[Page 21]

It was at the end of the 1880s. In that century, A. B. Gotlober lived with his daughter in Bialystok. I no longer remember her family name. Her husband was a lawyer. Her first name was Sofie.

She had a son named Yashe. He was my friend. I visited him almost every day. Gotlober's daughter was a highly educated woman who taught German and French at her home. Many educated young men came to visit her. They discussed various topics there.

Old Gotlober was blind, so the young people who visited him read to him every day from the newspaper HaTzefira and other Hebrew books. There was one person who had to come every day to read to him, but I no longer remember his last name. His father owned a brick builing on the corner of Vashlikover Street and Karshul [Khor-shul?] Alley that housed a hotel. I believe it was called the “Varshavski Gostinitsa” [Hotel Warsaw].

I can confirm that Gotlober was a devout Jew in his old age. I saw him pray in the afternoon and evening. On Shabbat evenings, after evening prayers, he performed the “havdalah” [ceremony, which marks the end of Shabbat], and then smoked a cigarette because he did not smoke on Shabbat.

He used to go to R' Eliezer Halbershtam to read German newspapers and books. Halbershtam lived across from him on Vashlikover Street, next to the river and opposite the Vashlikover Bes-Hamedresh.

Halbershtam was also blind in his old age. However, there was a German woman employed to read books and newspapers to him and take him for walks every day. Gotlober used to visit and spend time with him. Halbershtam had been his good friend since youth. Halbershtam was also a poet. He was the son-in-law of R' Yitskhok Zabludovski.

Everyone in Bialystok knew who Yitskhok Zabludovski was. He was called R' Itsele the “Gvir” [wealthy man]. Zabludovski brought Zamenhof to Bialystok to teach his children. Zamenhof taught them German and French. However, I no longer remember where Zamenhof was from originally. I know that he taught his entire family, including his grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

My father's sister, who was from Rozhenoy [Ruzhany], married R' Khayim Pins, may he rest in peace. He was supposed to study with Zamenhof. And when the couple traveled to Rozhenoy to “esn kest” [so the bride's parents would support them during the groom's studies]^[3], Zamenhof traveled with them so he could teach Khayim there. At the same time, he began teaching the Rozhenoy Talmud students at the “Pin's Yeshivah” in Rozhenoy.

The big question among the Talmud students was whether Zamenhof prayed every day. They agreed to ask him about the psalm verse^[4] recited before finishing the “Shmone-Esre” [Eighteen Benedictions] prayer.

I don't know if they asked him or not.

Later, Zamenhof returned to Bialystok and then traveled to Warsaw. There, he taught German and French at a Russian high school. He also worked as a censor of Hebrew and Yiddish books in Warsaw.

I spent some time in Warsaw for the first time at the end of the 1880s. I stayed with the Levin-Epshteyns. I was still a young lad at the time, and the Levin-Epshteyns were my cousins on my mother's side. They had a shop selling religious books in Warsaw. When they had something to be censored, they sent it to Zamenhof.

I wanted to meet Zamenhof, so I asked the Levin-Epshteyns to send me to him with a book that needed censoring. The censorship was on Medave Street. So I went there. I entered the censor's [Zamenhof's] office and handed him the book.

As I was leaving, I told him that I was from Bialystok. He asked about my family, and I replied: Blokh. He asked, “Which Blokh?” I replied, “Fayve Blokh's son.” He asked, “Fayve Malka-Reyzel's?” I said yes.

Then he told me that my father, may he rest in peace, had studied with him, as had my older sister and brother.

[Page 22]

I spent some time with him. To pick up the censored book, I set off again and spent some more time with him.

Every day he wore a tailored black suit coat, buttoned on both sides, and a top hat. He had two sons: one was a pharmacist and the other an ophthalmologist. His children were born in Bialystok on Yatke Street, which is why Yatke Street was renamed “Zamenhof Street.”

I think it was 1859 when R' Lipele arrived in Bialystok. Shortly after, certain circumstances led to him making enemies who denounced him for collecting money for Erets Yisroel, resulting in his imprisonment. He was detained in Grodno for eight days. My sister was with him when the “kvartalnik” [police officer responsible for a neighborhood] arrived. She told me that the “kvartalnik” came into the house and said, “Davay nazhnitsi!”–Give me a pair of scissors! He shaved off R' Lipele's sidelocks and took him to Grodno.

After five days, he was released. He was told that the three men who had denounced him were severely punished. One man had both legs run over by a tram in Petersburg; one man choked on a piece of cheese; and the third man's factory burned down and was not insured.

At that time, there were two Jewish military doctors in Bialystok: One, Zilberberg, held the rank of general. He was also the “oyeuzdne vratsh” (district medical officer), but he was imprisoned as well.

The other was Dr. Lev, a hunchbacked man and a great chess player. He held the rank of “polkovnik” [colonel] and was a very orderly person. However, he made a mistake before he died… Five minutes before dying, he converted to Christianity. That is, his wife had him baptized so that she could continue to receive his government salary after his death.

He was a relative of Bernshteyn [by marriage], who wrote German scientific works. This occurred in 5635 (1874-1875). His wife and daughter remained Jewish.

Since R' Lipele was in poor health, he would go to a “datshe” [vacation home] in the summer. At that time, people did not yet go to the forest^[5]. He went to a “datshe” in Vyetrak or Bialystok. Once, he went to Vyetrak, near the “Polyeser [Poliesa] railway”. However, the railway did not exist at that time.

Of course, he had a minyan to pray with at his “datshe.”

Many people came to him on Shabbat for the “minkhe” (afternoon prayer). I also came with my parents, may they rest in peace, quite often. He was my mother's cousin. His children would come too, of course.

R' Khayim Herz visited him with his family. He brought his son, R' Yisroel (Israel), with him. Israel Halpern was his eldest son and had an office on Vashlikover Street in Bialystok.

He was a few years older than me, but we were friends. Next to the “datshe” was a swing, and we would swing on it together. One day, a Jew from the city arrived. He approached us and said that we weren't allowed to swing on Shabbat. We decided to go ask the rabbi.

So we went to R' Lipele and asked him:

“Zeyde [Grandfather], is it okay to swing on Shabbat?”

He replied that you don't have to swing. Israel asked him again:

“Zeyde, is it okay to swing on Shabbat?”

He replied again that you don't have to swing.

He asked again: “Zeyde, so you're not allowed to swing on Shabbat?”

He replied again:

“You don't have to swing.”

We both asked him again whether one was not allowed to swing on Shabbat.

And he replied once more that one did not have to swing.

Then Israel said to him:

“Zeyde, but is it allowed to swing on Shabbat?”

R' Lipele stroked his cheek and said:

“You will learn that in time!”

He had always answered him that one doesn't have to swing, not that one isn't allowed to.

Israel Halpern reminded me of this back in the 1930s, when he returned from Russia after World War I.

The Ohel of the Rabbi and Gaon R' Lipele in the old Jewish cemetery

Volkovski was the “supreme leader of the city” and was therefore also present at the meeting. Before R' Lipele's departure, he asked him:

[Page 23]

“Rabbi, give me one of your cigars.”

R' Lipele used to smoke cigars. R' Lipele gave him his cigar box so that he could take one. Later, when they [the leaders] left and R' Lipele opened his box, he saw 100 rubles lying inside. He knew it was Volkovski who had put them there. He felt disappointed and also lost, because he didn't know how to deal with it.

For over a year, he no longer held meetings before his departures and no longer provided information about all the affairs of the city.

