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Meir ben-Isaac and his family (1945)

In Karolinka beside Belica, there was a small airfield. The Germans arrived so swiftly, that a part of the Russians on the airfield did not manage to escape. They hastened into the town, in order to cross the Neman, and came face-to-face with the Germans. The dead fell on both sides, after which the German reconnaissance units entered the town, and began to seize people without regard for who they were, Jews along with Christians, and began to shoot them. In this manner, Shmuel (Mul'yeh) Shimonowicz, and Eliezer Gapanowicz were seized, put against the wall and shot. Eliezer Gapanowicz was wounded, while Shimonowicz fell, and lay on the ground feigning death. the Germans thought they were both dead, and left the place.

The Germans began to burn the Jewish houses. I left my house and began to look for sone sort of refuge. Together, with Ziss'l Kalmanowicz, and Nathan Baranchik, we ran from place to place, until the Germans spotted us and began to fire at us. Nathan Baranchik wanted to get into his sister Chaya-El'keh's place, but fell beside the house balcony.

I was spared, and I fled through the gardens to the house of Yitzhak-Yaakov Orlansky, and from there, I manage to get myself out of the town, and fled to the Riutsz Forest, alone, and without my family. From Riutsz, I ran to the nearby village of Saruk, and found some Jews there, among them, Eliezer Gapanowicz. A number of them said they saw my wife on the road to Stoky, where we had a family friendly to us among the Christians (Dwarnin). I lay in the forest the entire night, and when dawn broke, I began to move through the fields to Stoky, and there, I met up with my wife, my beloved daughter, and several other Jews.

The Christian family was afraid to keep us, because there was a decree that anyone who took in and concealed Jews would be taken out and killed with his entire family. Somehow, we managed to get back to Belica, and found the town burned down. Only a few of the Jewish houses remained standing, among them the house of my sister, Rivka. Through the gardens, I entered my sister's house and found my mother there. After this, I also found my oldest daughter Rivka in the middle of our garden, between the furrows. My little daughter Shifra was with a Christian beside the Neman, and I brought her, as well, back with me, and we remained living in my sister's house.

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When they rounded up all the Jews beside the Catholic church, and made them file between the Gestapo troops, who beat them with boards taken from the fence, they took me and Shimon Novogrudsky, Aharon Bussel the Smith, Wismonsky the pharmacist, Chaim-Yitzhak Kremen, Yaakov ben Shlomo Kremen – and put us off to the side. A German guard took us out on the road to Paracany, but once we left the town, the guard began to shoot over our heads, in order that those in the town think they were shooting to kill us. In the village of Paracany, they put us into a grain silo, and after some hours, they brought me to an interrogation to determine if I was a communist during the Soviet occupation. After that, then sent me to the camp gate, where three Germans waited with staves in hand. They began to beat me left and right, such that my blood ran from every part of my body. They told me to walk on the path, between the furrows, beating me all the way, until I reached the edge of the field, and there, they let me be.

When I reached home, we built a “bunker” and when the Germans were out, we would hide in it, or we would flee, by way of the gardens, into the Royce Forest. This is the way we behaved in all instances when the Germans would penetrate into the ghetto, until they drove us out of Belica. Even when we were in the ghetto in Zhetl, we had a bunker there, in which we hid during the First Great Slaughter of April 1942. During the Second Great Slaughter in the Zhetl ghetto, we fled to the forests beside Lachoczy, and there too, we built a bunker in the middle of the forest.

In this flight, I again was separated from my family, because they fled with my brother-in-law Yud'l Kusielewicz to the forest beside Zachepichi. I found them afterwards, together with a number of other families from Belica, and went off to search for food to give them. But because of this, my cousin Yehoshua Stotsky said: “Meir is going to cause us problems.” He, along with the entire family of Ben-Zion Stotsky and Shlomo ben Yitzhak Mayewsky crossed the Neman River, and went to a Christian in Karolinka. The Christian went and informed the Germans of this, and they came and killed them all.

During The Second Slaughter in Zhetl, my daughter Shifra was in a different bunker, and the Germans uncovered this bunker and took everyone to the synagogue, after which they fled and reached the forests of Zachepichi, and there, they found us.

The Germans seized the wife of Leib'keh ben Shmuel-Joseph Zhokhowsky. She argued that she was a Christian, and when they asked her how would she prove that. she “recited” Catholic prayers by heart. They let her go, and she got to her husband and children in the forest.

Initially, we did not have any food in the forest. We would go at night to the Christians on the other side of the river (so that they would not know from where we had come) and ask for food from them. A few would give us slices of bread... but after we had joined the partisans, we had food to eat, because the partisans would not ask, they would take. I was familiar with the entire area, and because of this the partisans took me as a scout, and I also was able to take revenge on those who has assaulted us before.

In one of the attacks the Germans made against us, during our retreat, the wife of my uncle Sholom Krasnoselsky drowned in the Neman River, together with two of her children. At the same time, my daughter Shifra caught cold, and fell sick, and she never rose from her sickbed, and died in the forest.

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One time, I was sent with about thirty partisans to cross the Neman River in rafts. We entered the village of Mostobelny, and there we took horses and wagons from the peasant, who cooperated with the White Poles. When we got to the rafts, we began to load up the horses and wagons, and bullets began to fly from all sides, which were coming from a very close range. Somehow, we crossed the bridge, and from there we got to Peskovcy, and from there we were taken across in a boat. In this way, I saved fourteen people from certain death, because I was the scout, and I was able to negotiate the area very effectively, and accordingly, I knew how we could escape from the gunfire. When we returned to the forest, the head of the partisans exchanged kisses with me, and gave me a citation for this deed.

One time, I went out with a number of additional partisans, to bring food to people living in the bunkers. When I got to the river, we hear gunfire from the other side. The Christian who would ferry us over in a boat, made signs for us to flee to a reserve bunker, that we had readies beside the river, for exigencies that might arise. This bunker was built in such a way, that we had to enter it through the river itself. Because there was air inside, we made a hole inside of the tree that stood over the bunker, and there was room for 80 people inside it.

On one rainy day, my wife arose to cook something, and I went over to the bunker of Joseph Lozowsky. Suddenly, gunshots were heard from the direction of the bunker of my family. We fled into the brush, and we heard Ukrainians talking among themselves, about how they had killed Jews. When they drew away a distance, I ran to the bunker of my family and found it empty. My wife and daughters had fled in the direction of the Neman, and U found them there, practically entirely naked, because they didn't have time to put on clothes at the time of the attack. I went to the nearby villages, and I obtained other clothing for them.

At the end of 1944, the Vlasovites surrounded our bunkers. At that time, we were beside the village of Dminovic in the forests of Lyubyczyn, band we did not know where to flee. We ran into the swamps in that area, and we succeeded in getting away from the murderers. We decided to return to the Belica vicinity, where we were familiar with the area, and it was easier to provision ourselves with food, and it was also easier for us to hide ourselves during those times when the Germans and their accomplices attacked us. Somehow, we got back to the forests beside Belica, we cleaned out our bunker, and remained there until the liberation.

Most of the people in our town were good-hearted folk, simple and honest, just like all the towns of the Diaspora. They were concerned not only for themselves, but also for the community about them. These are the ones who organized the mutual aid, and established the community institutions such as: Bikur Kholim, Gemilut Hesed, a People's Bank, the school, and others.

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One of these was my dear father ז”ל who was first and foremost a good father, dedicated to his children. But, he was also a good father to those who were in need of help or comfort. He would heal broken hearts with a smile on his face.

After a hard day's work at his flour mill, he would go to pray the afternoon and evening (Mincha & Maariv) services on a daily basis, and after services, he would remain in the Bet HaMedrash to study a page of the Gemara, giving a lesson to a group of listeners who liked to hear his becoming explanations. In the house, as well, when he had a spare hour, he would open a book and study, and some times, he would get up early in the morning [to do this], or remain up late at night.

