[Page 104]

Partisans Who Survived

Arranged by Mordechai Zaitchik

Translated by Jerrold Landau

[Page 105]

Hershel the son of Yaakov Slutski	(Russia)
Shlomo the son of Tamara Kravitz	“
Hershel the son of Tamara Kravitz	“
Shoel Slutski	“
Shmuel Holtzman (the son-in-law of Nachum)	“
Chaim Aharon the son of Moshe Mishlov	“
Yisrael Chinitz (from Breznik)	“
Lipa Chinitz (his son)	“
Chaim Chinitz (his son)	“
Michel the son of Yaakov Kerzner	“
Chaim Berl the son of Hershel Lipchik	“
Berl the son of Yosef Ginzberg	“
Zhama the son of Yisrael Gorodetzki	“
Ben-Zion (Bunia) the son of Shlomo Topchik	“
Chaim Shebrin	(New Zealand)
Freidel Shebrin (his son)	“
Chanan the son of Yehuda Shuster	(Canada)
Sara the daughter of Baruch Slutski	“
Dvora the daughter of Nachum-Natan Julovitch	(Argentina)
Yosef Hillel (her husband)	“
Chaim (their son)	“
Hershel the son of Meir Berl Shuster	(United States)
Grunem the son of Moshe Segalovitz	“
Betzalel the son of Moshe Segalovitz	“
Avraham the son of Moshe Segalovitz	“
Moshe Shulman	(Canada)
Feigel the daughter of Yaakov Lezbanik	“
Grunem the son of Yaakov Lezbanik	(United States)
Lipa the son of Mordechai Mishlov	“
Chaim the son of Alter Julovitch	?
Hershel Rubenstein	(United States)
Meir the son of Mendel Migdalovitch	(Russia)

[Page 110]

Cantors and Ritual Slaughterers

by Avner Golob (Yonai) and Avraham-Yitzhak Slutzky

Translated by Janine Sherr

A

Those who supported Hershkovitz refused to eat from the meat of Reb Yisrael Chaim; even the local rabbi would not eat from his meat.

After several days the matter was resolved; the first shochet was allocated a monthly salary and, in the meantime, R' Yisrael Chaim, the cantor-ritual slaughterer, who was a clever, cheerful, energetic, and sociable man, managed to win over the people of the town.

He had a strong musical background and was skilled at conducting a choir. He also composed his own melodies that were soon adopted by the community. In fact, many of his tunes were sung in the factories by the tailors, seamstresses, and other workers. On the High Holidays, he would lead the prayers, accompanied by a large choir, which he had trained over the summer months. Yitzhak Slutzky writes that the melodies composed by Cantor Yisrael Chaim continued to be popular even in the United States, where they were often sung by former residents of our town during community celebrations.

R' Yisrael Chaim's joyful spirit animated all the religious celebrations in our town, including weddings, circumcisions, and ceremonies for the Redeeming of the Firstborn Son. R' Yisrael Chaim spread happiness wherever he went.

He made a decent living as a shochet; his home was lovely and spacious. He was blessed with three sons and five daughters.

Even in old age, he maintained his sense of humour. It is reported that on his deathbed, he told the doctor who had come to visit him: “Esteemed doctor, I am fully aware of my condition. I think I am about to die because I ate too much of the afikoman!”

B

Mordechai Zeichik:

After the passing of R' Yisrael Chaim, the town remained without a chazzan for many years, since their shochet (ritual slaughterer), Eliyahu Aaron, was not a trained cantor.

However, the town was not left empty-handed. They still had several outstanding prayer leaders (who had pleasant voices, even though they were not trained cantors): there was R' Chaim-Berel Migdalovich of the Old Synagogue, and Avraham-Yitzhak Chinitz and Mordcha-le Steinbok of the New Synagogue.

For a brief period of time, R' Yaakov Shmuel, the son-in-law of R' Yisrael Chaim, served as the community “chazzan-shochet”. He was a handsome man, courteous, and of fine character, and was beloved by the entire community. His excellent reputation was known far and wide, and he was soon offered a position in a city seven times the size of our town. Our community was very distressed when this dear man departed from our small town. Unfortunately, we could not compete with the big city, which was able to offer him a higher salary and better living conditions.