Volkovski had employed an accountant named Bavli. This Bavli was a Jewish scholar and was close to R' Lipele. During the entire time that R' Lipele was away, Volkovski used to reproach him:

“Your R' Lipele has left town and has not passed on any information at all. He has abandoned the town.”

R' Bavli ran around in confusion, not understanding what was happening. He could hardly wait for R' Lipele to return from Cranz. As soon as R' Lipele arrived back, Bavli went straight to him to ask:

“Rabbi, why did you leave and abandon the city? Volkovski says that no one knew what to do in the city.

R' Lipele replied,

“Tell Volkovski that I am not for sale!”

In R' Lipele's time, there was no “vadaprovod” [water pipe] in Bialystok. Water was transported in barrels or carried into houses using “shelkes” [leather shoulder carriers]. The wells were located in Pyaskes. In later years, Bake dug wells on Yuravetske Street and sold water to the carriers.

Once, on the first day of Passover, a Jewish water carrier came to R' Lipele and pointed out that he had found a piece of bread in the water. This meant that all the cooking utensils had to be declared forbidden wherever the Jew had carried the water.

This was a great loss, and the rabbi was very upset. However, he came up with an idea to make the cookware kosher again.

He summoned two wealthy moneylenders and told them about the water carrier, who was a poor Jew. His horse had fallen, and perhaps one of them would be willing to lend him money so that he could buy another horse.

But they said no! They would not trust him.

R' Lipele then said:

“Well, if that's the case, then I don't trust him either!” And so he declared the cookware “kosher.”

Dr. Zilberberg was friends with R' Lipele. Apart from being his family doctor, Dr. Zilberberg used to visit R' Lipele and spend time with him. One day, Dr. Zilberberg was sitting with R' Lipele in the living room when a Jewish woman came in with a question [about a chicken]. R' Lipele replied that the chicken was kosher. However, it would be better not to eat it.

The doctor asked why. R' Lipele replied that, although the chicken was healthy, someone with lung disease had lived in the house where the chicken had previously been. The sick person had coughed, and the chicken may have drunk the cough. Poultry have a habit of doing this, so it would be better not to eat the chicken.

The doctor examined the chicken but could not find anything wrong with it. He asked the rabbi for the chicken and sent it to Petersburg for laboratory examination. After a while, the results came back, confirming what R' Lipele had said.

Once, in the time of R' Lipele, prices had risen, and so he gave permission to prepare peas with beans for Passover. One Passover Friday, a Jewish woman approached R' Lipele, holding a pot in her hand and shouting:

“No one wants to take my cholent [to keep warm] because I have peas in my cholent.”

I must note that R' Lipele used to eat specially prepared matzo bread, and therefore he put his cholent in his own oven so that it would not be mixed up with others.

He brought the Jewish woman with the cholent into his kitchen and told his cooking lady to accept her cholent and put it in the oven next to his.

At the same time, he instructed her to accept any cholent brought to her by anyone without asking questions.

My father, may he rest in peace, died on 27 Tevet 5639, and R' Lipele died on 6 Shevat 5639, nine days later. My father was 47 years old and R' Lipele was 63. In the same year [5639/1879], Dr. Zilberberg fell ill at the end of the summer. He was already old. When he realized he was dying, he was afraid his wife would have him baptized, just as Dr. Lev's wife had her husband baptized before his death so that she could continue to receive his salary afterwards.

And since R' Lipele was already deceased, Dr. Zilberberg called HaRav Khayim Herz and asked him to send someone to sit by his bedside until his death, so his wife could not have him baptized.

R' Khayim Herz had it done, and so Dr. Zilberberg died as a Jew and received a Jewish burial. He had three daughters and two sons. Dr. Zilberberg had his own “britshke” [horse-drawn carriage with two wheels], in which he drove to visit his patients. Of course, he also had a coachman.

Once, on Shabbat, when his two sons had come from Petersburg for the summer holidays, they ordered the coachman to harness the “britshke” so they could go for a ride.

When he [Dr. Zilberberg] saw that the coachman was harnessing the “britshke,” he went out and asked him who he was doing this for. The coachman replied that his sons had ordered him to do so because they wanted to go for a drive.

He [Dr. Zilberberg] instructed him to unhitch the horses again and told his children that they would have other opportunities to go for a drive on Shabbat: “Once you become doctors, you will be able to go for a drive on Shabbat! But I don't like you driving in Bialystok on Shabbat.”

On Yom Kippur, he would go to the “Khor-Shul” very early in the morning to pray, and he would sit there all day until after the evening prayers. He said it was good for a person to fast once a year. The stomach needs to rest occasionally, too.

Translator's notes:

1. Contents in [ ] are from the translator. Contents in ( ) are from the author. Return
2. Stylistically, Blokh's chapter differs from many other contributions in this book. In addition to short sentences and repeated words, many references to people are unclear, and the content is only hinted at. I have therefore sometimes translated more freely. Return
3. “Esn kest” = a Jewish tradition in which the groom is supported by the bride's parents during his [Torah] studies, usually by living with them and receiving food. Return
4. Psalm 19, 15 [“Let the words of my mouth and the thoughts of my heart find favor in your sight, O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer”]. Return
5. In her biography, To the Great World, Chayele Grober describes the trend of vacationing in nearby pine forests in later years–for example, near the town of Milejczyce–and renting hammocks under old trees there. Return
6. I assume that this refers to the “kehile.” Return

[Page 24]

In 1898, just before the Second Zionist Congress in Basel, I told Dr. Yosef Chazanowicz about my enthusiasm for the First Zionist Congress – especially my excitement over Dr. Herzl. But with Dr. Chazanowicz, it was impossible to speak calmly. He was nervous the entire time. He would argue with his own particular kind of agitation:

“Dear people, forgive me!”
(As our dear old Białystokers will remember, these were his usual outbursts: “You don' t understand the little Jews!”)^[3]

And when I would begin to speak to him like this:
“Dear Doctor, we are living through such an extraordinary time in our history. I feel that now a radical turning point is coming in the life and history of our people,”

he would shout at me in his own peculiar fury, in that characteristic Chazanowicz manner of speech:

“Forgive me, dear people, but it' s all… little Jews, little Jews… old pants sellers, you understand… you understand…” (That' s how he would usually shout.)

And he would begin to pace around his room, his agitation endless. I, who was so close to this holy Jew, already understood his agitation. He was probably caring for a very ill patient – a poor craftsman at that.

Dr. Yosef Chazanowicz

At that very moment, a woman burst in – ragged, with a terrible cry: “Doctor, save us! My daughter has suddenly gone mute from fright!” With her came her son, who also begged the doctor to help his sister who had lost her speech.

Chazanowicz immediately grabbed his overcoat and cane and asked: “Who has gone mute? Your Rivke?” (Chazanowicz knew all the children of his poor patients by name.)

The young man reached out his hand to him. The first thing Dr. Chazanowicz did was push it away with his cane – (as was well known, Dr. Chazanowicz almost never shook hands).

He then turned again to the distraught, impoverished woman with his quick question: “But tell me – can your mute daughter hear?”

And when the woman answered “Yes,” I saw Chazanowicz run to his desk, open the drawer, pull out a small knife, open it, slip it into his pocket, and already begin dragging the woman with me out into the street, shouting to the coachman: “Khayim, Khayim!” (Khayim was his regular coachman) “To Yeshiva Lane!”

