At school

I don't remember almost anything of my childhood, as if it hadn't existed at all. It seems that my life skipped the period of childish mischievousness, games and children's amusements, and I had gone directly into the world of youth.

In our city there was no Jewish school. A small portion of the Jewish youth studied in the Jewish school in the nearby city – in Będzin. I, like most of the Jewish youth in the city, attended a Polish school. Amongst the fifty students in the class we were three Jews. In the higher classes of the public school, the Jewish students stood out as the best students. Celebrations were organized in the school for the parents on any date related to a national event in Polish history, such as: the 11^th of November and the 3^rd of May. The students had to prepare lectures on a topical subject and the best were selected by the teacher to be heard at a public celebration. My school friend, Moniek Neufeld and I, submitted the best work of all the children in the class and, for a change, both of us were selected to talk in front of an assembly of teachers, parents and students at a national celebration. The principal of the school once came into our class and preached morals in approximately this language: “I had hoped to hear a lecture on Polish heroes who fought gallantly against foreign invaders – from a Polish child, and here, a number of times a Jewish youth has stood before the assembly of three hundred Poles and lectured in front of them in good taste, with enthusiasm and fundamental knowledge of the historical theme and the Polish language – a chapter in our history, as if it was the history of his people. I am proud of the Jewish students who have learned Polish history and language, but I demand from the Polish children: You are to excel in these subjects!”



Livelihood

For most of the years we lived in the Reden colony, on the 1^st of May Street, opposite the “Bet Midrash” [house of religious learning]. We had a coffee shop. Amongst our clients there were Jews and also Christian Poles. For Purim, Simchat Torah and so on we supplied drinks to most of the synagogues and “shtiblech” [a shtibel is a familiar community synagogue].

The coffee shop was filled with Poles during the week, who sat for hours and hours over a cup of drink and a dessert. Two days a month were difficult and filled with tension, and they were: in the middle of the month and at the end of it. These were days that the industrial workers, the factory and the coal workers received their wages. Most of workers were simple people and their twice-weekly [should be monthly] wage they squandered, for the most part as they received it, on food and gluttony. The city streets were filled with drunks who rolled in muck and mud, whilst screaming, squabbling and fighting. In our coffee shop, as well, quarrels between clients broke out, when the heavy drinking began to take effect. Sometimes I witnessed drunken rioting in our shop, whilst bottles, glasses and furniture were broken, with bodily injuries, till we were compelled to call in the police. The drunks usually didn't harm my parents, however, it did occur that my father mistakenly received punches whilst trying to come in between the quarrellers.

Nachum Granatman Chairman of the “Bund” party in Dąbrowa

On those days I was very sad and filled with bitterness. After the physical suffering of tension, anxiety and apprehension from the drunks, for fear that they'd harm us – came the mental turmoil that our livelihood was earned whilst our self-dignity suffered humiliation.


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I was only comforted by the thought that a day would come and we would leave this Diaspora and its livelihood and we would reach the Land of Israel. Together with this I felt superiority, when I compared our celebrations to their celebrations; we brought a great deal of drinks to the synagogues on Purim and Simchat Torah, and as the joy in the synagogues began to be influenced by the drinks – the Chassidim broke out in song and dance and drew the whole congregation in with them, the young the old. Some of the congregation also jumped on a bench and began singing a well-known tune and in rhymes and the congregation sang the reprise. This was the joy of raised spirits and, by the way, they also iterated the words of the Torah. On the other hand the Gentiles – when they drank – they became inebriated, rowdy and profane.

B. Lenczner's announcement about the relocation of his kosher restaurant “Tel Aviv” from 3 of May Street to Sobieskiego Street

In the last years before the Second World War we moved to a more “aristocratic” area and opened a restaurant and sausage shop on the 3^rd of May Street. Here the customers were only Jewish. In the afternoons, I happily followed the activities of the youths, who frequented our shop on their way to Zionist youth movement activities that were centered around that area. In the late evening hours the movement counsellors would meet in our shop with their “shlichim” [emissaries] from the central movement or from the Land of Israel, who came to visit the branches in order to organize various activities. My parents were filled with joy seeing how our restaurant became a meeting place of the elite Jewish youth, with national aspirations. They gave the restaurant the name “Tel Aviv”, in order to signify our spiritual relationship with the land of Israel.



