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A recent study by Karl Izhanski^[3] (1957) titled Archeological Anthology reports excavations in Zamość province and in Hrubieszow, including that of the Grabowiec fortress.

This study show that almost all the settlements between Włodawa and Kovel were established in the 15^th-16^th centuries, but that settlement in the region began in the 13^th century. The young scholar Izhanski mentions a group of Polish archeologists who were searching for the remains of prehistoric settlers and excavated on the site of the Grabowiec fortress; however, he does not mention actual finds.

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It may be assumed that princely landowners began settling the area haphazardly. The Grabowiec territory was the property of Lithuanian princes, mostly the descendants of Gediminas (d.1341-1342). King Casimir the Great seized the entire region in 1366, and handed the fortress over to Duke Jerzy Narymuntowicz of Belz Province. However, the latter continued to attack his neighbors, and the King had to send Sendzhivie^[4] of Szubin to retake the fortress. It was granted to Duke Siemowit IV of Masovia as a dowry in 1388 when he married Alexandra, the sister of Władysław II Jagiełło. Siemowit established a town according to Polish law and built a church.

In 1447 Grabowiec became the property of Władysław I, Duke of Masovia and Belz, and was then re-established under the Magdeburg rights.^[5] The rights included permissions to hold fairs, produce beer and spirits, and chop wood from local forests. Utilizing the forests in various ways enabled the area to export wood, which was in high demand in the West, as well as to produce semi-industrial products such as tar and pitch. The Grabowiec merchants shipped the products in carts to the Bug River. They were then floated down the river to Danzig, where they joined other goods exported to western Europe. Materials on this are included in the book by Rashadski,^[6] Trade Routes from the Time of Ancient Rus.

Izhanski believes that the first Jews in Grabowiec settled behind the fortress's walls, and later left it for the lower-lying area around the synagogue (no trace of a former synagogue has been found). Interestingly, he reports that Jews of the time wore the same clothes as the Christian population. By noting this, he emphasizes that the Jews of Grabowiec were granted special rights; a law passed in Piotrków ordered the Jews to wear special yellow hats and caps. Izhanski wished to emphasize these special rights, although the ruling Communist party of his time practiced an anti-Semitic policy. Moreover, he presents a 1710 document from the archive of the Lublin Court, that ruled against a Christian, Stash Kluska,^[7] whom the Jew Nachman, son of Michael Meirovitz of Grabowiec, accused of spreading malicious gossip and false accusations. There are no details of the gossip or the bill of indictment.

After the death of Władysław, who left no heirs, the town was included in the property of the King of Poland, who appreciated the benefits that Jews were likely to bring and therefore granted them security and encouraged their economic activity. Thanks to this policy,

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the Jews of Grabowiec played significant role in the development of the entire region. It is worth remembering that the Jews originated in higher civilizations and brought with them much commercial and production expertise.^[8] According to the historians Philip Blich and Jan Jachovski,^[9] the Jews migrated from many areas: Crimea, Belorussia, western Poland, Germany, Bohemia, and Moravia. They were seeking better conditions, after the Mongols had invaded Crimea and Belorussia; the Crusaders had taken over Germany; and the Hussites were defeated in Bohemia and Moravia.

There is information about the Jews of Grabowiec in the Responsa of Rabbi Joseph Meirzon, titled Masse'ot Yosef; he was the rabbi in the town of Freibnitz,^[10] near Leipzig. At the time, Jews from Grabowiec travelled to Leipzig in convoys of wagons. Page 75 of the Responsa mentions a rabbinical trial between the Grabowiec merchant Eliyahu Marchowitz and his partner Moshe Brodavka of Zamość. Marchovitz suspected his partner of selling goods to a third person he had met in an inn, without informing him. The rabbinical judge Rabbi Eliezer of Leipzig presided over the trial, and complained to Rabbi Meirzon that Brodavka was unwilling to accept his ruling, which stipulated that the profit should be shared; he was willing only to reimburse the value of the goods.

We may surmise that this Jew was not the only Jewish merchant from Grabowiec who had commercial connections with Leipzig, one of the main centers of commerce between Poland and Germany.