[Page 121]

The Sluch River

by Mordechai Zaitchik

Translated by Jerrold Landau

Thus did the Jewish children spend hour after hour – from the water to the shore and from the shore to the water, until they heard the voice of Mother standing on the porch of their house, calling: “Moshe, Yaakov, where are you? Come home!” The children would be silent and not answer, so as not to reveal to Mother where they had spent the day. They would return home in a roundabout manner, with faces of complete innocence. It was not only the cheder students who loved the river, but all the residents of the town.

Old and young awaited the bathing season in the summer. The set bathing area was next to the bridge over the river. To the right of it, about 200 meters away, the women bathed. The river was not deep there. A person of average height was able to cross it on foot. The men bathed to the left of the bridge, right next to it. There, the river was deeper, and only those who knew how to swim would dare to venture forth from the edge of the river to the middle, or to swim to the other side.

There were many people in the town who excelled at swimming. Some of the young swimmers would sometimes go under the bridge, overcome the strong currents and dangerous eddies between the wooden pillars, and venture as far as the bathing place of the women. They would go to it, but not enter it. Nobody would dare enter the women's bathing place. In those days, there were not bathing suits in the town, and a youth who crossed the border would bring disgrace upon himself.

The bathing places were crowded with people on Fridays. The bathers were different than those of the other days of the week. For the most part, they were adults and the elderly. The youth who knew how to swim, headed by Zelig the son of Mordechai Yulovitch, crossed the bridge to the other side of the river, and distanced themselves about 1.5 kilometers to the “Bein Haalonim” (Among the Oaks) . There was a beautiful beach there, with a steep slope. The river was wide and deep, even at its bank, and the bather would immediately fall into deep water when he descended from the beach and dipped his foot in the water. In short, this was a bathing place for those who knew how to swim.

Suddenly, to everyone's surprise, Reb Moshe Tomashov, a man who studied Torah day and night, appeared. Even he permitted himself to leave his book for an hour, and to enjoy himself by bathing in the river in honor of the Sabbath. In honor of the Sabbath Queen, he, the serious Jew, permitted himself childhood enjoyments. He demonstrated his ability to swim well. When did he learn this? During his youth? Was he also once a boy? Did he at one time also spend hours on the banks of the river?

However, it is proper not to be suspicious of proper people. We are sure that when he finished his bathing, he would go to the bathhouse to immerse in the mikva (ritual bath) in accordance with his holy custom. He would then return to his simple house, sing enthusiastically

[Page 122]

the “Song of Songs” and sanctify himself to greet the Sabbath day. Then he would once again close himself in the four ells of study and prayer.

One would think about the bathers and ponder: what was the great enchantment of the river and its cool waters. The Jewish community, burdened with worries all of their days, toiling to earn their livelihood – took off all of their clothes and simultaneously removed all of the heavy burdens under which they were buckling. They jumped into the bosom of the river, and they enjoyed themselves and disported themselves as children – they returned to their childhood…

The river was a friend and brother to our town. From it, we drew the pleasant spirit of life that restored the souls. Then peace returned between Russia and Poland. The peace treaty that was signed in the city of Riga stole the blessing of the river from the town. According to the treaty, the Sluch River became the international border. Half of it was in the bounds of Poland, and the other side was in the bounds of Russia. The bridge over the river was also divided into two halves and two booths were erected on both sides: one for the Polish border guards and the second for the Russian border guards.

At first, the Polish government established a bathing place near the bridge. It was small, and there was a fence in the middle of the river that divided between the two regions so that nobody would sneak over the boundary. Only very few came to bathe with such bathing conditions. After some time the Polish authorities saw that soldiers of the Red Army would come to bathe on the Russian side of the river, and they would engage in conversation with the bathers of the town. After they saw this, bathing in the river became completely forbidden.

With time, any wise person was wary of approaching the river, for they knew that a suspicious eye was watching out for those who approached. Informers from one side and Red agents from the other side wandered about town, and at times it was difficult to distinguish between them.

Thus did our river betray us. It turned an angry face to us, restricted our steps, distanced relatives from each other, and separated those who were together.

It was sevenfold bad and bitter for us on that terrible day when the dark, impure troops of the Nazis came to us. That day, the river closed off the escape route of many refugees and did not let them cross the border – the border that divided between annihilation and salvation.

[Page 122]

The Lag Baomer Celebration

by Yocheved Amit (nee Furman)

Translated by Jerrold Landau

Alas, something different was decreed against those of my age. Our hearts are pained as we remember the days of youth. The agony and pressure is almost unbearable. Nevertheless, the desire to write memoirs overcomes this.