Chazanowicz never had to ask where his poor patients lived – he always knew their addresses.

And so, unwillingly, I found myself sitting on the droshke with Dr. Chazanowicz and the woman. As we rode along, I noticed how Dr. Chazanowicz was looking into a catalog he had received from abroad, making notes with his red pencil, and suddenly shouting to me: “Forgive me, dear people, you understand, you understand… These are little Jews… little Jews… nothing will ever come of them.”

And at the same time, he looked at the pale, sorrowful woman riding with us, so full of worry. He pressed his lips together in anger and shouted at her: “I see you' re no longer taking the medicine to strengthen your weak blood! Ah, little Jews – and you call that a people…”

He lamented like this all the way until we arrived at the house where the girl who had gone mute was staying.

Dr. Chazanowicz no longer spoke to anyone. He ran straight to the mute girl, grabbed her by her beautiful mouth, and shouted to her: “Quick – stick out your tongue, Rivke, quick!”

[Page 25]

The girl, confused and shaken, obediently stuck out her little tongue. I noticed how Chazanowicz took from his pocket the small open knife he had kept ready the whole time, held her tongue with his other hand, and shouted:

“I' ll cut off your tongue!”

The pale, half-dead girl screamed: 

“Help! Help! Save me!”

All those standing around, witnessing the great miracle of the girl' s cry, looked with love at the dear Dr. Chazanowicz and shouted: “Doctor, we will pray to God for you!”

Chazanowicz shouted: “Quick – pay me the fifty kopecks!”

I saw how Chazanowicz quietly slipped to the side… discreetly placed a few rubles on the woman' s dresser, and pulling me by the hand, I was already seated with him on Khayim' s droshke.

And as we rode, he whispered in my ear: “You know, Litman, in the catalog I received today, I found a book that' s already 450 years old – and I' m going to buy it for Jerusalem, you understand? Such a treasure, such a precious, ancient book – for our national library in our holy city of Jerusalem!”

Once, when I came to his home, I found a group of young Zionists there. One of them stepped forward with a document – a kind of mandate – and said: “In the name of the Zionist organization, I inform you that you have been unanimously elected as a delegate to the Second Zionist Congress in Basel.”

Chazanowicz listened silently, though with great inner emotion, to the announcement from the young Zionists. He responded with only one word, but deeply shaken:

“Good.”

When Chazanowicz was finally alone with me, he gave me a look with his childlike eyes and said in a strange, trembling voice: “Litman, let me be… I' m very shaken… I' m going to the bedroom… You understand, I' m now a Jewish representative of the people…”

And as he spoke, I could hear the strong beating of his noble heart.

There was still a day left before our departure for the Congress. A great change had come over Chazanowicz – he no longer shouted at anyone. He had become as calm as a young, gentle child. Just a little thing – he was going to the Congress, after all!

But he no longer let me rest. He kept asking me to send my acquaintance, Miss Khaye-Rokhel Horodishtsh, to him (who later became my wife), so she could hem his clothes, sew on the missing buttons, mend the places that were torn. Just a small thing – he was going to the Congress, after all, and he finally had to be properly dressed.

The day of our departure for the Congress in Basel arrived. That day, he was distraught. His most important conversations were with his coachman.

Before noon, he rode to the grave of Rabbi Shmuel Mohilever. Tearfully, he returned from Rabbi Shmuel' s grave. And we rode off to the train station in Khayim' s droshke.

A powerful impression was made on me when I saw how, just before the third call, Dr. Chazanowicz embraced his coachman Khayim tightly and kissed him warmly.

The entire time we were traveling to Basel, he was like a quiet, good child with me. He did everything I told him to do.

When we arrived in Basel, we checked into the well-known Zionist hotel Three Kings, because that was the hotel where Dr. Herzl was supposed to stay.

And later, when we were already sitting in our beautiful room, I pointed out through the window to the beautiful river Rhine and said to him: “Look, Doctor, how beautiful the Rhine is!”

He suddenly began shouting at me: “What? The Rhine is not our river! The Rhine is not the Jordan! Forgive me, dear people!”

And tears streamed from the eyes of the holy man…

Later, when we went out into the streets of Basel and he didn' t see a single Jew, he let loose in his Chazanowicz-style speech: “What kind of place is Basel for a Zionist Congress? Basel is a gentile city… Our Congress should be in Eyshishok [Eišiškės] or in Pilvishek [Pilviškiai] – in a town of pure Jews!”

Chazanowicz did not stop making a great fuss until I took him to the city-casino where the Zionist Congress was to open five days later.

When we arrived at that beautiful palace and saw the large white-and-blue Zionist flags fluttering above it – which, at the time, was a complete novelty for all of us – I noticed that Chazanowicz' s face turned deathly pale.

In my excitement I took off my hat, but at that very moment, I got a jab from him, and he shouted at me: “Put on your hat! One stands before a Jewish flag with a covered head!”

And we entered the casino. I said to Dr. Chazanowicz: “Doctor, today you will see in Herzl a great Jew.”

He began shouting at me: “Litman, you' re too easily impressed! Herzl is a Jew like all Jews – forgive me.”

I said nothing more.

In the meantime, we met many great men – Professor Mandelstam, Zangwill, Max Nordau. All greeted him with great joy, for they had long known his name.

But he was not impressed by anyone.

So we slowly walked on foot to the Basel train station to await Herzl' s arrival.

Chazanowicz kept arguing the whole time: “What will I see in Herzl? Why are you dragging me along – I' m a weak man!”

And so we arrived at the Basel train station.

There we found a large Zionist crowd already gathered. Chazanowicz was still in a bad mood and shouted at me: “What will I see? He' s just a little Jew like all the little Jews… Forgive me… I want to go home.”

[Page 26]

The train arrived. Suddenly, we saw Dr. Herzl stepping off the train and approaching us.

I felt Chazanowicz gripping my hand so tightly it hurt. I looked at him – his body was trembling convulsively, and with a quivering voice he cried out to me:

“Litman! Litman! It' s him!… I' ve waited my whole life for him… It' s him, God' s chosen one… My whole life I' ve dreamed of him… It' s him – he' s here!”

Chazanowicz' s condition at that moment was terrifying. I will never forget that minute. That minute was holy.

We went to eat lunch at a Jewish, kosher restaurant called Hotel Braunschweig.

When Chazanowicz saw the worn, grimy steps of the restaurant, he exclaimed with delight: “Now this is a truly Jewish place!”

At that moment, a large group of young Zionists had gathered, and they all looked at him with curious fascination. Suddenly, I heard one of the young men say to another: “I think that' s the great Dr. Chazanowicz.”

Then something remarkable happened: in a single moment, Chazanowicz was in their hands. A tremendous, thunderous cheer rang out through the entire street. Everyone shouted:

“Long live our dear Dr. Chazanowicz!”

Chazanowicz tore himself from their hands and shouted: “Little Jews, close your mouths!… Better give me books and resources for my – our – national library!”

With strange love and tenderness, the enthusiastic youth carried him in their arms and wouldn' t let him go, continuing to shout:

“Long live our Chazanowicz!”

At that moment, the door of the restaurant opened, and Dr. Herzl entered – completely unexpectedly. Everyone stood frozen, awestruck with a strange reverence. Dr. Herzl looked around with a sharp gaze. Noticing Dr. Chazanowicz, he quickly stepped toward him:

“How are you, my dear Dr. Chazanowicz?”

Dr. Chazanowicz, pale, with a passionate look in his eyes, stretched out his trembling hands and collapsed, fainting, into a chair.