All the available sources supply only partial documentation for the period. Information for other periods is very sparse, and cannot illuminate all aspects of community life of the time. Thus, for example, we know almost nothing about the life of the Jewish community in Grabowiec before or after the 17^th century.

Whatever the reasons that impelled Jews from different countries to seek refuge in the region, over time the new settlements grew similar to each other (with certain differences). This was the case in Grabowiec as well. The non-Jewish population also changed. During the feudal period, which lasted from the period of the Polish kingdom into the kingdom's partition at the end of the 18^th century, most settlers were subjects of their landowners and the target of their whims. Following the agrarian revolution during the last days of independent Poland,

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wealthy Jews received plots near the forests for grazing; the Christians received estates and were able to purchase land from the landowner. These factors led to the formation of the 19th-century town that we knew.

It is difficult to estimate the number of Jews in Grabowiec during the early periods (we do not have details of a census or of taxation in different areas). The only numerical data usually refer to poll tax and other taxes. These, however, cannot serve as a realistic basis for estimating the size of a community. Dr. Shiffer's estimates are actually quite arbitrary, and his approach is subject to criticism.

The Cossack rebellion against Poland, led by Bohdan Khmelnytsky, broke out in the spring of 1648. It caused the ruin and devastation of Jewish communities, and the severe disruption of Jewish life in Poland. Jews remember these events as “the evil decrees of 1648-1649.” Cossack battalions reached Grabowiec as well in the course of the rebellion. The monographs about the Khmelnytsky rebellion written by non-Jews do not provide enough information on the course of events in the Grabowiec region. The Russian historian Kostomarov^[11] was the only one who dedicated a few pages to the region, in his 1884 book about Khmelnytsky. Grabowiec merits several lines in his descriptions. We learn that the non-Russian Orthodox population (Catholic Poles, and Jews) organized against the forces of Colonel Nebaba. We also know that refugees from Grabowiec fled to the nearby town of Włodawa, where thousands had been killed after the Cossack conquest. Włodawa, which was larger, apparently seemed to promise the Jews greater security, although its fortress had been destroyed by the Cossacks. As usual, Cossack units attacked estates and settlements, and wreaked havoc on nobles and Jews. Some Russian Orthodox peasants joined the Cossacks in their ravages, attacks, and plundering, but some remained loyal to the Polish noble and their Jewish neighbors. Interestingly, some young Jews of Grabowiec resolved to fight to the end, and joined in the defense of the fortress.

Three Hebrew chronicles include details about the Jews of the Grabowiec area

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during the rampages of 1648-49. They are Tzok Ha-Itim by Meir Ben Shmuel of Szczebrzeszyn, Yeven-Metzula by Natan-Noteh Hanover of Zaslav, and Tit Ha-Yeven by Shmuel Feivish Ben Natan Feidl of Vienna. These chronicles are intended to educate future generations about the catastrophe that overtook the nation during the events of 1648-49; the writers used their limited personal experiences as well as information they had learned. Tit Ha-Yeven recounts that Włodawa “became a center for Jews who had fled from captured fortress towns.” Grabowiec was one of the few places that were considered fortress towns. Meir Ben Shmuel of Szczebrzeszyn also hints at this when he states, “In a fortress town nearby, on the road to Zamość, Jewish heroes stood their ground like giants and did not flee helplessly, although the poor suffered terrible deaths.”

The testimony in Tzok Ha-Itim is especially important, as it complements the few details in Kostomarov's book about Khmelnytsky and the events of those fateful days. It also augments our knowledge of the feelings within the Christian population as well as the life of the Jews inside the fortress.

After the Cossack invasion, Grabowiec stagnated, despite the relief and concessions offered by Jan Albrecht, Zygmunt II and Zygmunt III. Stanisław Sarbiewski, the starost of Hrubieszow, restored the fortress and was given a mark of distinction by the Sejm.^[12] But a 1765 survey found the fortress in ruins, and the town on the decline.