Synagogue – Bet Midrash

During the same years in which lived in the Reden colony, we prayed in the central synagogue on the 1^st of May Street, that was filled and brimming with worshippers three times a day during the week. In the morning they began praying at sunrise. For most of the day Jews sat in the “Bet Midrash” and studied. In the evening, when the “Mincha” and “Ma'ariv” prayers approached, the synagogue was once again filled with worshippers. Between the “Mincha” and “Ma'ariv” prayers the congregation split up into two groups: one – said psalms with their cantor, and they were the majority, and the second – individuals, continued reading through the “Gemara” by long tables. After the evening prayer they remained bending over the many books of learning for an extended period, in groups and individually.

Most of the public actively participated in community life and responded vigilantly to the community leaders. More than once I heard heated arguments amongst the customers, regarding who should be honored as the “Chatan Torah” [person called up to the reading of last portion of the Torah on “Simchat Torah”] and who deserves the “Chatan Bereshit” [person called up to the reading of the Torah on “Simchat Torah”] Or on the eve of “Simchat Torah” – who should be honored with the “Achat Hareot” prayer. There were also vocal arguments about “aliyot” [going up] to the Torah readings. These worshippers left a lasting impression on me with their delightful prayers on Saturdays and holidays and I remember Icchak Oks z”l, Alboim and Lemkowicz who passed in front of the ark during the “Shacharit” [morning] prayers with lively melodies and with the congregation participating in singing the chanted sections; also Rabbi Jakob-Tuvia Kozoch, who usually sang the “Mosaf” [additional] prayers in a low, serious and resonant voice. In particular, the “Mosaf” prayers during the “Yamim Hanoraim” [intermediate days between “Rosh Hashana” and “Yom Kippur”] of Rabbi Szalom Judkewicz left an indelible impression on me. Even today I am full of respect and reverence for this dear man who provided me with hours of spiritual uplifting that came from the heart and rose up to the heavens.


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His sons dressed in black silk clothes assisted him, the traditional dress of Chassidic Jews. He immediately conquered me with his “Hinneni Hani Mamash” prayer, the prayer of the cantor before the “Mosaf” prayers. Quivering and in trepidation, he begged the G-d of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob that He speed the way give mercy to the Jews. In a quiet voice, filled with lament and supplication he requested from G-d:

and gradually his pleading voice grew stronger:

The voices of the sons merged well with the father's supplications, and together they created a pleasant blend of voices, that was a cry from the depth of the heart:

“May every problem and evil be exchanged
for joy and happiness, life and true peace”

Our grandfather, Reb Zacharija Granatman, who prayed in the Radomsk “shtibel”, had a “claim” on the “Shacharit” prayers during the “Yamim Hanoraim”. The grandchildren helped him with the prayers and grandfather's preparations before the “Yamim Hanoraim” prayers, had an affect on us from the beginning of the month of Elul. The Chassidic congregation was very pleased with his prayers. Grandfather received many bravos for his delightful praying, and we were pleased with him and saw ourselves as part of his success.



In the family

We were six brothers in our home: Aaron-Icchak, Chajm-Lejb, Herszko-Naftali, Josef, Izik and Dawid. The two young brothers were killed in Auschwitz together with Mother. The parents paid a deal of attention to bringing up the sons, and did not spare labor or financial means to provide us with a general education and religious study.