Herzl embraced him and kissed him on the head with fatherly affection.

It was not merely a moment – it was holy…

Translator's notes:

1. Contents in [ ] are from the translator. Contents in ( ) are from the author. Return
2. I would like to note that a chapter with similar content - apparently by the same author - appears on page 13 of the English section of this Yizkor book, under the title “Dr. Josef Chazanowicz – A Profile.” However, this is a separate translation and a significant abridgement of the original text, prepared by Rabbi Lowell S. Kronick- or Rabbi Shmuel A. Kronick, as indicated on page VI. This version also contains several deviations from the original. Return
3. In his book “Dr. Chazanowicz, The Idealist, Nationalist and Man of the People,” on page 28, David Klementinowski describes the striking way in which the famous “Doctor of the Poor,” whom he greatly admired, used to speak. I have translated this book and quote from it:
   “He was a very nervous person. His intellect worked much faster than his mouth could express his thoughts. This rapid association of thought and speech caused him to speak in choppy, single words, especially when he was excited, angry, or when Jewish social affairs did not develop as he wanted.
   He would twist the words in such a way that it was difficult to understand him or know what he meant. He mixed and matched terms, jumping from one issue to another without providing context.
   He gesticulated a lot, shouted, and got angry.”
   Klementinowski also mentions Dr. Chazanowizc's deeply felt attachment and love for the poor, whom he often criticized and rebuked harshly, however, precisely out of a sense of concern and responsibility. For him, they were his “Idelekh,” as he called them–his little Jews.
   You can download my translation for free here Dr Joseph Chazanowicz.pdf Return

The former prezidentin [First Lady], Eleanor Roosevelt – respected by all – publicly proposed the creation of an international language, which, in her view, should and must help strengthen lasting peace among nations. Certainly, the idea was noble and uplifting – but not new.

It may be assumed that Mrs. Roosevelt surely knew that such a desired language already existed, created not by just anyone, but by the Jew from Białystok, Dr. Lazarus (Ludwik) Zamenhof, in the year 1887.

His artificially constructed language, Esperanto – named after Zamenhof' s pseudonym “Dr. Esperanto” – is considered the most successful auxiliary language for international use to date. It was quickly adopted, and soon, groups of Esperantists began to form across the globe, united by the sincere intention to introduce a single language for everyone, everywhere.

They also believed, with innocence and complete faith, that this language would unite all people from all nations – and that they would no longer have to look at one another like broygeze hener [angry roosters], when they met.

And just like Mrs. Roosevelt, they held the deep belief that through this, perhaps another step forward could be taken toward the longed-for peace among nations – the urgent demand of the hour.

It may be that the root of our pain and suffering truly lies in this: that the nations are torn apart by different languages, so that one people does not understand the other.

But when they speak in one language, face to face – without the help of diplomats, the “world providers,” who speak in good spirits in various languages and often still through interpreters – then surely they will be able to speak together more quickly, draw closer to one another, understand each other better, and will no longer need all sorts of Versailles, Yalta, and Potsdam treaties in order to live in peace.

So it is truly worthwhile to know – especially in this present critical time – how this remarkable language, Esperanto, came into being; how it developed into an international auxiliary language; and who was the inventor and creator of this new tongue – a language that belongs to no single people, and is – and must become – everyone' s.

[Page 27]

Dr. Ludwik Zamenhof

This colorful mixture of tongues – which in and of itself may be a rather beautiful and interesting phenomenon – was nevertheless a tremendous obstacle to mutual understanding, and not infrequently, it intensified tensions and gave rise to bad blood.

Moreover, the Jew is always a ne-undnik [wanderer], constantly forced to move and adapt to new conditions among entirely foreign peoples, with whom we are in constant maga u-masa [contact and exchange] in order to survive.

All of this had already, in his early youth, awakened and stirred the thoughts of the sensitive and emotionally attuned boy Ludwik Zamenhof, born in Białystok in 1859 to poor Jewish parents.

Already at school, Zamenhof became interested in – and deeply occupied with – the problem of bringing peoples closer together. He arrived at the idea of creating a neutral language: one that would be equally accessible to everyone and would not grant bekhora [superiority] to one nation over another.

The young gymnasium student Zamenhof, who had already begun to delve into this line of thought in the second class of gymnasium, naturally had no idea of the previous attempts and experiments made in this field by other great researchers and thinkers – such as Leibniz, Volapük^[3], and others.

Entirely independently, and without any knowledge of his predecessors' efforts, he embarked on the bold experiment: to create a new world language, one that would serve both as a help and a healing for all peoples equally.

Esperanto possesses the advantage of a grammar and syntax that are simple and flexible, with no artificially imposed word order.

Its pronunciation is strictly phonetic – each letter always has the same sound, and words are pronounced exactly as they are written

And so, Zamenhof, as a 19-year-old gymnasium student (in 1878), sitting in a small room at his father' s house on Yatke Street in Białystok, had already created the first world language, which he initially called the umetumike shprokh - “the universal language.”

This language, known only to a few of his acquaintances in Warsaw, where he was studying at the time, became the foundation of Esperanto, which emerged several years later as the result of tireless and exhaustive linguistic study.

After finishing gymnasium, Zamenhof devoted himself to the study of medicine, and in 1887 he was already a Doctor of Medicine. That same year, he published his first textbook of the artificially constructed world language under the pseudonym “Dr. Esperanto,” from which the name “Esperanto” (meaning “hopeful”) is derived.

Dr. Zamenhof, who meanwhile worked as an eye doctor in Warsaw, was not content with his initial success. He continued to work tirelessly on perfecting the new international auxiliary language, Esperanto, which gained more and more followers with each passing year – after nearly a ten-year pause during which the entire Esperanto matter had been largely silenced.

But the inventor of the world language – as is so often the case with Jewish discoverers – did not live a pleasant life.

The more honor he received as the creator of a language, the fewer paying patients one could see in his consulting room – those who were supposed to seek his advice for their eye ailments. There were times – and not infrequently – when he suffered greatly in material terms. Only in the year 1900 did his financial situation begin to improve somewhat.

Five years later, for the first time, he was able to afford a longer vacation and took part in the first World Congress of Esperantists, which took place in Belgium in 1905.

Since then, a World Congress has taken place every year, each time in a different city.

In 1910, the Congress was held in Washington, and that same year, the state of Maryland officially recognized Esperanto as one of its core educational subjects.

Esperanto was also introduced as a subject of study in various other parts of America.

[Page 28]

In 1914, around 5,000 delegates gathered in Paris for a Congress of Esperantists, in which representatives from all the nations of the world took part.

In 1917, Dr. Zamenhof died in Warsaw – precisely in the year when a new era was beginning in the world, and it seemed that we were coming one step closer to Dr. Zamenhof' s ideal: a fraternal coexistence of the great family of nations.

In his birthplace, Białystok, Esperanto became a required subject in the majority of schools.

But not only in his city – also throughout the entire world, his life' s work will not be forgotten. For that, his followers and friends – the Esperantists, spread in groups across the whole world – will surely continue to care.

With explosive speed, the previously sown seeds of the Esperantists began to grow all over the world. By 1910, around 1,700 Esperanto groups and societies already existed and were active.

Many works were printed in Esperanto – including works by Shakespeare, Homer (The Iliad), and others. A specially created commission undertook a systematic translation of the Bible, and Dr. Zamenhof himself had already published translations of several books from the “Old Testament.”