Grabowiec is listed in the volume of estates as a private town, or settlement (osada). Jewish rights were at times very limited, and based on rights granted in similar settlements. Most Jews made a living as small shopkeepers or peddlers, and a few were artisans. There was a weekly fair, and traders traveled to fairs in other towns.

The town did not show steady improvement. On the contrary, there were downturns as well as rises. One reason for the many downturns was the fires that often occurred in the town and destroyed most of the structures, most of which were constructed of wood. However, the residents recovered from each conflagration before too long, and rebuilt the town. The landowners supplied lumber from their extensive forests.

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Fires were common in all towns at the time, and the communities supported each other in time of need. However, a massive fire was usually followed by a prolonged decline in population.

Official numbers for 1790, before the conflagration, have the Grabowiec population as 5,100, 1,600 of whom were Jewish. Following the disaster, the population fell to about 3,000, 900 of them Jews.

Based on information currently available, we may state that any development after a period of decline resulted from the initiative and vision of Jews. The town's economic and demographic rise began after Jews started to arrive.

The few available sources about the internal and economic lives of the Grabowiec Jews during the 18^th century are incidental, and a complete, detailed picture is not possible. Any attempt to delineate their economic activity would necessarily be partial, and based on circumstantial evidence. We know that danger threatened: the rising tide of anti-Semitism began to affect Grabowiec. The hatred planted by the Catholics in the hearts of the Russian Orthodox priests spread to the primitive minds of town dwellers and villagers alike. There were outbursts of libels and violence against Jewish neighborhoods and villages. Grabowiec, too, was affected by these developments. The growing animosity between the Russian Orthodox and Catholic churches was a significant factor in these episodes.

Our source for these conditions is the memoir of the writer Nishitzki,^[13] a member of the nobility, who wrote about Bishop Varshnitzki^[14] of Krakow. The latter owned the Grabowiec estates at the time, and his deeds still sound chilling. “…He revered the clergy, but harbored special hate towards Jews and heretics.” “Heretics” refers to members of the Russian Orthodox church. His friend, the anti-Semitic physician Sebastian Goretski,^[15] published an anti-Jewish book titled Clear Evidence, in which he states, “It would have been best if we had killed the Jews or expelled them. However, we were struck blind and could not carry this out. As according to God's law and the laws of

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nature, they are eternal slaves, they should be deprived of all rights, turned into slaves, and treated in the same way that landowners treat their serfs.” We can imagine the suffering undergone by the Jews of Grabowiec under Varshnitzki's rule, and can assume that at that time the Christian population was able to freely attack the local Jews and their property. The landowner Titchempi ruled the region in the mid-18^th century, including the estates of Shidliska, Chartoriya, Zubovitsa, Vakyov, Haniatichek, Grabowiec, Bronislavka, etc.^[16] At this time, ritual trials of Jews were held in Lublin; the defendants included Jews living in towns in the Lublin province. A blood libel trial in nearby Wojsławice had a strong effect, reported in Professor Balaban's book on the history of Frankism.^[17] It is mentioned by the contemporaneous Jan Mitchinek,^[18] who also believed in these libels against Jews. However, Grabowiec is not mentioned in any source on these ritual trials. If we assume that Grabowiec was not accused of any of these events, it was due to Titchempi, the landowner, who was apparently not connected to Frankism; the Frankists who often spread such rumors were not to be found in Grabowiec.

It should be noted that the towns in the area were focal points of Frankism, yet we do not know whether they influenced the Jews of Grabowiec. However, the list of Frankists who converted to Christianity after the debate in Lwów (July 7 – September 10, 1759) does not include anyone from Grabowiec.^[19] Any influence they might have exerted was clearly unsuccessful.

Decisive historical events that took place in Poland during the 18^th century led the Kingdom of Poland, which was suffering from a lack of firm leadership, to its collapse and division among neighboring powers. These historic processes affected the status of the Jewish community, the internal relations within the autonomous body (“The Council of Four Lands”), and the Jews of the large cities who were heavily taxed.^[20] Many Jews moved to small towns, a fact that caused a significant change in the development of Grabowiec, especially an increase in the number of artisans. People no longer believed in businesses that did not have firm economic foundations.