My father ז”ל held rabbinic ordination from the great Rabbis of his generation, but himself did not want to be a Rabbi. He would find the time to read a secular book, and was thoroughly familiar with all the world's experiences both religious and secular. It was possible to carry on a conversation with him of a variety of subjects, and to enjoy such conversation.

I will never forget the nights of the Sabbath in our house: A regal air, light, and cleanliness, pervaded every corner of the house. My father and brother would come from the synagogue, bless us, the womenfolk, with the Sabbath blessing, and immediately begin to joyfully sing “Shalom Aleichem.” We would all stand around the table, as father blessed the wine, and the delicious Sabbath feast would begin.

* * *

When the war between the Germans and the Soviets broke out, my brother Eliezer הי”ד came from Scucyn, where he was a teacher, and proposed that we all flee to Russia. It was difficult for my parents to agree. They understood that I, with babies on my hands, would not be able to accompany them. My brother Eliezer stood his ground, and beseeched my father to go with him to Russia. At first, my father did not want to listen to him, but my mother understood that my father, being one of the heads of the community in the town, was exposed to a great danger from the Nazis. She began to persuasively convince him and he should go with Eliezer, and thus we were separated from my father and brother, and a few other people from Belica who left the town in the dark of night.

After several weeks, the Nazis drove all of us out of the incinerated town, and we wandered to nearby Zhetl. In Zhetl, we passed a severe winter in the ghetto. From time-to-time, we heard that partisans were beginning to organize in the ghetto, and from them, there were those who went off to the forests. As a mother to infants, it was not even possible for me to think about contact with the partisans, because they knew, from the outset, that women with children don't enter into their calculation. In general, I was unable to even imagine what our life would be like in the forests, but my mother was of a different state of mind. She proved to me that we must go to the forests. Especially, she would say: “What do we have to lose? After all, here we are all lost, and there, there is some chance that some of us may remain alive.”

With the coming of summer, two slaughters took place in Zhetl. We were saved from The First Great Slaughter, because the murderers demanded only one thousand Jews, and after they got them, they ceased

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searching for more, and those who hid themselves stayed alive for a few more months. When The Second Great Slaughter began, eighty people went down into one bunker, and the condition was horrible. There was no air to breathe. After the second night, most of them left the bunker, and fled to the forests, leaving us behind, and even warning us not to run after them with babies.

After the fifth night, we were compelled to leave the bunker. Then a question loomed before us: Where do we go? The surroundings and the roads were not known to us, but we exited, and went to look for the one way we could go that would lead to safety – [to] Dvarec. The exit from the ghetto was terrifying, all of the streets were littered with corpses of people, and we heard the sounds of dying that tore at the heart.

Before leaving the bunker, an additional severe quandary confronted us: What will we do if the baby, Leah'leh suddenly begins to cry? When she heard these words, she turned to me and said: “Mama, I will not cry out, I will cry only silently, Mame'leh don't be afraid. I will be a good girl.” But there was one thing she didn't understand: Why she doesn't have a father! Because when I explained to her that her father was in the army, far, far away, this was beyond her understanding, and she didn't grasp it.

We walked from Zhetl to Dvarec (12 km) all night, and came to a crossroads. We stood confused, and did not know which direction to choose. We decided to rely on Leah'leh. We put her down on the road, and walked after her, and in this way, we arrived in Dvarec. This, literally, was a miracle, because on that same night, some Jews went along the other way, and reached a village where the peasants seized them and turned them over to the Nazis.

In Dvarec, we ran into Benjamin Galinsky, and he took us into his house that was already full of people. In his house, we found Shifra Baranchik, and my friend Chaya Kremen.

There were approximately four thousand Jews in the Dvarec camp, that had been brought here from seventy towns. The work was hard. We smashed stone into large mounds, transporting them from one place to another, without knowing why. For this hard labor, everyone received 120 grams of bread and a bit of soup, which in fact was spoiled water. The lines to get soup were terrifying, with everyone pushing to be among the first, and not once did it occur that they would spill each other's soup, leading to fisticuffs. After several days, we decided not to stand in line, and our mother attempted to prepare a bit of warm soup for us, somehow in the house.

In Dvarec, in those days, there was a Jew who tried to help others – Joseph Lusky, with his two daughters and a child of his oldest daughter. He was a simple Jewish man, but with a warm heart and a pure soul. He sought out the hungry, and in secret, helped them in order not to embarrass the recipient. Every Sabbath, he would come into our room, with a big radish under his arm, quickly prepare the radish with an onion in a large platter, and place it on the table that stood in the middle of the room, and all twenty people (from different towns) that lived in the room, would be compelled to eat from the radish and its meat, and he would be lucky. This dear man was exterminated together with his entire family, and no trace of them remains הי”ד.

* * *

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One cold and crisp morning, we went to work as usual. I settled my sister Lieb'eh with a peasant woman, to work in her house. I was fortunate that she would not have to be out of doors all day, and would also receive food, and be able to bring something home. I would do part of her daily work on her behalf.

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Suddenly, the news reached us that the camp had been surrounded and they were planning a slaughter. We were twenty women, and we were mystified, not knowing what to do. Instinctively, we fled to the nearby forests. Even if I had gone back and returned to dear one, I would not have been able to save them. But my conscience tortured me, and gives me no surcease, and I will never, ever forgive myself for what I had to do on that bitter day.

Among the twenty women who fled that day, not a one knew the way into the great forests. A few wanted to walk to the ghetto in Lida, others wanted to go to peasants whom they knew, and there were those, also, who wanted to go into the forests to look for partisans. I was apathetic, I thought that perhaps I would meet up with my loved ones, but my hope was in vain, and I remained alone and isolated.

These were the last days of the month of December, and the cold was great, and snow was falling, and we, the women, did not know where we were. After a number of dark, black days and nights of this, we felt that we had to do something. We began to think about how we could procure some food, but we were afraid to approach any sort of dwelling. In the end, having no other choice, we approached a solitary house in the forest, and knocked on the window. When the peasant woman came out, and saw a mass of Jewish women, she drove us away, and set her dog after us. After several hours, we tried our luck again at another house, and this time we succeeded, and they gave us permission to come inside the house. In this small and poor dwelling, there was an elderly peasant and his wife, dear people, and they sat us around their table, cutting us many slices of bread, and they also brought us cabbage and honey. All of us fell upon the food like beasts of prey, grabbing the cabbage and honey in our hands. Before we left the house, we kissed the hands of these good peasants. They blessed us, and the wife added: “My dears, you are located near Zhetl, and that place is dangerous for you, continue walking towards the great forests.”

We concluded that it is not possible for twenty women to walk together, and we have to break up into smaller groups. But how? Who will go with whom? I do not recall exactly how we divided up and separated, all I remember is that I went with two other women to a peasant to beg for bread, and when we returned, we no longer found the others.

About ten days went by, and the three of us slept in the forest near an area of an agricultural colony. A Baptist lived in one of them, a good man, who helped everyone who turned to him. For a number of nights, he permitted us to sit in his house around the warm stove, and when danger drew close, he would let us know to leave the place.

After 24 days and nights of wandering, we arrived at a desolate place, frozen and hungry. Everything in it was burned, and there was not even anyone to ask where we were. We were so despondent about our lives, that we walked without thinking, to try and reach some location. We reached a forest with thick trees, and we saw a pit from which potatoes had been emptied. From this pit, a number of narrow paths led away, and we followed one of these paths, and suddenly, at the edge of the forest, I saw a horse hitched to a sled. Suddenly three men, dressed in police uniforms emerged from the forest. We were frightened and stood still without moving. They aimed their rifles at us, and we stood, waiting to die. Suddenly, one of us screamed out wildly: “Pesach!”

These were Jewish partisans that were wearing police uniforms. Among them were young men from Zhetl, and from them we found out that we were located in their forests, and they showed us the way towards other Jews from Zhetl and its environs.