Father – Jakob son of Aaron Icchak Lenczner
Mother – Brajndl daughter of Zacharija Granatman

Mother – despite the fact that she was always busy at home and in the shop – took care of our every need and took interest in every detail of our lives. If on every weekday both of them were immersed and occupied in the onus of a livelihood, running frightened from the drunks' disruption, and full of fear that the frightening scenes that the children witnessed in the shop would harm our youthful innocence and purity – when Shabbat came a new world opened for them, a world of tranquility and joy. On the Shabbat evening, on coming home from synagogue, a tastefully arranged table awaited us and the lighted candles gave a festive feeling. Mother received us at the door with a face shining with pleasure. In reply to our joyous “Shabbat Szalom”, she placed a warm kiss on every one of our faces. Father immediately stood at the head of the table and began singing “Shalom Aleichem Malachei Hasharat” [Welcome ministering angels] and each of us participated in welcoming the ministering angels and the other Shabbat songs. Over the faces of Father and Mother floated a smile of joy and thanks for the greatest gift given by G-d, called the Shabbat, in which there is no worry about livelihood or fear from drunks.

On Shabbat evenings, during the wintertime, I sat with my mother till late and read from the Good Book, stories from the sermons of the Torah sages. Mother was very sorry that she hadn't undertaken religious studies, and the bible was closed and sealed for her, (her parents did not value religious studies for a girl). I felt a pleasant duty to provide her with a few hours of contentment in opening a small access to our past riches. My mother was very shocked by the selling of Joseph episode, and stressed that the brotherly hatred to Joseph was a result of envy of the fact that Jacob loved him more than the other sons. Indeed, my mother was careful to show the same bond of love to all of us. Tears ran from her eyes, when I read the torturous and hellish path that Joseph underwent with the people of Ishmael on his way to Egypt.

On one long Shabbat evening, after the meal, Uncle Nachum Granatman (my mother's brother) visited us. He was the chairman of the “Bund” in the city, a very educated man. A lively discussion began on the state of the Jews in Poland. My older brother, Iccak, belonged to the “Hashomer Hatzair” [“Young Guard”] movement, Chaim-Lejb – to the Zionist youth movement, and Josef and myself – to the “Hashomer Hadati” [“Religious Guard”] movement. At almost every opportunity that we sat together, lively arguments took place on the importance of each movement and the type of government that should be established in the Land of Israel. Our parents became used to these conflicts of ideas and once in a while were forced to calm the stormy spirit of their sons, calming us by noting that firstly one needed to reach the land of our forefathers and after that to argue about the type of administration. This time the argument became extremely heated being influenced by the extreme opinions spoken by our uncle. In his opinion we needed to fight for an honest and just regime wherever we were situated. The Jewish worker was obligated to fight a struggle for survival wherever he was. Uncle Nachum negated our long-awaited aspiration of reaching Israel; the Land of Israel had no special meaning and its main task was, in his opinion, to organize thousands of Jewish workers into the framework of various trade organizations, and through them to strive for a fair existence for the Jewish worker.


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This time all the brothers were united in their vigorous opposition to his opinions and set out on an overwhelming attack against the “Bund”: How was it possible to agree to the opinion, that there was no Jewish nation in the world? That only the working class was vital and the most important? Each of us fervently expressed our viewpoints – the viewpoint of each of our youth movements, on the timeless desire of a people dispersed throughout the world to go up to the Land of Israel, and re-establish a national homeland, to learn the Hebrew language, learn the glorious past of the nation and continue the customs of generations. Very excitedly each of us expressed our opinion and the argument became more and more heated, till Mother stopped us by saying: “Today is Shabbat, why squabble? You know so well how we eagerly look forward for the Shabbat to come. You know that is it written in the holy books, that two angels come to us on Shabbat: one good and one evil. When they come into our apartment and see the table laid out, Shabbat candles lit, tranquility and joy dominate the home, the good angel would say: “May it be His will that the next Shabbat will be like this”, and the evil angel reluctantly replies “Amen”. If, G-d forbid, it is different – the evil angel says his “May it be His will” and the good angel reluctantly replies “Amen”. Do you want to drive off the Shabbat from our home? Thus the argument ceased.


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Dąbrowa of my childhood is engraved in my imagination. When I was just a small boy, in our hut in the village of Piotrkowice situated near the Austrian border in Miechów Powiat [county], I would hear talk about Dąbrowa. The peasants would talk about Dąbrowa when they would come into our canteen. Dąbrowa, it turns out, was a new world for them, with a different non-rural way of life. Those who wandered away, leaving the village and going to Dąbrowa, we called “Dąbrowniakes.” And to this day Dąbrowa remains foggy in my memory. I knew the town less well than Będzin or Sosnowiec. We called the area “Zagłębie Dąbrowski,” which added a special dimension, not of the surface, but of the viscera of the earth and of everything under the earth.