According to the first census, done before the first partition of Poland, Grabowiec had 70 buildings in 1763. In 1792, 29 years later, the number had risen to 98. The Jewish population had also increased.

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This was due to natural increase as well as to the settlement of Jews from other locations.

The Jews of Grabowiec were not only merchants and artisans, but also leased orchards. This was common throughout Lublin province, where Jews often cultivated orchards. They all worked hard to make a living.

The town's history went through many cycles, often changing hands or undergoing fires. A description of life in Lublin Province by David Eliashevich in Ha-Melitz (1894, No. 39) is as follows: “The Jews of Grabowiec, though few in number, lead a Hassidic life, and their synagogues are very lively; they preserve their way of life against changes for the worse.”^[21]

As usual, the lives of the Grabowiec Jews followed their own trajectory. They established many institutions that enabled them to fulfil their own religious, social, and economic needs. The most important of these were the synagogue, houses of study, cheyders, and – in the interwar period – two Hebrew schools and a rich library that included books in Hebrew, Yiddish, and Polish. There were also institutions and organizations for charity, aid to the needy and sick, secret charity, aid to poor brides, Zionist clubs, etc. As far as economics were concerned, a weekly fair was held in the town (in addition to the shops and workshops), and merchants travelled to fairs in the nearby towns.

Prior to World War I, public Jewish life in Grabowiec followed time-honored tradition. The rabbi and the elected members of the community council were of high standing in the community, and represented the Jewish population to the authorities. Their work was limited to safeguarding the community's property and ensuring that religious life continued, including educating the young for a life of Torah and religious commandments. There is no information about the numbers of members in Hassidic sects, but they were certainly influential in the community and significant in the elections to the community council.

The twenty years of Polish rule were years of harassment towards Jews. Grabski and Slavoj-Składkowski were instrumental in their impoverishment.^[22] Economic boycotts, rabid anti-Semitism, and encouragement of emigration as a political solution to the plight of the Jews paved the road for Hitler's troops and turned the Poles into active or passive partners in murder. Anti-Semitism increased considerably beginning with the second half of 1935, after the death of

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Marshal Pilsudski. Governmental attitudes towards Jews changed from tolerance to hostility. Emanuel Melzer's study “Polish Diplomacy and the Problem of Jewish Emigration in 1938-1939” points out that propaganda for the emigration of Jews from Poland seemed to offer the only solution to both problems – that of Poland and that of its Jews. The Polish government's need to “get rid” of its three million Jewish citizens was certainly at the roots of the hostile attitude towards the Jews during the Holocaust – an attitude that was expressed in acquiescence, at least silence, to the Nazi extermination of the Jews of Poland.

For young Jews, this was a period of confusion and seeking. Following the “fourth wave” of Jewish immigration from Europe (1924-1928), Palestine was suffering from an economic crisis and unemployment.^[23] Many young Jews in Grabowiec felt despair, hopelessness, and a lack of purpose. This was the background of the rise of the Zionist movement, with all its branches, in the town. Some emigrated abroad, to America. But quite a few realized that the solution was emigration to Palestine. Zionism in Grabowiec grew out of reality at all levels of life.

This has been a portrait of the town, partial though it may be. Yet it does depict the spiritual and social ferment among the Jews of Poland. Like all the other Jewish communities of Poland, the Jews of Grabowiec, too, were completely eradicated.

I remember you well, Grabowiec, my home town. You are engraved on my heart in fiery letters that illuminate my soul. I drew my inspiration from you and spread my wings wide to become independent through the storms of life. My cradle stood upon your soil, and the childhood that provided a strong basis for my body and soul took place in you. Your essence, my town, accompanied me throughout my life and inspired me to humanism and spiritual growth. My parents, relatives, and friends supported me; my teachers from early childhood on to the book-filled house of study supplied me with knowledge; and the local library, leaders and friends enriched me.

Oh, all of them live on in the crannies of my soul, and console me for the cruelties of life. Their lives were rich, full, and crammed with many various experiences. Their noble spirits and qualities shaped their personalities and dictated the course of their lives.