A vast number of journals and periodicals took up the task of promoting Esperanto.

But when nations are busy exterminating and destroying one another, it becomes impossible – even absurd – to speak of a common language, of understanding, and of purposeful communication.

That is why, now more than ever, such a kind of international language is needed – one that can best and most powerfully serve the urgent and longed-for rapprochement among nations and peace between peoples.

And of all people, it was the Jew Zamenhof who most sharply sensed and understood the importance of such an instrument – and he forged this very instrument for all people and for all times.

Translator's notes:

1. Contents in [ ] are from the translator. Contents in ( ) are from the author. Return
2. I would like to note that a chapter with similar content - apparently by the same author - appears on page 14 of the English section of this Yizkor book, under the title “Dr. Ludwig Zamenhof and Esperanto.” However, this is a separate translation and a significant abridgement of the original text, prepared by Rabbi Lowell S. Kronick- or Rabbi Shmuel A. Kronick, as indicated on page VI. This version also contains several deviations from the original. Return
3. Volapük is the name of the artificial language itself. It was created by the pastor Johann Martin Schleyer. Return

For three full days – from the 1st to the 3^rd of June, 1906 – the dark Tsarist murderers rampaged through the lives and property of the defenseless Jewish population.

That sorrowful “Green Thursday” (June 1, 1906), when the slaughter of Jews began, was not entirely unexpected for the Jewish community. The city had been bracing for a pogrom for quite some time. Ever since the shooting of Police Chief Derkatshev [Dierkacz] – by a provocateur – signs had begun to appear that the police force, together with officials from the military garrison in Białystok, were preparing a bloodbath for the Jews.

The murdered Police Chief Dierkacz had actually been a liberal man, beloved by the entire city. The revolutionary factions in Bialystok at the time had no reason to be agitated against him. It is known that once, on a certain Sunday, when Russian soldiers had whipped themselves into a frenzy in the marketplace and were already about to start “making trouble,” Dierkacz sent in the police and quieted the uproar.

At that moment, he uttered his historic phrase:

“As long as I live, there will be no pogrom in Bialystok.”

It is also known that the then bailiff Sheremetyev – later crippled by a revolver shot from a Jewish daughter of Białystok in Petersburg – was a fierce hater of Jews, and he led a strong intrigue against Dierkacz because of his liberalism. This very Sheremetyev was one of the main organizers of the pogrom in Bialystok.

As was later discovered, all the preparations had been made for that “Green Thursday,” a Christian holiday [Maundy Tursday], when many gentiles gather in the city and a religious procession passes through the main streets. On that “Green Thursday,” two such processions took place: a Catholic one, which began from the Polish church, and an Orthodox one from the Russian church.

When the Russian procession reached the Nay-Shtot (Aleksandrovska Street), someone from the procession suddenly fired a shot – as a signal for the pogrom – and the slaughter of Jews began.

Hundreds of hooligans, armed with iron bars, knives, and axes, spread through the center of the city, accompanied by police and soldiers. They broke doors and windows of homes and shops, and from there plundered everything they found.

The unarmed Jewish population fled in mortal terror,

[Page 29]

hiding in cellars and attics and other hiding places, where they lay gasping for breath for three full days – hungry, faint, and with a terrifying expectation of death before their eyes.

Over the city echoed a terrifying storm of gunfire and smashing. Armed soldiers and police were shooting into the streets and into the houses, while hooligans tore open shops and looted the merchandise.

On the nights of Thursday and Friday, the gunfire intensified even more. The city felt as if it had been emptied of life. When one heard footsteps on the sidewalk, it was clear: the murderers were coming – and everyone felt the blood freeze in their veins, should they storm into the house.

Indeed, on those nights, soldiers and policemen, together with civilian hooligans, broke into many Jewish homes, where they carried out horrific massacres. They would shoot on the spot, or drag entire groups into the courtyard and execute them there.

The most gruesome slaughter occurred in the lumberyard on “Behind the Prison” Street, where the Katz family and their neighbors – fifteen souls in all – were brutally murdered. Also killed was the Einstein family, a Jewish teacher, who perished together with his wife and three children. At the Einstein' s home, the murderers drove nails into the eyes of Einstein and his wife, and stuffed their cut-open bellies with feathers.

There were other victims like this. Even small children were found with smashed skulls and torn limbs. Some of the victims were so mutilated after death that they could barely be identified later.

As the late Dr. Epstein later recounted, he was saved from death by what seemed like a miracle – from the hooligans who had sought to kill him while he was on his way to help a Christian woman wounded by gunfire from provocateurs during the procession.

Some city hooligans recognized him and called out, supposedly asking him to come with them to help another wounded person – with the intention of murdering him along the way.

But Dr. Epstein sensed the danger and deliberately prolonged the “operation” on the wounded Christian woman until, suddenly, a familiar officer appeared – someone who had served with him during the Russo-Japanese War – and this officer rescued him.

Thus, Dr. Epstein became a witness to a tragic and horrifying scene that unfolded in the courtyard, where his protector, the officer, had led him It was in the home of the Lapidus family, where – before the eyes of the parents – three adult children were murdered: two sons and a daughter – Aharon, Mordekhay, and Blume.

The grieving parents pleaded with the murderers not to force them to witness the horrific scene – but it was of no use. The bloody beasts dragged the parents violently from their home into the courtyard and, before their very eyes, shot their three children.

A truly horrifying scene also unfolded at the Bialystok train station, where hooligans, together with the railway gendarmes, had free rein to murder Jewish passengers arriving by train. The murderers killed ten Jews there with “cold” weapons [non-firearms].

Standing nearby was the station chief, who laughed demonically. (This same station chief was killed a few months later by a revolutionary bullet – an act of revenge for his murderous deeds.)

Several Jewish community leaders, including Dr. Reygrodski, Dr. Zitron [Citron], and others, risked their lives and went out into the streets. With self-sacrifice, they fought their way to the authorities – to the police chief, to the general of the military garrison, Bogayevski. They wept, they pleaded to put an end to the massacre and the lootings - but it was of no use.

Dr. Reygrodski, however, managed to escape from Bialystok and, from Sokolka, he telegraphed the deputies of the Gosudarstvennaya Duma [State Duma] in Petersburg. The telegraphic report about the Bialystok pogrom sparked a tremendous storm of protest in the Duma, from which a delegation of three deputies was immediately dispatched: Professor Shtshepkin [Shchepkin], Colonel Arkantsev, and the lawyer Yakobson.

The delegation arrived in Bialystok on Shabbat, June 3rd – the third day of the pogrom. With the arrival of the deputies, the pogrom was immediately halted, and the police hurried to wipe away the bloody traces of the slaughter – but they did not succeed. The deputies saw before them the vast destruction in the city and the great number of victims that had been gathered from the streets and homes and brought to the courtyard of the Jewish hospital, where they were laid out in long rows.

They also saw the puddles of blood – warm human blood – stretching from the streets to the hospital, the blood of murdered and wounded Jews. Eighty dead bodies lay in the courtyard of the hospital, and more than 200 wounded inside the hospital wards – of whom 19 later died from their severe injuries.

A very important role in the rescue efforts during the pogrom days was played by the Jewish zelbst-shuts [self-defense], which had been organized by the workers' parties. The self-defense saved thousands of Jewish lives and a great deal of Jewish property. Thanks to the self-defense, the Jewish workers' neighborhoods were spared from massacres: Khanaykes, Piaskes, Argentina, Povtshizne, as well as the entire quarter of Nay-Velt and the surrounding alleys.