Although there were some rich farmers in the village who lived an honorable life, and also a remnant of a princely estate, most of the population was poor, owning small pieces of property that yielded insufficient livelihoods. The black coalmines of Dąbrowa, instead of the green fields and lawns, captured people's thoughts. New sources of income were opening up – also for Jews. I remember still some of the ”Dąbrowniakes” who had the courage to tear themselves away from their poor village homes. At first just the men. And afterwards, the whole family. With time, we, the single Jewish family in the village, also became “Dąbrowniakes.” But that is another story.

I used to listen to the letters that the “Dąbrowniakes” wrote to their families back in the village. The wives brought the letters to my mother, may the Lord avenge her blood, so that she would read them aloud and write replies. Hearing about the various concerns, the hard labor in the coal mines, and the longing for home in the village, my childish fantasies created an idea of a different world, a world that was actually under the earth, where people tear coal out of the depths, facing mortal danger, for which they receive a ruble as a reward for their labors. On a holiday, or during the summer, one of these workers would come to the village. It would also happen that a worker would return enlightened, telling various stories about strikes and strikers in the coalmines and in the iron foundries. A new world started to wake up and take hold, with its fears and hopes. This also affected us, the only Jewish house in the village. My two older brothers, Hercke and Fajwel, also left the village, but not for Dąbrowa. Hercke, may the Lord avenge his blood, left for Będzin, and Fajwel z”l, the younger one, went to Sosnowiec. When my brother Hercke, who had sympathy for the Achdut [unity] Society, would come to the village for a visit, he would keep the peasants up until late at night, enlightening them; I listened too. They were not only in the coalmines. The peasants considered becoming “Dąbrowniakes.” My family also followed in their footsteps. In 1910 we all left and settled in Sosnowiec. In our village we were thought to be “Dabrowniakes,” although Jews from Będzin and Sosnowiec were engraved more in my memory. Remembrances of Dąbrowa, although cloudy, are always in my mind.


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And whenever I visited Dąbrowa, it looked to me like I always imagined it in my village of Piotrkowice during my early childhood.

Coal dust, brick houses, which were once reddish, houses that stand on excavated earth. Also the Jews in Dąbrowa looked different from the Jews in Będzin, Sosnowiec, and the surrounding towns. An earnestness was poured in their faces, the burden of work lay on their backs, worries took over their gazes.

Yet, in those years of the First World War, in Dąbrowa too, there began to develop an intensive cultural and social life under the German occupation, even though privations and hardships went deep into the bones, especially Jewish poverty.

A very strong influence came from Zionist pioneer and social movements. The young, full of fire, threw themselves totally into social work. Living in difficult circumstances, they were fully devoted to higher ideals. We also took part often in gatherings of the Poale Zion. I remember our young friends, their lively discussions, and the cultivated awareness that sprouted from them.

It was a Jewish life of strivings and struggles in Dąbrowa, as it was in all of Zagłębie. Nothing remains of Jewish life in Dąbrowa, nothing more than a reflection. For Jews there is no more continuation there, not on earth, and not under the earth.

The “Dąbrowniakes” from my village, who settled, worked and changed their lives, still live, although under other circumstances, better or worse.

Jewish life is extinguished. Our memories are wrapped in coal dust. Not more is left of our near ones than their frightened looks, which were in their last minutes a confession of sins before dying, turned to us in the land of Israel. Let us in a yizkor melody always remember those who lived and hoped for better days, for the redemption they were not able to await.

We will remember these sunny characters who strove for a new life, together with us, without hatred, without envy, without fear, but did not achieve it.

And what we will create, renew and build, will be elevated with their dreams for a secure life on our own land.

The future generations, in their happiest moments, within the joy of security, shall remember them.

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