Grabowiec, our town, was quiet, but was always active and receptive toward Jewish education. The young people were aware of developments in the fields of Zionism and education – they mounted drives to contribute to the Jewish National Fund and the United Israel Appeal. They would gather and sing Zionist pioneer songs.

Not much seemed to happen in Grabowiec, but each family constituted a world in its own right. There weren't many rich people in the town (and the wealthy were only relatively so, compared to most of the Jews, who owned no property at all). Yet the residents were generous, cared for the poor, and helped in cases of need. People gave out of their own inner need to do so, and there were hardly any refusals.

When I remember all these experiences, on holidays and on weekdays alike; the variety of Jewish residents including Hassids and Zionists, shopkeepers and artisans, my heart aches and my soul flutters. My only prayer is that the murderers be cursed for all time.

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Not all days were radiant. I remember the poverty and hardship, as well as the times when the young people were debating their future. But the social organization of the town was an amazing human asset that is still admirable today. There is much to be learned from our small town: a social life that protects members from isolation and assures them of support in their social group, the kind of support that enriches our lives. The social organization is based on positive qualities, including the rejection of shaming and hate towards others, and providing mutual help based on the Talmudic tradition that all Jews are responsible for one another; finally, the injunction to offer hospitality was widely observed. We remember how every Jew who joined prayers in the synagogue was invited to take meals in peoples' homes.

Most of the Jews were merchants, large or small, who derived much of their income from the weekly fairs, when even the tailors and shoemakers became merchants. Thousands of peasants would come to the fairs; they were noticeable thanks to their special way of dressing. They brought wares produced on their farms, such as fruit, vegetables, butter, eggs, chickens, domestic animals, and grain. When they had sold their produce, they would go to the shops

Partial view of the Grabowiec fair

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and the market stalls, where trousers, cloaks, shoes, boots, and other wares were on display.

The tavern owners pressed their families into service to watch their customers. The farmer's wagons stood behind the stalls, emitting sounds of chickens, geese, and ducks. The domestic animal fair was beyond the bridge, and was run by grain and animal merchants. The pigs were in one corner, which grew filthier by the minute, and made unearthly sounds.

The market vendors manned their stalls summer and winter. In winter they warmed their feet a bit in a fire-pot. Men and women from the nearby villages came to the market. Dust-covered Jews arrived, in clothes of the same pattern. A Jew might arrive with a parrot perched on a music box. The parrot would pick out a piece of paper out of a basket, and a peasant would buy it for a few pennies, sure that it foretold his future…

The taverns filled with clients – those who had done deals and wanted a strong drink, as well as rowdies who frightened everyone with their unbridled behavior and drunkenness, and were always seeking a fight. They would often start a riot, on the pretext that the tavern owner was overcharging them by using tiny glasses for smaller amounts of drink. The Jews would then run away.^[1] I remember one instance when Berish Boym “paid back” two Gentile toughs who had dared to hurt one of the local Jews. They fled after Berish beat them up.

Such were the incidents and events, sad, joyous, and interesting, that took place in our unforgettable town. We were born and grew up there, where our dear ones lived through joys and sorrows. They were murdered there, along with six million innocent martyrs of our people.

We will never forget them. Our children and grandchildren, and all who follow them, will hear about their lives and the life of our hometown.

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Most of the town's Jews were shopkeepers or peddlers. These occupations usually provided a poor living, and were as demanding as various types of artisanship. People worked at all the crafts that supplied daily needs, their own and those of the residents of the surrounding villages. Jews were millers, bakers, tailors, leather-workers, plasterers, butchers, and wagon-drivers. Their lives were not easy. They ate by the sweat of their brow, and thanked God for their food.

The Jews of Grabowiec were not puny or weak. They did not drink or join wild parties. Their simple lives gave them strength; they were physically large, and were respected by the rowdy Gentiles who came from the region on market days. Bodies were ruled by brains, and a single scholar was more important than ten musclemen. There was no supreme authority that ruled inner life; it was dictated by millennia of undisputed Jewish tradition.