[Page 123]

My years of study in the school of our town were spent in a large, spacious home in the center of town, surrounded by a spacious yard (which in our day was the home of the shopkeeper Tetel Oko). It had been built years ago by one of the wealthy people of the town. Approximately 120 children boys and girls of our town studied there. I am certain that I can serve as a mouthpiece for all those of my age, my friends from the school bench, if I state that we loved this school with all our hearts, with its fine protocols and exemplary cleanliness, and with the studies that we studied calmly and with desire.

Our school had a tradition of Zionist Hebrew study for many years. The teaching staff who taught during my years of study included: Reb Aharon Leib Zaitchik of blessed memory (he was murdered by the accursed Nazis on the day that they slaughtered the people of our town); and may they live, Mr. Meir Boktzin, and my father Ben-Zion Furman (both living today in Israel). In 1918, the well known pedagogue Yitzchak Katznelson (not the poet) was added to the staff. He arrived in our town from the far off city of Berdiansk. He was sent to us by the center for culture in Kiev, and he led our school for more than a year with great ability and wisdom. We studied the following subjects there: Hebrew, Bible, arithmetic, geography, physical education, singing, as well as the Russian language. The cantor conducted the singing lessons.

During the time that Katznelson was the principal, our school held a Lag Baomer celebration that left an unforgettable impression. There was a fine parade in the schoolyard and afterwards a procession through the streets of our town. 120 students participated, marching in rows of four. This parade was a sign of the days of freedom that had come upon us at the end of the world war and the fall of the Czarist police which had restricted all of our steps and deeds. Here were Jewish children going out without asking permission from the police, marching upright before everyone. They passed through the streets, each class with its blue and white flag. They were signing songs of Zion, and all the townsfolk, young and old, men and woman, Jews and gentiles, were watching the parade and accompanying them with hand clapping and shouts of joy and mirth!

Thus did we parade through the main street, cross the bridge over the pond, and go all the way to the council building (Volost). From there we retraced our steps over the river. We crossed the bridge and traversed the forest until we arrived at the Green Mountain (a small valley that was approximately 15 meters higher than the area around it, and was called the “Green Mountain” by the youths who loved a joke.)

The school continued to exist even during the difficult times that came upon us after that. It displayed its power of endurance through all changes of governments – Poles, Bolsheviks, Ukrainians, and around again – that passed through our town. The principal Yitzchak Katznelson left our town, for he was invited to direct a large school in one of the cities of Volhynia. Our school continued to educate the children of our town, to impart in them the values of Hebrew culture and to instill in their hearts the idea of the renaissance of our nation in its land.

We owe thanks to this school for the young generation that arose in our town and merited for the most part to actualize Zionism in body and spirit. They arose and made aliya to Israel – with the language of our people, the Hebrew language, living on their lips.

[Page 124]

The students of the Tarbut School on a Lag Baomer excursion, 1930

[Page 125]

A Winter Eve Wedding

by Michael Rechavi

Translated by Jerrold Landau

Memories from my childhood

The sounds of the violin, flute, drum, and cymbals were echoing from one of the houses on the street. The street was lit up with great light that night. This was before electricity had reached our town, but the women hastened to place burning candles in the windows of their houses to light up the way of the bride and groom to their chupa (marriage canopy) and to thereby express their good wishes and blessing that the path of that young couple through life should be full of light, joy and gladness. After they did this, they went out to the lit up street to fulfill the commandment of entertaining the bride.

Tulia the assistant shamash (sexton) hurried to the storage place of the synagogue to take out the chupa canopy. The children hurried after him and offered their assistance, so that they would be able to help hold up the poles during the marriage ceremony.

The groom was already standing under the chupa. His friends, the joyous youths, were standing opposite him, winking their eyes at him and making funny faces at him to see if he would be able to control his nerves. Indeed, the groom stood strong, calm, without responding to the funny gestures of his friends. There was not even a trace of a smile on his lips. They were already bringing the bride. The entire town accompanied her to the chupa, everyone with a lit candle in his hand.

– Who were the in-laws?

– Do not ask, for all the people of the town were in-laws. Everyone was rejoicing, and making the bride and groom happy.

– Was this the wedding of wealthy people?