As soon as the pogrom began, at twelve o' clock, a detachment of mounted dragoons charged with force

[Page 30]

toward the half of the city that included Khanaykes and Piaskes. But at the beginning of Surazer [Suraska] Street, an anarchist threw a bomb, which exploded with tremendous force and shattered many windows in the surrounding houses. The horses panicked, the riders scattered, and from that moment on, none of the soldiers or policemen dared to approach that street. As a result, the main entrance into the poorer part of the city was cut off to them.

At every alley around the poorer half of the city stood patrols of the Jewish self-defense, armed with revolvers and bombs, all under a single commander. They kept watch, firing into the air. If a gentile passed by carrying a looted bundle of goods, they would frighten him off with a warning shot – until he dropped the bundle and fled. The goods were then gathered up and later brought to a central collection point.

This is how the Bund' s self-defense operated.

In another part of the city, the self-defense organized by Poalei Zion and the S.S. (Socialist Zionists) was active. They took upon themselves the task of guarding the other half of the city against a village mob of peasants who had intended to break in and slaughter all the Jews.

The gathering point for this section of the self-defense was in Kopel Zalkind' s house on Bialostotshaner Street, at the edge of town. Across from the elevated railway line, near the village of Bialostotshek, stood several hundred peasants with their wives, ready to enter the city and plunder. They had already reached the top of the railway embankment, but when they saw Jewish youths on a rooftop with revolvers – who had already begun shooting – the gentiles panicked and fled.

Thus, the self-defense operated in various parts of the city and prevented even greater massacres of Jews.

Avel Am - A Nation in Mourning! Every Jew feels and weeps with bloody tears over the dreadful, terrifying calamity of the recent pogroms. Every Jew in whose veins flows Jewish blood surely shares, in the deepest way, the cruel misfortune that has befallen all of Klal Yisroel. Yet each one mourns in their own corner; each one groans alone. But the groaning of all Israel must be poured into one mighty cry. All tears must gather into a single, lamenting, heaven-piercing sea of weeping. It is vital to show that the Jewish body lives – and feels the pain of every limb. Therefore, to express our shared grief for the sorrow of our people, it has been resolved – with the agreement of the local rabbinical court and with the consent of a large public assembly – that tomorrow, Monday, the 6th of Kislev, shall be a public fast day. In all bote-medroshim, the Slikhes – the Penitential Prayers – of the 20th of Sivan shall be recited, and a memorial held for all the victims of the recent pogroms. At the Minkhe prayer, the Torah portion Vayekhal shall be read. Additionally, a memorial service will be held at the Great Synagogue on Vashlikover Street, with a large public gathering at 11:12 a.m. All shops must remain closed until 1:00 p.m. Those unable to fast should offer a pidyon – a redemption offering – for the benefit of our plundered brethren and submit it to the committee. U'vezkhut hishtatfutenu b'tza'ar umatenu yishmerenu Hashem mikol shed u'shever, v'lo yishama od kol peretz v'tzvakha b'r'khovotenu - And by the merit of our participation in the sorrow of our people, may God protect us from all harm and destruction, and may no more breach or cry be heard in our streets.

All the victims of the pogrom were buried in one large communal grave, in an honorable place in the old Jewish cemetery. Upon this mass grave, a large, massive headstone was erected, upon which a special epitaph was engraved – in Hebrew – by the renowned poet Zalman Shneour. This was also translated into Yiddish by A.L. Fayans. The inscription on the large black marble monument, in Yiddish and Hebrew, was:

The communal monument over the mass grave of the pogrom victims at the cemetery in Bagnowka

For many years, the great monument over the mass grave of the pogrom victims stood in the Jewish cemetery in Bagnowka. It bore witness to the three dreadful days endured by the Jews of Białystok in early June of 1906.

However, only in recent years did the Poles destroy and shatter the dignified headstone. Vandals looted the precious marble stones…

Yitskhok Gebel, 56 years old Khayim Gebel, 30 Yonah Kohn, 26 Feyvel Ribalovski, 23 Nosen [Nathan]-Note Bakhrakh, 21 Menachem Manes Hurwits, 19 Yitzkhok Sapir, 18 Aryeh Leyb Zakheym, 10 Moyshe Liberman, 3 Baruch Eliyahu Freydkin, 62 Shmuel Tsalevitz, 59 Avraham Katz, 49 Mendel Makel, 43 Mordekhay Levin, 38 Yitskhok Gewirtsman, 35 Avraham Yitskhok Kershenstein, 47 Avraham Grinhoyz, 26 Pinchas Ash, 20 Leyb Khayim Shmid, 28 Avraham Makhai, 24 Shloyme Furman, 22 Zalman Moyshe Lamtsevitski, 20 Ruven Shushan, 18 Moyshe Ovets, 18 Yisroel Kustin, 3 Yosef Burle, 3 Mordekhay Kruglyanski, 60 Khayim Shapiro, 43 Leizer Einstein, 40 Shayne Einstein, 40 Ayzik Bakhrakh, 24 Zumel Tsukerman, 22 Mordekhay Shmukler, 18 Yitskhok Leyb Ravitski, 16 Tsvi Hirsh Hefner, 63 Yosef Mendel Gilevits, 48 Moyshe Simkha Branski, 45 David Yitskhok Tzemnik, 32 Simkha Valerstein, 25 Mordekhay Basin, 19

Falk Khmelnik, 28 years old Mordekhay Lapidus, 21 Aharon Moyshe Lapidus, 19 Blume Lapidus, 20 Avraham Aryeh Segal, 58 Khaye Peshe Segal, 50 Zalman Grinberg, 43 Peshe Atlas, 42 Tsvi Aryeh Vayntsimer, 48 Avraham Shimon Epstein, 35 Yitskhok Shvarts, 24 Moyshe Kustin, 22 Zorakh Fande, 18 Tsvi Hirsh Tashman, 63 Yehuda Teytsman, 51 Yerakhmiel Einstein, 21 years old Sonye Einstein, 20 Shmuel Einstein, 19 Yaakov Suravits, 35 Shloyme Yisroel Sushitski, 36 Yoel Tvarkovski, 29 Nachum Yaakov Grabovski, 27 Avraham Hersh Nayfeld, 71 Yaakov Levin, 50 Shloyme Pruzhanski, 43 Shaul Volf Novyazski, 41 Sholem Aharon Nowik, 28 Aryeh Leyb Mazur, 14 years old Khana Rubinovski, 19 Zlate Feygel Schlakhter, 50 Khayim Velvel Schlakhter, 16 David Khvarovski, 15 Toybe Katz, 71 Rakhel Kleynbard, 48 Sore Yevrirovski, 20 Khana Blume Ginzburg, 20 Tzivia Gutkin, 10 Moyshe Berl Pat, 16 Avraham Yitskhok Levartovski, 18

Translator's notes:

1. Contents in [ ] are from the translator. Contents in ( ) are from the author. Return
2. I would like to note that a chapter with similar content - apparently by the same author - appears on page 16 of the English section of this Yizkor book, under the title “The Pogrom against the Jews.” However, this is a separate translation and a significant abridgement of the original text, prepared by Rabbi Lowell S. Kronick- or Rabbi Shmuel A. Kronick, as indicated on page VI. This version also contains several deviations from the original. Return
3. Due to technical reasons, this short section appears on page 31 of the original. Return
4. This is the inscription on the Pillar of Sorrow, translated from Hebrew into Yiddish, commemorating the victims of the pogroms of 1905 and 1906. The monument stands in the Jewish cemetery “Bagnowka” in Bialystok. A translation of this Yiddish version – which I have transcribed here – appears on page 18 of the English-language section of this book. Return
5. Dr. Heidi M. Szpek – translator and Vice-Chair of the Bialystok Cemetery Restoration Fund (USA) – graciously rendered the original Hebrew version into English. She also played a leading role in the restoration of the Pillar of Sorrow, completed in 2023. It now stands once again in all its glory at the Bagnowka Cemetery. Return

[Page 32]

I was born in Bialystok, the “Little Crown” of Lithuania, as Vilnius was considered the “Bigger Crown.”