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Spiritually and mentally, Jews felt at home in Grabowiece as much as they could in a land that was not their own and hostile government. They were left alone as far as religion and spirituality were concerned. Commercial negotiations and transactions between Jews were carried out without the intervention of government courts. Disputes were arbitrated in the rabbi's office. For the most part, they did not need to use the official language or the local language. Even Jews who knew Polish used it only for negotiations with peasants or city officials, and did not read books or consume any other cultural offerings. Their spirits were nourished by our traditional square letters. The Jews of Grabowiec read only books in Hebrew. Their way of life, at home and on the street, every day or on holidays, was fully Jewish. One felt that even the natural cycles of the world followed the Jewish calendar.

The Jewish holidays marked the physical changes of the year's seasons, and seemed dependent on each other. The blessing said at the beginning of each Jewish month seemed to determine the weather. People knew that when the month of Shevat was blessed, the cold grew harsher, and when Tammuz was blessed the heat increased. When Elul began, cool winds started blowing, and the mood became graver. The weather outdoors seemed to combine with internal feelings, as though their joint source was the approach of the High Holy Days (Days of Awe).^[1]

The weekly portions of the Torah also divided the year into small links, each with its own particular character. The “Noah” portion, for example, is unlike the “Lech-Lecha”; and the “Korach” portion is unlike the “Balak” portion.^[2] The main figure in the study house and the cheyder changed from week to week, and even at home. Something different by way of other verses were in the air each week. The weekly portion marked time, not only in personal letters but in various documents as well.

The year wasn't the only thing to follow the schedule of Jewish lives. The day, too, had its Jewish “clock.” The scenes in the streets and the market indicated whether the morning prayers were finished or not; the guiding principle was especially noticeable during the hour between day and night: between the afternoon prayers and the evening prayers; the hour when people change over from the work day to evening rest. The Jews of Grabowiec did the same: they set the day's worries aside and set out to pass a pleasurable hour. Where could they go? To the study house, of course. Besides, there was no other place to go during leisure hours. To a certain degree, this sacred space served the residents as a club, where they would carry on conversations on secular topics such as politics or social issues. But most of the visitors to the study house enjoyed the chance to read some Talmud, Mishna, Ein Ya'akov, Chayey Adam, or simply recite some psalms in a group or individually.^[3] People chose their own study groups,

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such as the Talmud or Mishna groups. People who did not participate in any study group or psalms-reciting group were outliers, and were very rare. Each person derived enjoyment and satisfaction from this activity. They literally revived at the meetings.^[4] The pleasure was even greater if a rabbi or preacher happened to give a talk that day.

Once the week was half over, the approach of Shabbat began to be felt. Shabbat aromas wafted as early as Thursday, and Friday was not a regular day – it was the entryway to the great hall of Shabbat. Secular life gradually changed to a Shabbat ambience, which would peak when the candles were lit in every home. All the secular tasks had been completed and Shabbat enveloped the home. The table was spread with a gleaming white tablecloth, adorned with two braided challahs symbolizing the “double portion” of manna supplied to the Jews in the desert before Shabbat.^[6] The challahs were pointed at each end, covered with an egg wash, and decorated with poppyseed. A beautiful, gleaming glass decanter stood at the center of the table, its rich wine color standing out against the white cloth; it was surrounded by glasses for the kiddush ceremony. Most homes also possessed a silver kiddush goblet that was often decorated with fruits and flowers mentioned in the Bible as growing in the Promised Land. The foot of the goblet bore the inscription “the heavens and the Earth and all their hosts were completed” and the knife hilt was inscribed “Holy Shabbat.”^[7]

The quiet sacred act of worship to spread Shabbat through the house was delegated to the wife, the mother of the household. Dressed in Shabbat finery, she stood next to the silver candlesticks on the table, covered her head with a white shawl (making sure that not a single strand of hair was visible during the candle-lighting itself), tied the ends of the shawl under her chin, and reverently lit the candles. Her eyes seemed to come alight together with the candles. She extended her hands, loudly saying the blessing “Blessed are you, Lord God, who has commanded us to light Shabbat candles.” Her unsaid prayer at this time was, “Let my son's eyes glow with the holy Torah like these candles.”