When we reached the Zhetl families, my two companions from Zhetl found a place in the camp among their landsleit, but I felt myself to be “left over.” After several days, I met Faygl'eh Kreinowicz, and the two of us walked to the Belica families that were located on the banks of the Neman. The first one I met was Meir Baranchik, and when he called me by my mother's name, I understood a bit what I must look like. Faygl'eh brought me to the hideout of Ber'l Stotsky, and there I found Leah Halperin and others. Suddenly Chaim Yosselewicz appeared, and asked if they knew where Rachel Itzkowitz could be found. When I replied, he did not recognize me. He said that Elazar Meir Savitzky had sent him to call me to their hideout (I will never forget him, he was like a brother to me). There were already seven people in this tiny hideout, and when I went into the underground pit, I felt a pleasant warmth, because they had a small iron stove with which to heat the hideout. In the end, after days and nights of fear, hunger, cold and despondency, I had found a place to rest.

I lay in the hideout for about a month, not being able to move from my place, because my legs were frozen. Ber'l would bring me bread, and Elazar-Meir would bring me warm soup. I was no longer hungry.

During the quiet times in the forest, we managed to live somehow, each one doing their work, and we felt ourselves to be like one family. However, during the times of siege by the Germans or White Poles, everything that we had built with such hard work, was destroyed, and we ent to find a new location for temporary surcease.

It is so difficult for me to understand, how we could survive under these inhuman conditions, without losing the strength and stamina, to struggle in order that we could continue living....

El'keh Kremen		Masha Kreinowicz
Esther-Rish'eh Meckel		Bracha Kalmanowicz

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general appearance of our town rises in my memory – the town where I was born, in which I grew up, and where I was educated, and in which I spent the best years of my youth.

This is the town in which we first saw the light of the world, and in which we had our childhood experiences, in which we absorbed the experiences of life. But, it was a typical Diaspora town in its appearance and sounds. However, it is celebrations and festivals, the town imbued us with a sense of Jewishness and humanity, in the course of the transformation of the older way of life to one that was more modern and accelerated. This situation made an impression on the Jewish youth in Belica, on all aspects and nuances, – with a dissatisfaction with the “status quo” and substantive struggle and rebelliousness. The desire to realize a new life in Our Land, was the line that led us all, and for this reason there was a thirst to learn, to know, and to attain a higher cultural level. In the stagnant live of our town, the yearning for redemption in Our Land found a home, and there was influence for this coming from the teachers in school, who knew not only how to teach the young people, but also how to impart a vision, and to promote a new way of life.

The Sabbath in Belica – the sores are closed. Everyone is dressed in holiday finest. A spirit of sanctity hovers over the streets of the town, and especially in the marketplace quare. R' Itcheh the Shammes, escorts the Rabbi of the Town, R' Fein זצ”ל to the synagogue, with honor and respect. After services, and the midday meal, everyone goes to a wooded area beside the nobleman's estate that is on the banks of the Neman. The young people would set aside their cares in this location.

This location was particularly beloved to me. It was a pleasant hill, and beneath it, the Neman River flowed. to this day, I long for this wonderful place.

* * *

My mother, Rachel Dykhowsky^[1] was born in Dereczin near Slonim. She was a scion of a Rabbinical family, and carried in her soul that good foundation, and source of refinement, charity and graceful modesty and above all – rendering aid to the needy. During The First World War, she provided considerable assistance to the needy, and distributed charity to the many (she would even divide yo the slice of bread we had, between her children and other hungry children). My mother ע”ה died at a young age, at the age of forty.

My father dedicated himself to his children with heart and soul, and with great difficulty tried to impart Torah to them. I, the youngest in the family, was sent to Vilna, to study at the Teacher's Seminary.

My father ז”ל, Israel ben Abraham Halperin, born in Belica, was a handsome man, with a beautiful soul. He was a man of integrity and possessed a good heart, in harmony with his environment, who had a spark of refinement in him, and above all – provided assistance to the needy. His had was always extended to provide assistance to the community, and he was always in a positive frame of mind and never refused. When the World War broke out, Jewish refugees began to stream in our direction, hungry for a piece of bread, exhausted and naked. My father's house served as a refuge for everyone who was fleeing and without a roof

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over their head, and he gathered them into his house and was like a father to them, worrying about their survival, going so far as to arrange marriages between the bachelors among them, with daughters in the town, all in keeping with custom and law. From these, there are those who today are found in The Land, and they do not forget this great boon, coming to my house, and recollect my father with love and respect.

At that time, every corner of our house was full of people, and we, the members of the household, slept on the floor not only one time, turning over our places to guests. Not once did my father wake me up along with my brother Mendl, at night and say” – “Get up and go sleep in the attic, tired and hungry people have arrived, and they need some warm cooked food, and a warm bed.–” In this undertaking, the saying that was on his lips was: “Cast thy bread upon the waters, because in the fulness of time, you will find it.”

Indeed, this saying came to be after this, during the time of the liquidation and slaughter, when two of the children of my sister (Fyvel'eh and Yerakhmiel) fled to the town of Dvarec, and there, they ran into a physician who was one of the heads of the Judenrat. This doctor, previously, had spent a considerable amount of time in our home as a refugee, and benefitted from my father's generosity. He remembered, favorably, what my father had done for him, and he returned this favor to the children, helping them out with bread, and a roof over their heads, giving them assistance and encouragement.

When groups of us, who were driven out of Belica reached Zhetl, they took away our food and clothing from us. I then turned to the Judenrat, to at least give us a bit of sugar as a medicament for my father. The person I turned to, recognized my father from years past, and that he had been helped by him, and he returned all the things that had previously been taken from us.

My father was an ardent Zionist, and his desire was to make aliyah, and to be reunited with his children here, but his dream did not come true. He was killed by the Nazis in the town of Zhetl.

May his memory be sanctified.

Translator's footnote:

1. The Dykhowsky family (spelled Dykhovsky there), receives considerable mention in the Derezcin Memorial Book). Return

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I was born in Belica to my parents: Leib & It'keh Odzhikhowsky. We were eight (8) children. I was the oldest, and afterwards Riva'cheh, Min'cheh, Chay-Liebeh, Perl'eh, Bash'keh Ber'l & Malka. My father had a saloon, whose principal income came on the market day, when the gentile peasants from the villages would come to drink whiskey.

In 1924, I married Chaim Lejzorowicz from Zhetl, and we had three (3) children: Yitzhak, Szprinza ז”ל and Leah, who was born in Russia.

When the war broke out in 1939, the Russians entered Belica, and the N.K.V.D. arrested my husband and sent him as a prisoner to Lida, where he sat in jail together with Metacki from Lida, for a period of three months. In prison, he suffered from cold, hunger, and received no small amount of beating. On May 30, 1940, he was transferred to Minsk, and from there, to Vitebsk. In Vitebsk, he was separated from Metacki. My husband was sentenced to eight years in jail judged guilty of …political crimes,' and was sent to do hard labor in Moncegorsk, near Murmansk. A month before my husband was taken to jail in Minsk, on April 30, 1940 before Passover, the men of the N.K.V.D. came to my house and took me out along with my children, telling me that they were taking me to my husband. We traveled by train for about a month, until we reached Kazakhstan. There, I worked with my son, Yitzhak, in the forest. To my question of where was my husband, I received the reply: You will yet see him…

With the outbreak of the [German-Soviet] war in June 1941, we did not know anything about it. He searched for me for three months, until he found me in the Kartaly Province. From that time on, all of us worked on railroad tracks, and there my daughter was born: Leah. In 1942, they took my son into the Red Army. At the end of the way, we returned to Germany, and there we were in the UNRWA camps.

In 1948, we made aliyah to the Land of Israel in the ship ‘Galila.’ Initially we were in immigrant housing in Pardes-Chana, and afterwards we went over to live in Acre, where we live to this day.

My parents were in the Zhetl ghetto. My father ז”ל was killed in the First Great Slaughter. The Germans wanted to keep my sister Chaya-Liebeh alive, but she did not want to part from my father, and she too, was killed. After the slaughter, my brother Ber'l fled with Jonah Chana-Shy'keh's to Dvarec. Along the way, they hid in fields, by to their misfortune, a gentile detected them, who went quickly to tell the Germans, who came and shot them.