At the end of the 1870s, when my life started, Bialystok was split into two different parts:

The city center. On Aleksandrovski, Nikolayevski, and Lipove Streets lived the “chosen ones,” the intelligentsia.

Surrounding them on Gumyaner Street as well as on Pyaskes and Yatke Streets lived the common people–the true Jewish Bialystok.

The intelligentsia spoke German because the German border was close- and Russian because the Russian “tshinovnik” [official in Tsarist Russia] was even closer.

In addition, they employed maids, nannies, and wet nurses who spoke Polish in their homes.

The common people spoke Yiddish and knew some Hebrew – not much, but more than the intelligentsia.

Behind the town stretched a forest called “Zverinets.” And further behind that was the “Sosnover” [Pine Tree] Forest. When the wind blew or a storm broke out, the forests spoke in their universal language, which is the same all over the world.

Bialystok is old. A five-hundred-year-old sky arches over the city and its forests. History had enough time and space to run wild: here it spoke Lithuanian, there Polish, thereafter “malorasish” [“Little Russian”, Ukrainian].

But in any language and in any era, the grandfathers and great-grandfathers of the Jews, who in my time were the inhabitants of the “Yatkes” and “Pyaskes,” were persecuted and hunted.

How beautiful was the “Zverinets” Forest, the mysterious friend of my youth. It spoke to me through the language of its trees and the chirping of its birds. It greeted me with its lush greenery, with the colors and brightness of its modest flowers and with the bright blue sky that looked down on me through the branches of its hundred-year-old trees.

The “Zverinets” Forest was beautiful later, too, during the time of the forbidden “mayontkes,” when we high school students celebrated May Day together with the factory workers and the weavers from Navik, Beker, and Brunik's wool factories.

But back then, in the time of Hetman^[2] Branitski [Branicki], things were different. The “panes” [lords] ruled over Bialystok, bringing terror and misfortune to the Jews. As its name suggests, the “Zverinets” forest was full of wild animals (“zver” means “animal” in Russian).

And so the “panes” went hunting there, shooting bears, wolves, foxes, and “zubres” [bison], a species of animal similar to American buffalo.

On the “pond” that once stood in the middle of the city, the “panes” sailed around in small boats, singing and courting women, and setting off fireworks for fun. For fun, the “panes” also set fire to Jewish houses and huts.

Our great-great-grandparents were often forced to hide in the forests. In fact, they hid in the same “Zverinets,” becoming like the wild animals being hunted there, like foxes and “zubres.”

Therefore, if one listened closely to the “green language” spoken by the forests around Bialystok, one could hear a distant, almost vanished moans–Jewish lamentations, a distant, stifled cry. These are echoes of vanished prayers, the reverberation of a heart-rending “Sh'ma Yisroel” [the Jewish Creed], uttered from the soul in a moment of despair.

The old Lithuanian and Polish forests carry the scent of Jewish blood.

The old days are gone. All that remains of Hetman Branicki, the former ruler of Bialystok, is his beautiful palace, which was built with the help of Jewish hands.

[Page 33]

The palace was transformed into an institute where Christian girls from “better” families were educated, an “Institut dlya blagarandnikh devits” [educational institution in Tsarist Russia specifically for better-off or noble girls].

The hetmans and lords had disappeared, as if they had never existed. But the Jews remained. Step by step, stone by stone, they rebuilt Bialystok…

This is how my mother city grew - the “Little Crown” of Lithuania - the place where I opened my curious eyes.

According to the folk saying, a child born on their parents' wedding anniversary is a lucky child. My birthday is on February 4, which is exactly the day my parents got married.

It little matters what popular wisdom says!

And yet, I was always lucky. I came close to death more than once and was miraculously saved each time.

I was shot at four times from a distance of three steps. The man aimed for my head. The bullet flew past my ear. Another bullet was aimed at my heart. The shooter aimed well, but hit a small piece of metal on my suspenders that served as a kind of armor plate.

During a fire in Petersburg, I rolled down from a high roof. I fell into a soft sleigh, rolled out of it into a pile of snow, and - burst out laughing.

I lay on the street twice after being badly wounded by cars–once in Berlin and once in London.

After more than 26 years, a cruel, almost incurable disease–asthma–finally left me.

I was also exceptionally fortunate to make good friends among the noblest people in the world. They were Jews and Christians, men and women.

The little street where I was born had no official name; it was simply a side street, a “pereulok” [alley]. In Bialystok, there were many such nameless alleys, because everyone knew where they had to go anyway.

However, our alley did have a nickname. It was called “Shneur Gutman's Gesele.” This was because Shneur Gutman owned a house with a yard and a garden there. And it was actually in Gutman's house that I shouted triumphantly for the first time:

“Jews of Bialystok, I am here!”

That is to say, I may have wanted to shout exactly that. In reality, however, it was certainly the usual crying of a newborn baby–who immediately regretted coming into the world.

Gutman's Alley was close to the city center. One end looked toward Yatke Street, and the other looked toward Nikolayevske Street, also called Vasilkover Street. Yatke Street was home to simple, modest Jews, craftsmen, and small storekeepers – just poor people, “the people,” the real Bialystok.

On Nikolayevske Street lived the intelligentsia, the more or less educated class. People spoke Russian and German there, and sometimes–though very rarely–French.

The rich shops, both Jewish and non-Jewish, were located there and further around Nikolayevske Street. Among them were Vilbushevitsh's pharmacy, Muravyov's warehouse, and the Club (“Blagoradnye Sobranye”) [an assembly of high-ranking personalities].

The doctors lived there too. There was Doctor Bomash, who unfortunately limped, and Doctor Chazanowicz, the Jewish dreamer – the man who was a Zionist even before Zionism became a movement.

One could say that Gutman's Alley lay between two worlds. On one side was the familiar, Yiddish-speaking Bialystok. On the other were the “enlightened ones.” There was the European city, called “Byelostok” in Russian. Our alley divided but also connected the two worlds.

I was actually born between Bialystok and Byelostok. It was a coincidence, of course, but this circumstance had an influence and was reflected in my nature and life. I was part of the healthy, solid core of Yatke Street, imbued with its old Jewish traditions. At the same time, I was drawn to “Nikolayevskaya Ulitsa” to taste a bit of a secular education and learn Russian, German, and French. In short, I wanted to see, hear, know, and learn; I wanted to escape the narrow confines of home and venture out into the wide, strange world.

This was not just my personal journey. I was no exception. I experienced the same things that many young people of my generation experienced and went through. I wasn't anything special. The wind of that time carried me on its wings. But…

But that was only the first half of my turbulent life. The second half was the way back: from Russia and civilized Europe with all its glamour–often false and disappointing glamour–back home to Jewish Bialystok, to the simple ground beneath my feet, to the ancient Jewish life - that seems ever more youthful the further away you are from it.