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Her face gleamed through the outstretched fingers, and her eyes shed a shining tear.

Once the candles were lit, she blessed us all in her lovely voice: “Gut Shabbes.”^[8] Those two words, always said with a tinge of sadness, still echo in my memory and will remain forever. Those were the holiest moments in Jewish homes of our town.

For years to come, we will never forget the Shabbat table, its sacred aura, the special words our forefathers pronounced so gracefully. The Shabbat songs began to sound around the table, and everyone – including special Shabbat guests – joined in. The room resounded with notes of joyful hope.

People in Grabowiec loved songs and cantorial music; gifted cantors led the prayers in the study house and the Hasidic synagogues. The cantors were able to lift everyone's spirits. The Husiatyn Hasidic cantors were especially renowned for leading the congregation into tears of joy.^[9]

As the holy Shabbat day faded, the Jews of Grabowiec were gradually overtaken by sadness. The twilight lengthened and the shadows that surrounded the town seemed to want to keep the holy day from leaving. But the stars, winking overhead, told the residents to let the holy day go. The mother of the family, who had lit the holy flames only yesterday, stood at the darkening western window and plaintively complained, “God of Abraham, Jacob, and Isaac, your holy Shabbat is already leaving us.”

The days come and go, the year is coming to its end, and the Days of Awe are approaching with their intense soul-searching.

The approach of Elul, the month of penitence before the Days of Awe, is marked by a special prayer on the last Shabbat before the new month. The inevitable rain during Sukkot denotes the end of summer and the approach of the winter that the town's residents dread, when the homes of the poor freeze. The text “May it be Your will” is said before the beginning of each month – with wishes for

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a long life, one of a good livelihood, wealth and honor, but on that day the familiar words are especially meaningful.

The whispered late morning Mussaf prayer on that day is heavy with fear of the Days of Awe. People are shocked and sad at the realization that the Days of Awe are fast approaching – the time when people will stand judgment and fates for the coming year will be decided.

The women's section is more crowded than usual on that Shabbat, too. The sensitive feminine souls were full of terror at the nearing day of judgment. They could visualize the difficult winter days that lay ahead, bringing cold, damp, snowstorms, and - God forbid - children's diseases. They were ready to pierce heaven with their supplications and beg God for a good, blessed year. The weekly ‘Gut Shabbes’ was no longer as merry as on every Friday. People gazed at each other gravely, feeling guilty, like schoolchildren who suddenly realized that they had misbehaved and the teacher was coming to punish them.

The walk home on that Shabbat was slow and thoughtful. After the Friday night meal, the street was different than before. It was still sunny and hot (as the saying goes, “the end of summer is harder than summer”), and the heavy aroma of fruit ripening in the orchards combined with the smell of stored grain to create a sense of plenty. But the pleasure was overlaid by a secret sigh of pain.

Here and there, the melody of penitential psalms was heard, or the chant accompanying the study of ethical matters. Women sat at their thresholds, murmuring about proper behavior or another woman who wasn't keeping the rules, and the like. Even those young people who hadn't been fully observant during the summer were now more careful, partly for fear of their parents and partly due to the Elul atmosphere.

The first blast of the Shofar set the tone of solemnity that now overtook the town.^[10] Daily life, with all its negotiations and business dealings, was now done under the cloud of the Days of Awe. The townspeople grew more silent and careful; conversations and acts were more thoughtful. Shopkeepers did not raise their prices or misrepresent their wares. The market vendors were more polite, and refrained from swearing and cursing. After all, it was Elul! People were cautious, trying to avert divine retribution.

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On the other hand, people began to send blessings and good wishes to each other for the coming year, hoping that their wishes would be taken into account when the divine decisions were made.

An Elul day in Grabowiec is fraught. The sun rises slowly, as though considering its every movement after a long, dark night. It no longer shines as merrily as it has all summer long. The early mornings are chilly and a frosty breeze blows, driving everyone to consider their sins, regret their summer foolishness and transgressions.