The Second Great Slaughter was on 23 Av. My mother and sister Malka'leh hid in the bunker. Together with

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them was a woman and a small girl, who began to cry. Because of this, the Germans discovered the bunker, and took them all outside. Malka'leh was so frightened that she had a heart attack and died on the spot. The Germans shot her after she was already dead.

My sister, Riv'cheh-Baylah and her son his in the attic of the fire brigade building, but the Germans found them and killed them. My sister Pearl'eh hid in a pile of hay on the property of the burgomaster of Zhetl. She lay there for a week, until he, personally, informed on her and the Germans took her together with all the rest to the marketplace. There, they were told to lie on the ground face down. After this, a vehicle was brought, which took them out of town, where they were all shot.

Min'cheh married in Warsaw in 1938, and Bash'keh joined her. When Warsaw was bombed (1939), both of them were there, and to this day, I do not know their fate.

Dvora Sokolowsky		Elazar Novogrudsky

Our common childhood years are deeply etched into my memory. The circumstances that existed in your house were difficult ones. I sensed this from the fact whenever I came to you. I always tried to help you, but you seemed contented with your lot. Already as a youth, you recognized the difficulties of life, and you struggled with them. You learned, that even under these conditions, or rather in spite of them, it is possible to take advantage and deepen the skills that you enjoyed.

When we would be invited together, I always wanted to spend more time in your presence. Already in those young, formative years, I senses your blessed talents, and I was proud of you. Already, by then, in the Hebrew School, we began to speak Hebrew between ourselves. From the time you were small, your gift for language revealed itself, and the spark for the Land of our Forefathers, and for pioneering. This came to you from your father, who constantly yearned too make aliyah as a Halutz, to the Land of Israel.

Time went by, and with the completion of the Hebrew School in Belica, you were revealed to be a scholar of the modern Hebrew. Your notebooks became filled with Hebrew poetry, full of longing for The Land. The poems no only impressed your teachers, but also others who knew how to evaluate this kind of work. Everyone foretold a bright future for you.

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Our relationship as friends was intense, indeed. I recall the walks that we arranged to take along the banks of the Neman River, during which our goal was: to speak in Hebrew about matters pertaining to The Land. It was pleasant to listen to your expositions and excerpts from your poems. I would be the first one to whom you would read a new poem, and you would smile at my reaction.

You were a good and dedicated friend. I remember how happy you were when you were accepted to the Tarbut School in Lida. You were lucky, and you were already weaving together plans for the future. I was certain that you would find a place among the Hebrew poets.

This great joy faded with the beginning of that terrible epoch of the World War (1939). The sky was covered with black clouds. They foretold the onset of the Holocaust. Everything that appeared which at first looked to be distant and unreal, all came fruition, to the detriment of our people. Our lives became worthless, and we were uprooted from our homes. We suffered bitterly and greatly. All our beautiful plans were cut away and vanished from us.

The barbarous murderers seized you, while you were still young, full of energy and hope. Even in the last minute of your life, you rebuked these murderers to their bestial faces. Your last words were not pleasant to them on their account, and because of this, they tortured you before your tragic death, severe torture – that was inhuman.

You went with your head held high to martyrdom, together with the thirty-six martyrs of our town.

The Lord will avenge your blood, and may your memory be for a blessing among us for all eternity.

Zalman Itzkowitz

From the right: Zalman Itzkowitz, Y. Kaufman, A. Rudnick (Abir) and Zerakh Itzkowitz

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Zalman had a fiery and burning spirit, a pleasant disposition, and was self-effacing and modest. Recognizing his own worth prevented him for jumping to lead, or to make himself prominent on account of what he had done, to those about him, but he did have a good instinct that made him very acceptable to peoples from all walks of life, and many of these were not Jewish. In his work, in the flour mill of his father, he would come in daily contact with the peasants of the vicinity, whose anti-Semitism grew inexorably stronger during the last years before The Second World War, – but despite this, he never had any conflict with any of them. He earned their trust, and even in other matters, he was trusted by all ranks in the populace – whether Jewish or Polish – and everyone treated him with respect and affection.

With the invasion of the Soviets in the year 1939, at a time when he was a Zionist activist that stood out, and the scion of a wealthy family, Zalman was compelled to leave the town, and wander, in order to find some form of work in a place where he would not be recognized. It was at that time, that we both met in Baranovici, and I told him about the ‘Ortel’ (A cooperative) that was looking for an accountant. At first, the opportunity did not seem attractive, because he was not an accountant, but afterwards, he got up his nerve, and decided to accept the position. Accordingly, he came to master all of the details of this profession quickly, excelled in his work, and succeeded in carrying out the administration in a marvelously good order. Everyone – the management and the workers – were very satisfied with his work, and the amicable way he conducted himself.

Two weeks before the outbreak of the war between the Soviets and the Germans (1941), Zalman received a draft order from the Red Army. The management of the ‘Ortel’ tried to get him released from this order, but their endeavors were to no avail, and Zalman was compelled to enter service and leave Baranovici. From that time on, we never met, and no one knows his final resting place to this day.

Zalman was my friend and companion from the time we were children, learning together, and spending time together, and consequently, I was witness to the way he carried himself for all of his life. Those who studied with him, and spent time in his presence, were witness to his organizational efforts on behalf of the Zionist youth movement in the town, and they will remember for all of their lives, this loyal and precious friend. His thoughts and aspirations were always dedicated to making aliyah too the Land of Israel, to assist in the building of the future of our people and our country. He was prepared to make every sacrifice on his part, for the purpose of achieving this ideal, and therefore the sorrow we experience is sevenfold that he was not privileged to live with us in the free and independent Land of Israel.

May his memory be for a blessing!

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The Ruthlessness of Humanity

Nechama-Leah daughter of Fyv'eh and Rachel Odzhikhowsky and Elazar-Chaim the son of David-Aryeh and Leah Szeszko, married during the thirties. The settled with a member of their family, Alta Milikowsky, who was childless. The couple were quiet, decent people, and they live modestly like this, in Alta's house, until the Holocaust erupted.

When the decree was handed down that we were forced to leave our town, this family went, together with most of the members of our town, to Zhetl, and the family resided there until the Second Great Slaughter, when the German murderers ‘cleansed’ Zhetl of Jews. During the slaughter, the opportunity presented itself for this family to flee from the ghetto, and the two of them, with their little daughter Szprinza'leh fled to a peasant beside Belica (Koliesz) and here, they hid themselves with their clothing and utensils, thinking that here they would find a refuge during this time of ire. And indeed, Koliesz received them graciously, gave them food, and a place to rest, however they had barely laid down and fallen asleep, and Koliesz went to the Germans and informed them that there was a Jewish family in his home.

The father of the family, Elazar-Chaim, was shot by the murderers on the spot, but Nechama-Leah and the daughter Szprinza'leh (who was four years old) the tyrants took to the town and made them the object of sport, ‘the Jewess and her little daughter,’ before killing them and taking their lives.

All the residents of the town were ordered to gather on a sports field behind the municipal building. The sadists sported with these two lives in all manner of satanic ways, in order to amuse the non-Jewish residents of the town. In the end, they shot the mother and her daughter, and left them for one added abuse – they gave her ‘freedom to act’ to see how the little one would react. And so, little Szprinza'leh, who did not grasp what was going on about her, went over to her mother's body, and began to pull on her garment, and called out: ‘Mama, get up Mama, come, let us go home.’ When the tine Szprinza'leh saw that her mother did not reply, she left her body, and went to the house where her grandmother once lived, went up the porch and knocked on the door, and cried out in a tearful voice: ‘Bubbe, open the door for Szprinza'leh.’ (But there was no answer from the grandmother as well.)