I found it again and again, not only on Bialystoker Yatke Street, but also in Vienna–on the former Tabor Street, in Berlin–on the Jewish Oranienbaum [Oranienburger] Street, on the East Side streets in New York, in London's Whitechapel and Golders Green: Wherever I went, I kept finding Shneur Gutman's Alley, “where my cradle stood.”

I walked down the little alley twice–there and back. And although the alley was very short, it took me almost sixty years, and I'm still not done. I'm still walking…

Translator's notes:

1. Contents in [ ] are from the translator. Contents in ( ) are from the author Return
2. Hetman= very high-ranking military commander or army commander in ancient Poland and Lithuania Return

[Page 34]

Yeshiva students with their teachers in 1939 before World War II

The following bote-medroshim surrounded it on all sides:

The Old Bes-Medresh,
the New Bes-Medresh,
Yekhiel-Nekhe's Bes-Medresh,
the Gvir's [wealthy man's] Bes-Medresh (the Bes-Medresh of Itshe Zabludovski),
Tzelal Oge's Bes-Medresh,
Mendl Grave's [Grawe's] Bes-Medresh,
Tiperman's Bes-Medresh,
Kopl Heylpern's Bes-Medresh,
Shmuel Bulkovshteyn's Bes-Medresh,
Bes-Medresh Gmiles-Khsodim,
Pulkover Bes-Medresh,
Bes-Medresh Novolipye,
the (New) Green Bes-Medresh,
Puzhe's Bes-Medresh,
Volkoviski's Bes-Medresh,
Dovid Deykhes Bes-Medresh,
Bishke Zabludovski's Bes-Medresh.

Since 1800, the bote-medroshim of the synagogue courtyard quarters were:

the Bes-Medresh Khevre-Shas [Chevra-Shas],
Bes-Medresh Oyrekh-Khayim,
Bes-Medresh Khaye-Odem.

The bote-medroshim in the region of the synagogue courtyard in a southerly direction were:

Sender's Bes-Medresh,
Bes-Medresh Toyres-Khesed,
Krokhmalnik's Bes-Medresh,
Bes-Medresh Lomdei Shas,
Ofitsirker [Officers'] Bes-Medresh.

The bote-medroshim in the Surazer [Suraska] region were:

Moyshe Meylekh's Bes-Medresh,
Shusterisher [Cobblers'] Bes-Medresh,
Bes-Medresh Toyres-Khayim.

The bote-medroshim in the Pyaskov [Pyaskes] area were:

the Brick Bes-Medresh,
the Wooden Bes-Medresh,
Argentinian Bes-Medresh,
Khevre-Tehilim Bes-Medresh,
Bialostotski's Bes-Medresh.

The bote-medroshim in the Khanayker [Chanayki] area were:

the Great Khaneyker Bes-Medresh,
Libe Rakhel's Bes-Medresh,
Bekersher [Baker's] Bes-Medresh,
Bes-Medresh Tehilim,
Eli Meylekh's Bes-Medresh.

Among the new bote-medroshim were:

the Nayvelt Bes-Medresh,
Bes-Medresh Mishmer,
Naymark's Bes-Medresh,
Batser's Bes-Medresh,
Katsovisher [Butchers'] Bes-Medresh,
Bes-Medresh Bes-Shmuel,
Bes-Medresh Takhkemoyne [Tachkemoni],
Bes-Medresh Mashkones-Yakev.

The following bote-medroshim were at the Jewish philanthropic institutions:

Bes-Medresh Lines-Khoylim on Zamenhof-Street,
Bes-Medresh Lines-Hatsedek [Linas-Hatzedek] on Rozhaner Street,
Bes-Medresh Moyshev-Skeynim on Kupyetska Street,
and Bes-Medresh Hekdesh.

The following Chassidic “shtiblekh” existed:

Bes-Medresh Khside-Kotsk on Tshemne-Street,
Bes-Medresh Khside-Ger on Surazer Street, and
Bes-Medresh Khside-Slonim on Zalevni Street.

In addition, there were dozens of minyonim in Bialystok where Jews prayed in small groups. Among them were some special minyonim that considered themselves bote-medroshim. These were:

Bes-Medresh HaRav R'Khayim Herts [Chaim Herz] in the synagogue courtyard,
Novik's Bes-Medresh on Mitskevitsha,
Kopl Zalkind's Bes-Medresh on Bialiostotshanske, and
Shvarts's Bes-Medresh on Polne Street.

The “Khor-Shul” played an important role in the lives of the Jews of Bialystok. First there was the old one, [built] over a hundred years ago, and later

the New Khor-Shul on Lipove [Pilsudski] Street.

There were also all kinds of small and private minyonim in various locations in Bialystok. In total, there were the following:

א) Agude Akhim (Nayvelt),
ב) Minyen Igle (Sosnove)
ג) Minyen Izvoztshikes [Carriage Drivers'] Ma'agalei Tsedek, two minyonim- on Odeski and Kiever Street
ד) Bunim's Minyen (Sosnove),
ה) Brisker Beker [Bakers] (Yurovtser, 21),^[2]
ו) Minyen Botanitshni (Botanitshni Street),
ז) Bes-Yakev (Tshemne Street),
ח) Bes-Yisroel (Zhelazni, 262),
ט) Minyen Byaler (Sobyeski, 14),
י) Minyen Gutman (Senkevitsha),
יא) Berl Grosman (Mark-Street) [market],
יב) Darotinski (Yuravtser, 13),
יג) Malka Vaynshel [or Vaynshal] (Polne Street),
יד) Minyen Zabar ( Skorup),
טו) Khaye Odem Mishnayes (Stolarski, 7),
טז) Minyen Kheyn-Tov [Chen-Tov] Spinman (Yidn-Street),
יז) Khevre-Toyre [Chevra-Torah] (Mlinove, 12),
יח) Minyen Lyubovski (Krashesteg [Krashe Way], 14),
יט) Zaviker (Mlinover, 7),
כ) Minyen Sokol (Skorup),
כא) Furman's Maged (Pyenki, 4),
כב) Minyen Pat (Senkevitsha, 52),
כג) Minyen Krupitski (Kilinski, 25),
כד) Kantarovski (Sukha, 23),
כה) Shomrim-Laboker (Royfe'ishe [Healers'] or Dr. Chazanowicz- Alley),
כו) Fayerlesher [Firefighters'] Minyen (at the home of Boyarski),
כז) Soldatsker [Soldiers'] Minyen (Yeshiva-Street).

The minyonim of the Chassidic “shtiblekh”:

כח) Kobriner Shtibl (at the home of HaRav R' Mair Shlakhetski),
כט) Radziner (Angers Street),
ל) Karliner (Yeshiva-Street),
לא) Tshekhanover (Kupitski, 19)
לב) Trisker (Glukha, 7),
לג) Minsk Khadash.

All these places sacred to Jews, where generations of Jews prayed to the Almighty and which were so dear to the Jews of Białystok, were wiped out and destroyed by the Nazi murderers during the cruel Second World War.

Given the large number of shuln, bote-medroshim, and minyonim mentioned above, it is evident that the Jews of Bialystok have always maintained spiritual connections to Jewish religious values while leading Jewish-national and secular lives.

Translator's notes:

1. Contents in [ ] are from the translator, contents in ( ) are from the author. Return
2. The names and numbers in ( ) refer to street names and house numbers. Return

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