– Not necessarily. This was not the well-known band from the city of Turow who was leading the procession, and not even that of Kozhan Horodock, but rather the local “Capelia” at the head of the procession. He was the barber-musician Efraim, who put down his razor and scissors at night and took hold of the violin and bow. To his right was the drummer whose name was also Efraim. To his left was the youth playing his flute. They played to the best of their ability, and the town was joyous and mirthful.

Mazel Tov! Mazel Tov!

The wedding moved from the synagogue to the home of the bride. The bride, groom, and marriage party marched at the front. The musicians were playing loudly. An elderly woman was dancing in front of the couple. Children were running around and attempting to peek at the faces of the bride and groom. The entire town was marching behind the couple… The violin was being played with feeling, the flute was trilling with a still, small whisper.

[Page 126]

In the Counsel of the Poor People

by Sarah Fogelman (Kolpenitzky)

Translated by Jerrold Landau

The father would go around to the villages of the region on Sundays in order to provide food for his family. He would make the rounds in the villages for six days, and the mother would be burdened with caring for the children. She was a small, thin woman. She toiled from early in the morning until late at night in order to assuage the hunger of the nine children and the elderly father who was also supported at this impoverished table, and he lived together with the entire family in this single room house.

Indeed, as in any small town, every woman of our town knew what was taking place and what was found in the oven of all her friends and neighbors. The neighbors of the mother of this family would support her: one with a measure of flour on Thursday to bake challas for the Sabbath, another with a glass of milk for the sick child or to restore the soul of the old man so he would be able to get down from his bed, and the third with a jug of sour milk to spread over the fried potatoes. With all this, the small, thin woman had to gird all of her strength, exert her mind with great energy, and keep her hands busy without stop in order to sustain their hungry souls.

Everyone who knew her was amazed at the great diligence and energy of this mother, for despite the many concerns, this small, poor house excelled in its cleanliness. The path to the entranceway was always sprinkled with clean yellow sand. The woman was always busy: washing sheets, patching the clothes of the children, cleaning and polishing anything that needed to be cleaned or polished, or preparing lunch for the family – for the most part a soup made out of grits and potatoes.

I knew this home and its residents well. The children were my age, and I would go to play with them. I was often present as the children were eating around the table, as they were waiting anxiously for a morsel of bread. At times, one of the children was not satisfied with his portion (it seemed to him that the portion of his older brother was thicker than his piece…) The mother would chastise the complainer with a chastisement accompanied by sighing and weeping – and she would return silently to her toil.

I remember that at the sight of the hunger and desires of the members of this household, and at the sight of how they ate with an appetite and were concerned with every crumb of bread – a strange appetite would also be aroused within myself, the satiated one, and if the woman would give me a morsel of bread, I would devour it while it was still in my hands…

The children would wait anxiously for their father to arrive on Friday. They would go out to greet him and to help him carry the sack on his shoulders that contained the food provisions that he had toiled to obtain.

The woman made peace with her lot, and waited for the time when the children would get older and the heavy burden that she bore would be lessened. It was not in vain that she comforted herself with this hope: her two eldest sons studied and became professionals.

The living room served as the workshop for all of them, and this too did not affect the cleanliness and order in this home of the impoverished toilers. The two beds were made, with white clean sheets spread over them. The pillows were spread with bright covers that were embroidered by the mother in days of yore, when she was still a girl or when she was engaged.

[Page 127]

Two beds and the wide elevated platform of the oven served as the sleeping place for all the residents of the household. The mistress of the household never forgot to change the embroidered, ironed pillowcases with regular pillowcases every night. Similarly, she removed the nighttime pillowcases from all the pillows at night and replaced them with the pretty covers.

Thus was the life of this family (and the lives of other similar families): a life of poverty, toil and suffering, a life of trust and hope for good days. They were silent in the face of their suffering and toil. They did not curse nor complain, and they also kept their trust and hope hidden in the depths of their hearts. In suffering, toil and difficulty they raised their children and educated them to Torah and livelihood. They guided them on a proper, modest path, and merited to see them living off the toil of their hands in an honorable fashion.

This went on until the profane enemies put an end to both their despair and joy. Their joy and worries, suffering and toil, happiness and mirth all ended. Whatever these working hands built up, raised and nurtured, day after day and year after year, with patience, suffering, agony, creative joy , hope and life – the murderers came with their profane hands and destroyed everything – man, beast and tree all together. Everything went down into a communal grave – in your midst, my town of Lenin…

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