In the end, the sadists appeared to have had their fill of amusement from their ‘game,’ and they brought Szprinza'leh back to the body of her mother and shot her as well. When the bodies of the daughter and mother fell together, and their blood was still warm, and cried out to the heart of heaven, the daughter of the gentile Ingula (the shoemaker) came up to them, and she took off the shoes from Szprinza'leh…

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The Compassion of a Dog!…

After the extermination of the Jews in the Zhetl ghetto, my [subsequently] martyred brother Schraga הי”ד and myself, remained as the sole surviving members of our family. On 25 Av 5702 (1942) we were taken in a group of 220 Jews from Zhetl – to a labor camp in Novogrudok, there in a camp surrounded by barbed wire, we were tortured in severe ways, and with hard labor.

On the night of Yom Kippur of 5703, my brother and I decided to leave the camp. We got out under the barbed wire fence, and went out in the dark of night, our hope being to reach the Neman, and to join up with the people from our town who could be found there in the forests. However, we did not know the way, and therefore, we wandered about for several nights (during the day, we hid in the forests) until, finally, we did reach the Neman River. Once again, we experiences several nights of wandering, until we reached the virgin forests beside the banks of the Neman, and we found those from Belica who had escaped the sword.

The first thing we did was dig a deep ‘bunker,’ into the ground (in concert with R' Zalman Yosselewicz, and his dear sons, Moshe and Chaim). Because the forest was large, we were about to go about in it freely, but it was not possible to find anything for people to eat. We were compelled to come out of the forest during the nights, in order to procure a bit of food from the peasants who lived on both sides of the Neman. Such forays were laded with enormous dangers, so that we would not fall into the hands of those lying in ambush, waiting for us on all sides, but the pressure on us compelled us to accept these difficult risks. From time-to-time, my brother and I would go out to those peasants whom we knew, and accordingly, we would get some food from them.

On one dark night, we decided to cross the Neman and to reach a number of the peasants from out town that took up residence in the area around the two. these peasants, who were our neighbors before the Holocaust, when we would come to them, they would always receive us graciously, and with compassion, and helped us out with food.

The first house that we thought to go into was in the vicinity of Ostashin, the two-family home of the peasant Fabiacznyk. In this residence, the elderly couple lived, and additionally – their son and his family (his wife was the daughter of Antoszka Boriczek, who were visitors to our house and very friendly with our parents). In their yard, a vicious barking dog was tethered on a long rope, and every time we got close to their house, we would hear the sound of his barking from a distance. But once, we got close to the house, and it was to wonder: we do not hear the bark of the dog.

Despite this, we quietly opened the gate to the yard, and quickly went inside, and we discovered the dog, walking about as usual on his rope, but he is not barking at all. We decided to first go into the elderly couple, and we opened the door, and before we had managed to enter inside, the elderly woman faced us and in a trembling voice said: ‘run for your lives, run quickly from here, there are police sitting with our son.’

We left the threshold of the house with all speed, went out into the yard, and passed beside the dog. We quickly opened to gate to the yard, and fled in the direction that took us back into the forest.

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The barking watchdog did not bark once. It would appear that he took pity on us: and so, this is an indication of the compassion of a dog!…

Yud'l Kusielewicz and his son, Eliyahu		Schraga (Fyv'eh) Savitzky

From time-to-time, the odor of the earth wafts over the town, from the pastures being emptied. Here and there, the yearning in the heart of a peasant, cannot be suppressed. With trembling, he takes an oar of wood in his hand, and silently steals along behind the granaries of the town. in stealth, he continues to walk to the river. Upon reaching the river, he swiftly puts the boat into the water, ands with the dry oar, he begins quickly to ford the waves as if they were not waves, as if he wants to tear the gelled waters, and drive away the bitter dark silence.

It was from the mouths of such peasants, victims of yearning, that the Jews of the forest would put together bits of news regarding what was taking place on the other side of the Neman. These discontinuous words never brought good news. They told constantly of the predations of Hell and the organization of branches of the ‘White Poles.’

When a peasant doing this , who was frightened of his own footsteps, would by chance encounter several Jews, he would fervently begin to cross himself, and in a broken voice of the pious would begin to mutter silently: ‘Young men, dear and precious, see, see and beware! Take pity on the remnant of your people. Know that the accursèd Poles who cause a great deal of trouble also for our Byelorussian brethren, are planning to exterminate you entirely.’ And always the same words: ‘Be careful, and God watch over you.’ – and this peasant would then vanish like an apocryphal messenger.

Fundamental scraps of news, from a man passing as if he was a shadow, from the other side of the Neman, engendered a sense of pain on all those dwelling in the Klaty Forest, and gave them no peace.

It is Sunday before daybreak. In the Jewish camp beside the ‘Gold Branch’ everyone arose earlier than

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usual. Clear blue skies hung over the ground. An end-of- summer sun began to shine down its warming autumnal rays, that stretched and wove themselves into the pastures, wearing a decorated mask. Everything seems proper, and this was yet another end-of-summer day in Byelorussia, warm and pleasant.

The women began to busy themselves with preparing breakfast, and in less than an hour, everyone sat down and ate. The assaults and the wild shouting were not heard, and the resignation from within, everyone sat silently, almost not sensing the breath on one's mouth. Not a single person said so much as a word, and on every face there was a stony, funereal look of silence. It was as if everyone sensed their fate in the nature about them, as if someone awesome and terrible is on the way and is coming.

There was one of us, on whom this was especially noticeable, his light and happy face changed in the end. He looked half white and half yellow, like a peasant's linen that hadn't bleached sufficiently. In the final days, he separated himself entirely and practically spoke to no one, struck dumb, wandering among the tall trees and thick underbrush, as if he was looking there for some relief from the burdensome sorrow that has taken hold of him at the end.

In those last days, he felt more acutely than in the past, his blood relationship to his brother Fyv'eh who was the only one left from his entire family. His eyes never left him, and wherever Fyv'eh turned to go, the worried looks of this man would follow him, to each and every place. And when Fyv'eh would have to stand guard at night, his brother was left without recourse, and he would sit tensed up for the whole night, in his corner. He would toss back and forth like the last leaf on a tree, and with eyes shot through with a craze, he would sit and wait for the minute of his return. He could not explain, even to himself, what it was that disturbed him so greatly, he just felt that someone awesome is stalking us, and that he cannot be rid of him.

After the silent breakfast, the men began to spread out in groups to various destinations, each group to fulfill its responsibility. Meir went with the small group to the Neman, to call the ferryman on the other side of the river, to get news of the situation. Leib'keh the fisherman, together with his son, ‘Tzal'yeh’, went in a different direction of the river, in order to make contact with a different ferryman. Our fried, sat like a piece of stone at the place where he ate breakfast, as if he had forgotten to get up. Fyv'eh went over to his brother, with the intent of trying to dispel his stoniness, and said: ‘Nu, let us walk to Zalman's group, maybe they have gathered some news.’ His brother did not offer any reply, and he just stared at his brother Fyv'eh and did not move, but when Fyv'eh called to their cousin Mikhl to walk with them, and they set out along the way, He rose with difficulty, and followed them. They went to a different Jewish group – a distance of about 5km, even if a number of men and all the women remained in the camp. The women cleaned up the remains of breakfast, and began to prepare the midday meal.

After having gone about 2½ km, suddenly three random shots shattered the silence of the forest. The sound of shooting in the forest was not, of its own right any surprise, but today, the shooting lasted longer than usual. Still as stone, they stood, and not one of them uttered so much as a word. After a short silence, and an exchange of glances, they did not continue along their way, but without a word, they returned to their camp.

When they reached the camp, they found a small campfire, with pots simmering, but not a living soul, seeing

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that everyone was frightened, and quickly fled. All about, an eerie silence reigned, and only from time to time, in a not too distant location, a rooster would crow in his temerity, and interrupted the silence for a second.

