felt the need to explain to the youth and adults, anywhere that I found myself, what was taking place in the Land, what was the purpose of the struggle that we were undertaking, what was the character of the youth who grew up in the Land. In one word: I saw myself as an official emissary for all matters.

The three months that I remained in Ratno were like a “seminar” for me. I learned about the realities and conditions of the Jews in Poland, as was revealed to me. The economic situation had declined since the time I left Poland due to the taxes of Grabski that sucked the marrow from the bones of the Jews, decrees and oppressions that renewed themselves each morning, and worst of all -- the lack of prospects of a better life in the future. The pioneering movement was also in the straits. The lack of certificates lead to a situation where many youths had already gone on hachsharah or were still on hachsharah kibbutzim, but had given up hope completely and did not believe in the possibility of aliya to the Land. It was therefore natural that many of them immigrated to America, Canada, Argentina, and other countries with the help of their relatives who had previously immigrated to those countries. For all the time that I was there, I had the thought that it was all sitting on nothing, that there was no foundation or purpose for Jewish life there, and who knew what would happen there. I was particularly troubled about the youths who were fluent in the Hebrew Language, had received a Zionist education at the Tarbut School or through the youth groups, and who now found themselves in a downtrodden and oppressive situation without any possibility at all of actualizing their hopes and dreams.

In the eyes of my spirit, I can see my farewell to the Jews of Ratno. Their eyes said everything, as if they were pleading with me to take them to the Land. How different was this departure from my departure when I made aliya in 1929. At that time, many of them expressed their surprise at such a radical step: to travel to the Land during the time of pogroms (the disturbances of Av 5689 / 1929). It appeared as if they were nodding their heads in astonishment regarding Mottel Weinstock^[1], who was leaving a family and a stable economic situation to endanger himself with this journey.

At this time -- tears flowed from the eyes of many; but those were tears of jealousy because I had merited what I had merited.

I could not have realized that this would be the final farewell.

Translator's Footnote

1. Mordechai Gefen is the Hebraised version of Mottel Weinstock. Return

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