Mikhl was the first to be aroused and move himself, and he turned and said: ‘Come, let us go look for and find everyone, and call them back to camp.’ Fyv'eh declined to go: ‘they will hear that it is quiet, and will return in a short while by themselves,’ – he answered. However, Mikhl did not want to wait for them to come, and went off to look for them. Seeing that Mikhl was going, his brother went up to Fyv'eh and begged him: ‘Come, let us go with Mikhl,’ but Fyv'eh demurred and this time he said: ‘Go, if you want to, I will not go.’ The brother found himself in a quandary, and did not know how he should behave, however, out of a sense of companionship, he went off with Mikhl, and Fyv'eh remained in the camp alone.

They went looking deeper into the Klaty Forest. And as it happened, along the way, they met up with everyone, in the process of returning and all of them walked back to the camp. When they were not far from the camp, they suddenly heard a bugle call. Everyone froze in place, because everyone recognized it as the call of the White Poles. In the blink of an eye, everyone moved instinctively, and a line of several tens of people automatically moved off in the direction of a lake that was not too distant, where a refuge was located that was well camouflaged. When they reached the lake, they found Meir and his group there already. They related that when they got near the Neman, and called, as usual, to the ferryman on the other side of the river, he only came out onto his threshold, and showed with his hands that they should flee as quickly as possible. Everyone entered the underground hideout by crawling, and remained there in silence, not moving a muscle. Not a single person said anything, and everyone sat sunken in their own thoughts, only every now and then would a deep sigh break the underground silence. Despite this, in the air of the subterranean hideout, you could sense in the air the thought roiling in everyone's mind: ‘What will the day bring?’

The brother sat in the corner and trembled. From time to time, his lips would whisper, as if in prayer: ‘Fyv'eh, my precious brother! Why did you not come with us: Why did I leave you today to be alone?’

Towards evening, when the sun was setting, everyone came out of the hideout. For a minute, ears were cocked to the surroundings and the center of the forest, and when it was established that all was still around us, everyone silently walked towards the camp. When they neared the camp, they already found people there, who had previously fled in different directions. They stood silently without words, silent as mourners, but they faces bore witness to the tragedy that had occurred that day.

The brother felt that people were whispering about him, and not looking directly at him. He went up to Yud'l son of Zalman and asked: ‘Tell me Yud'l, where is Fyv'eh?’ The short and difficult reply fell – in the parlance of the forest: ‘He is lying beside Meir's trench, the one from last year.’ But this indirect answer confused the brother, and he remained confused and unwitting, but this tragic news immediately restored his senses. He did not speak anymore to anyone, and just walked by himself mumbling: ‘Fyv'eh, my dedicated brother! Are you still alive? Or am I now by myself alone in this big world?’

When it got completely dark, they went to bury Fyv'eh. Twelve Jews trod in silence in order to bury their martyr, who fell on that day. Stealthily they proceeded by winding paths, literally like people who not only

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had no right to life, but also no right to death, or to bring their brother to a proper burial.

When we reached the place where Fyv'eh lay, cut down like a pine tree after a storm, the brother no longer could remain so frozen. He threw himself on his dead brother, and began to hug him, kiss him, and silently whisper something. At that point, Yud'l went to him, and took him off the dead body, and said: ‘ At this moment, behave like a Jew; know that your brother Fyv'eh is a genuine martyr; it is certain that he has some privilege, because we are able to bury him in accordance with our customs; as for us, who knows who it is that will come to bury us.’

The grave was speedily dug, and the martyr was immediately interred in his final resting place. As soon as the fresh grave was covered, the brother was called upon to recite the ‘Kaddish.’

The brother, silently, walked up to the naked mound in the middle of the forest and said: ‘My dear martyred brother! I cannot and do not want to carry out the ritual over your grave, so young; I think this would not be right and would be dishonest of me’; If I said ‘Kaddish’ it is only to comfort you, my brother; know that I am still here to say the ‘Kaddish’ for you, because there is no one left to say ‘Kaddish’ for me.

A silent, barely audible sound pierced the silence of the night in that ancient forest: Yisgadal, veYiskadash Shmey Rabah…

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The author of the poem, the poet Y. Feigin ז”ל, is the husband of a daughter of our town, Chana of the Halperin family, and the sister-in-law of Leah Garberowicz (Halperin). The poem is based on an incident that took place among the Jews in the forest, as recorded by the poet from the tales of Leah, the survivor, whose story, and the story of her family can be seen in the poem, and in the writings she has done in this book (pp. 206, 226). The Editor.

I had a day of much murder today
My brother and paramour both fell in combat
And my spirit and soul were both bereaved in one day.
And now, between the forest trees, the remainder of the camp,
Eyes glisten in the dark, from hunger and exhaustion,
And on every pair of dumb lips there is no sigh or tear,
And my heart lies like a boulder that cannot be moved
And the quiet about is death and silence,
Only in the presence of a filthy partisan, whimpering like a dog,
An uncircumcised gentile looking to comfort himself with a female
Nears me, insanely; You have a dress? Oh…
And so the heart stirs to guard the end of my virginity
The honor of a Jewish daughter, suffering and ravaged,
And as the heart so stirred with life and emotion
With my fingers I felt my face and exposed breasts
And I remembered, today I lost my love and my brother
And I will remember yet my father who died of torture
And the sister, violated on her five children
And what is the sense of life to remain alone
And to continue to suffer agony and hunger, why,
But for the sake of vengeance, some small emotion of the avenger
But is it not better sevenfold to fall on my sword
Or my head mashed by a machine gun
And I will aimlessly wander in the dark to flee for my life.
And I will fall at the feet of … R' Baruch Moshe's,
First I said to just kick him and move on
But he immediately deterred me and called me by name
Oh, R' Baruch! I recognized his voice
And what are you doing here, and why do you lie here
And where are the rest of the Jews that were left
And it what sector did you fight, you R' Baruch
And when did your grandson fall, today, or then,
Because you see, R' Baruch, it is difficult to recall
And as for Kaddish, R' Baruch, there is nowhere to recite it
For about us are gentiles, and lo, we remain solitary.
We are not solitary, and not abandoned – he comforts me –
We have a great and awesome God in the heavens
For even should thousands and tens of thousands fall from us,
We will yet arise and live rise and live
It is forbidden to lose faith in God

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Lest we are all lost, and be erased from the earth
It is necessary to trust, my daughter, it is necessary to believe
That they will yet rise to life with the rebirth of the nation
And your Mendl, and your chosen one Leib'l will also rise
And my grandson Yankl'eh of the bright eyes
And you too, will bear sons and daughters in profusion
And they will be fruitful and multiply, and will fill the earth with Jews
Like the trees of the forest, and be mighty like them,
And before R' Baruch can complete his works, there is light
The commander, wounded in his hip calls for a rest
Until he can organize his camp and arrange his ranks.
Thus. How good. R' Baruch's face turned
And he will guard me tenderly and with compassion;
Be aware that it is Yom Kippur today, sanctified to The Lord
Yesterday – Kol Nidre – I hummed it alone in the dark
And now we must assemble a minyan of Jews
Because we must pray in a quorum; and he took out his tallit
That which is tattered with the red of blood at its edges
A memento of the time he covered his dead grandson before he was buried,
And R' Baruch passed through the camp, searching and counting
And he could not raise a minyan, even counting me
But the commander, a mocking gentile, offered three gentiles
To make up the group in order that the worship could be conducted.
But R' Baruch Moshe's passed up his kind offer
And slowly, we retired to a secret location
Where we could come together without having the gentiles mock us,
And R' Baruch wrapped himself in his tallit and intoned;
Let us not raise our voices in prayer, lest the enemy hear us
Or have his dogs scent the rising exhalation from our mouths
And thus each man should stand and pray in his heart
And direct his emotions to the God in heaven, and let not
Any man think secular thoughts about killing and annihilation
Because this is a holy day to God, and for Him only,
And I remain alone, leaning on a tree
And I hug it, and silently kiss it as if it were my lover.
And it was as if the forest itself stood silently in prayer
Its trees spreading its branches to cover the Holy People
No bird chirp, nor did any creature make noise
To disrupt the prayer or upset the thoughts –
-U'Nesaneh Tokef- says R' Baruch unwittingly out loud
But immediately the silence returned and continued, on and on…
Only a whisper, a whisper moved the lips
And I, Oy, R' Baruch, will God forgive me
I did not direct my heart to Him because I could not find Him.
But, however, see, R' Baruch – I wanted to stop him
With the clarion call of joy, happiness, but I knew not her name
To point there with a finger, to focus His gaze
That he will straighter His gaze and look and see as I do

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If that is not the Holy Land there, on her palm trees
And is that not the Mediterranean Sea, and is that not the Jordan
For R' Baruch is a scholar and well-grounded in Tanakh
And knows every river, mountain and hill
And this one who is looking out from Mount Scopus, is this not
My sister Shulamit, my twin
Does she not tread there with a telescope in hand
And asks me to look, and to partake in the view
And here, there is a flag in her other hand, and she waves it.
So, R' Baruch, in reality, she is the sign to make aliyah
Finish your prayers R' Baruch, and let us arise and go
Do not ask the way, for here is the light rises, and the heart is suddenly lightened, and tears also are seen in the eyes
Blessed, glistening, tears that light like the seven colors of the rainbow.
And I sit down beside the tree on my hand
And I sat my sister down, and gazed deeply into her eyes
Will you recognize me, I asked in my heart, will you brighten up to me
And she is so beautiful, like days of old, and is so graceful
For a minute I wanted to jump on her and bite her
And all at once the calamity of misfortune came upon her
But I immediately comforted her, and only hugged her
And I buttressed my heart with my remaining strength;
There is something to live for, to fight!
And for a moment I forgot Father, brother and the mass killing
I threw myself into her hands, with a surfeit of good fortune, and I fainted,
I can't do this, my heart cannot stand this much joy
The profuse light struck me like a lightning bolt, but –
Suddenly I was awakened by the cries of the terrified
Did the enemy sense us, did he pick up the scent of his prey
And I moved and girded myself for the battle and around us
There is no clamor or noise of the enemy.
But I immediately grasped the issue
Because at the front, it is necessary to think quickly
R' Baruch Moshe's, as is known, is not
A high official, nor the head of a group
And if he is the one shouting and raising his hands heavenward
There is doubt if there is a reason to open fire with rifles immediately.
But R' Baruch Moshe's certainly is not given to absurd behavior that is out of the ordinary
And never was fond of child's play; and words to him, quiet and trembling, so that only the forest trees would answer him out loud
and here, he let his tallit fall, and he tore it to shreds
His beard splayed wildly like the hair of Crazy Vanka
And his voice continues to rise with swearing and cursing
And lo, he is letting words drop explicitly directed heavenward
Not conversing with, but rebuking, scolding and intimidating
And not any angel, and not any seraph, but
At the Holy One Blessed be He, in His resplendent glory, Himself,
At first the remaining people whispering prayers restrained themselves
And attempted to explain it as a consequence of faintness from fasting

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But they immediately saw that R' Baruch was not being light-headed
And this was not an ordinary craze, and especially
As his words were spoken like barbs, sharp as swords
Not in the manner of Levi-Yitzhak, and not pleasant like him;
R' Baruch Moshe's is cursing explicitly, without any sense of self humiliation and no justification of law
And this is not because many thoughts oppressed him
If he had risen at the end of the holy day of Yom Kippur
And accosted the Master of the Universe to shame him and abuse him;
‘You shame your people to go and die
And you give license to sinners to cut us down
You sit in the high heavens and look down
How they bury us alive, and You do not stay their hands
You, who permit the shedding of blood and flesh of our daughters
Who command we be tossed as prey to the dogs…
You, whom I have worshiped for naught all my days on the earth
Now I am ashamed of You.’ And who knows
Where R' Baruch would have gotten with his rebuke
Had the people of the camp not fallen on him
And the bound R' Baruch was brought to the commander
And for the crime of disturbing the peace, and endangering the location of the camp hiding place
Was sentenced to die as if he were a traitor…
I stood and begged for his life
And the other Jews were aroused to beg he be shown mercy
But not so R' Baruch who pressed me to his heart;
I do not fear death, because
R' Baruch chooses death after having lost his God.

On the following day, when the enemy attacked us
We sallied against him with what was left of our strength
R' Baruch Moshe's was no longer with us
But his spirit was with us, to intensify our battle

And the shreds of his tallit were bound around the swollen feet of the gentiles…

6 Tishri 5707 (January 10, 1946)

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Rabbi R' Chaim-Leib Boczkowsky

However, it is very difficult for me to write about my own father, Rabbi R' Chaim-Leib Boczkowsky, הי”ד the Gaon and martyr, who was killed by the German murderers in such a terrifying manner. The difficulty arises from the fact that as his son, it is inappropriate for me to talk about the greatness of one's own father, despite the fact that from the other side, I have to be – and I am – full of pride, that I had the great privilege to be raised under his influence and to warm myself in of his Gaonic rays of Torah.

It is a fact, that my father זצ”ל, very, very rarely – almost never – told me about just himself alone. When I was still very little, he was already committed to the idea that I would master the Gemara well. Also later, when I grew up a bit, and went off to study at the Yeshiva in Baranovici, after he had given me a ‘foundation’ my father was quite far from telling me the details of his life in the Yeshivas as both a youth and a young man, as well as about his further life's journey.

From time-to-time, he would relate episodes to me from his yeshiva live, that he thought were relevant experiences. But it was very rarely that he told me things about himself personally, not heeding what he was – as I subsequently learned from other sources – an outstanding personality in the yeshivas where he studied. His thorough knowledge and sharp analytical mind was renown not only in the yeshivas where he studied. He got the nickname of ‘Suprasler Genius’ at the renown yeshiva of Mir, and was a synonym for scholastic excellence in the yeshiva world. This reputation was strongly shared among the experts in Talmud, who would refer to his ideas and deeds.

The word ‘Suprasler’ which was said together with the word ‘Genius’ reached the shtetl where my father was born and raised (Suprasl was a small shtetl beside Bialystok). Thanks to the brilliance of one of its sons, it became recognized in the rabbinical world.

Born to a father who was a great scholar, but who ran a small town store because he did not want to use the rabbinate as a means to make a living, my father began to manifest his skilled mind for learning at an early age. Already, as a little boy, his parents sent him off to yeshivas in the wider world for study. He studied in (I think) Malcz^[1], Krynki, Volozhin, Slobodka, and – most importantly – in the Yeshiva at Mir, which became baked into his heart forever, and where he quickly became the ‘wonder-child.’

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It did not take long, and he became a study companion to the Rabbi, R' Eliyahu-Baruch Kamai זצ”ל, the Headmaster of the Yeshiva of Mir, which seethed with Torah and knowledge and was one of the great scholars of his generation. When I was already living in America, after the war, a Rabbi from Brooklyn, a former student at the Yeshiva of Mir, told me in the presence of a group of Rabbis, how ‘Leib'l the Suprasler Genius,’ would review the more difficult lessons of R' Eliyahu-Baruch. Thereby, he also noted that after a lesson, my father was able to relay the entire lesson of what the famous Rabbi had said. The young men of the Yeshiva, which produced great Torah scholars, yeshiva headmasters, and Rabbis – would array themselves around the young man from Suprasl, who did not miss so much as a single word that his teacher had said.

My father זצ”ל whose ideas would circulate about the yeshiva from time to time, also long after he had left it, apart from his brilliance, was also blessed with a phenomenal memory. I am reminded of an interesting episode, at a Friday evening having dinner at the home of R' Israel-Yaakov Lubczansky הי”ד, the spiritual leader for the ‘Ohel Torah Yeshiva’ at Baranovici, where I studied (R' Israel-Yaakov זצ”ל, my one-time supervisor and a great exponent of Mussar, who was a son-in-law of R' Yoizl Hurwitz of Novogrudok, was murdered by the Germans). That Friday evening, in the middle of the meal, when the supervisor and my father were discussing some learning, and I listened in, my father repeated a concept about a difficult matter in the Gemara, that R' Israel-Yaakov had told him 25 years previously, also at a Friday night meal, in the home of the newly appointed Rabbi of Baranovici, where my father had spent a Sabbath on his way back from Da-Mir. My supervisor, who himself excelled in having a very strong memory, was astounded, when my father repeated this concept from 25 years ago. It is also a fact – this I can better grasp after having developed a bit of understanding and relationship with people – that my father's thoughts flowed with unusual speed. The words that he uttered had a difficult task in keeping up with his profound thinking, which swam swiftly in the sea of scholarship.

In a certain way, my father was similar to R' Aharon Kottler זצ”ל, the Headmaster of the Kleck Yeshiva, and later of Lakewood [N.J.] in America. I saw this similarity while still in Baranovici, when I observed close up, the movements of R' Aharon's eyes, and listened to the way he spoke. I got the same feeling again, when a few years ago, I had the opportunity to hear R' Aharon's exposition and casuistry. My father would speak of R' Aharon with great respect, as the ‘Sislevicher^[2] Genius,’ with whom at one time, he had studied together in a Yeshiva, and was a good friend of his.

My father, in my humble opinion, was a man truly contented with his lot, despite the fact like, with every individual, he had disappointments in his life. His greatest pleasure lay in providing an answer to a difficult scholarly question, his entire persona being dedicated to study. He had no small measure of happiness when his son would demonstrate intellectual prowess in the study of a page of the Gemara, and he demanded that I should thoroughly know the literal test, which is the ‘foundation’ of all learning. However, at the same time, he also wanted that I should ‘sharpen my mind’ by answering a variety of questions.

While I was learning the Gemara with my ‘private’ tutors in the shtetl in Belica, – with R' Abraham-Hirsch Kaufman and R' Yaakov Shmuckler (Yankl Tsin'keh's), הי”ד – my father would often come and listen in to see if I was making progress.

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Before the last World War, at the time when the so-called modern winds had already reached Belica – when on the Sabbath after cholent, the larger majority of the town youth would go to the waterfront, or to the ‘yard’ – it was not among the easiest of tasks to hold back a youngster, tied down to the Gemara. But my father accomplished this, even with the specific difficulties, and in order to supply me with an incentive, that study of the Torah was the greatest education of all, no matter where one goes. ‘If you know a language’ – he would say to me – ‘it is only good where it is used: with Torah, however, you can go anywhere in the world…’

I am certain, that when he studied at the Yeshiva, he didn't need any such ‘foundation,’ this was the study of Torah for its own sake, from which he did not anticipate any compensation. Later on, it was necessary to take comfort in the fact that from a study not for its own sake, would come study for its own sake, and a need to give an incentive to a small-town youth to motivate him to learn.

My father, himself, never ceased to learn. It is possible that he would have spent a countless number of years studying in his beloved Yeshiva at Mir, but his reputation as the ‘Suprasler Genius’ went before him. When the renown Rabbi of Zhetl, Rabbi R' Baruch-Abraham Mirsky זצ”ל came to the Yeshiva at Mir, looking for a bridegroom that would be suitable for his granddaughter, an orphan, he selected ‘Leib'l Suprasler,’ one of the best – and perhaps the best of all – the young men in the Yeshiva.

Also in Zhetl, after the wedding, the outstanding pupil of R' Eliyahu-Baruch Kamai זצ”ל sat alone studying the Torah, and also held forth a study session in the local Yeshiva, which had been placed on a high level, and became a leader in its field.

When his first wife passed away, leaving behind two young orphan girls (Henya and Malka, הי”ד), after a certain amount of time, my father found his fortune in Belica, where I and my two sisters who were killed (Faygl and Mash'keh הי”ד) were born and raised.

For another person of his caliber, it might have proven difficult to adapt to his new surroundings and way of life. After everyone, he did not have people in Belica at the same level in education, and even in worldly matters. Here, too, he was confronted with a new challenge, where overnight, he became a merchant in my mothers manufacturing and leather store. My father met this challenge, his long beard and side locks with is winter rabbinical shtrymel elicited respect, even by the local peasants, who would come to the store, and if an unruly individual did appear, who wanted to make sport of the beard and kapote, my father did not get upset. He especially took satisfaction in his role as the ‘buyer’ for the store, because in this capacity, he would have to visit Lida, Vilna, Baranovici, Warsaw, Bialystok, as well as other cities and towns. This would afford him the opportunity to meet with R' Chaim-Ozer Grodzinsky זצ”ל, R' Elchanan Wasserman, הי”ד and other Gaonim and Rabbis of that generation.

It goes without any doubt to say that my father's capacity to accustom himself to his new surroundings in the Belica vicinity was a result of my mother's understanding. My mother Brein'eh הי”ד who was thoroughly suffused with much common sense, and seemingly inexhaustible energy, and to whose words all people would pay careful attention, respecting her wisdom and strong will – understood my father very well. In a very

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quiet way, she would ‘pave the way’ for him, and save him energy and work. She made time for him to study. Also, my brother Yaakov, who was from my mother's first marriage, always demonstrated great respect for my father, even though he, himself, was not observant.

The marriage of my parents at first looked (or so I imagine was the case) to be rather bizarre: on the one side, a very religious father, a Rabbi and a Gaon, that literally bubbles over with Torah, and on the other side – my mother, an enlightened person, already more or less a modern woman, who in the year 1905, played an important role among the shtetl Jewish-revolutionary circles of the Bund, thanks to her considerable oratory talents. But it worked out very well, and a mutual love and understanding took hold between them. My mother, who approaching her second marriage, was already religiously inclined, understood and responded to my father's requirements. She did it with love, perhaps more than out of conviction, as well as out of an understanding for his wishes. And had my father had accepted a Rabbinical post, my mother, who had a swift capacity to orient herself, and a sharp mind, with the ability to render help to people in times of need, would have had great value in the role of being a Rebbetzin.

My father's greatness goes beyond his brilliance in Talmud, and also lay in his deeper grasp of global politics. It sounds, perhaps, not believable, but those who knew him, remember very well, he was in the habit of being able to predict events, that eventually came to pass. It was not only once that he pronouncements seemed to be unreal, but it did not take long for people to realize that he was right. And this was the case regardless if the issue had happy or tragic consequences.

My father excelled in his simplicity, giving no heed to the fact that his mind was always occupied with deep thoughts, he was nonetheless a very modest man. The ‘common Jewish man’ appealed to him, was always very near to his heart. Not once, did I note in the Bet HaMedrash, or even in the marketplace, how he would go up to a fellow Jew, and have a fraternal conversation with him. Also, on the Sabbath, he would not rarely go home accompanied by the balebatim, who didn't necessarily sit on the east side bench. He felt at home in their company, and he would ‘long’ to study a portion of the Pentateuch with them on a Friday night.

When I attempt, sometimes, to penetrate into my father's personality, I arrive at the conclusion, that it is indeed because of his great modesty and simplicity, that he did not take a position as a sitting Rabbi. His relationship to the ‘year-around Jews’ whom he met face-to-face more than previously, held him back from taking a rabbinical appointment, which could be transformed into a barrier between him and them.

From time to time, I think I am speaking to my father the martyr, who helps me traverse this uncertain and brutal world. I have the same feeling about my wise mother, who shields me from all injurious forces. I do recall, however, that both of them, like my four sisters, were killed by the Germans – yes, German, and not only Nazi – murderers. And exactly in the middle of writing these description, I received the sorrowful news, that the last of my father's brothers had passed away.

There were six of them: three brothers and three sisters. Five of them, including my father, were murdered by the Germans, and only one died a natural death in America.

Translator's footnotes:

1. Called Mlatsza in Byelorussian Return
2. Sislevich is the Yiddish-preferred pronunciation for the shtetl of Svisloch, beside Volkovysk Return

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