The Jews of Grabowiec rise at dawn, and are immediately plunged into self-examination. Their gaze is like the Elul sunlight: bright, but serious. They rush to the study house with their tallis and teffilin, pore over the books of Psalms, and recite entire chapters. A cold wind penetrates the study house's windows and threatens the candles flickering at the lectern. People begin ruminating about their lives: How perfect can a person be? Don't human ethics disappear in the flesh? Is there still a relationship with a superior quality?

The Elul days pass, bringing more introspection. “Where am I in the world?” Material qualities begin to dissolve as the yearning for more spiritual achievements grows by the day. People want to compensate for the lack of observance during the year that is just ending. The morning and evening prayers grow longer. People love to spend more time in the warmth of the study house and read another chapter of Psalms or of the Mishna.

The first three weeks of Elul have passed, with their burdens, and then the alarm is sounded for the beginning of the Days of Penitence.^[11] The sense of tradition increases, as the sensation of individual worthlessness takes over. The townspeople understand that all the bustling is due to God's will; it would not happen without God's wish. The Grabowiec Jews realize how helpless they truly are.

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As the prayer texts address God, “We do not approach you with our deeds, only as the poor, worthless creatures that we are… Our bodies and souls are yours.” People realize how little value they themselves possess, and that their slightest misstep could turn them into dust and ashes. During the few remaining days before judgment is passed on Rosh Hashanah, people try to amass as many good deeds as possible to serve them before the holiday.

The sound of the Elul Shofar pierces the soul of every Jew with a call for penitence, soul-searching, and divesting from all false beliefs and abandoning wicked ways in favor of proper behavior. The few weeks that remain before Rosh Hashanah offer the last chance to complete the year's spiritual labor and end on a note of penitence.

The Shofar sounds its warning in the town: people will soon be called to account, when the Supreme Judge commands them to appear. The homes now grow solemn, as people feel that this is their last chance to make amends. Even the youngest children know that penitence is the only way to save their souls; true penitence is practiced by all the generations of a family.

Fear and joy, celebration and awareness that the day of reckoning is near, overwhelm me as I recall Elul in Grabowiec.

Here is an unforgettable scene from my childhood and youth: the sexton raps the lectern, and the congregation grows silent. The large study house, packed with worshippers, is especially crowded near the entry door– where ordinary people gather. Some are seated, others stand. The seats consist of benches and chairs of all types, never sufficient for the mass of people. People page through their prayer books to find the relevant prayer. Those who are less knowledgeable consult their neighbors. Small children, whose merry chattering is usually lost in the hubbub of the youths, fall silent and seek their parents.

The rabbi, wearing his wide, silver-embroidered kittl, ascends to the Bimah.^[12] His figure seems radiant, and the synagogue becomes a royal hall. As he stands on the Bimah and sways with emotion, he is flanked by four notable members of the community who are wrapped in their tallises. They hug the Torah scrolls, trembling with fear.

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Reverently, his voice trembling, the rabbi begins to read Psalm 47: “To the Chief Musician. A Psalm of the sons of Korah.” Suddenly, everyone is transported to a state of deep introspection, as though a herald had announced the end of all living things, and the congregation needs to delay the execution of the sentence. A hush came over the hall.

The voices and groans die down gradually. People start to cough, rearrange their tallises, fasten their sashes, and it is quiet once again. The Shofar sounds another blast, striking all hearts with an age-old terror. The prayer leader seems to be chanting words of fire, in a voice that causes the congregation to shiver: “Fortunate is the people that know the blasting of the horn.”^[13] The words, spoken by the pure of heart, reverberate in the study house and ascend to heaven….

The Shofar blasts ceased, the community notables left the Bimah, placed the Torah scrolls back in the Ark, and returned to their seats. The women who had been standing outside the windows and listening to the Shofar hurried home, to look after their children and tend to their pots.

The leader of the second morning service takes his place on the Bimah, and begins praying softly, begging God not to disqualify him, because of his own sins, as a messenger of the congregation. Everyone was moved by the sound of his stifled sobs. He soon calmed down, taking the congregation with him, as he began chanting Yisgadal…, praising God.^[14]

The most sublime moment was when the Ark was opened and the congregation chanted the ancient U-Netaneh Tokef liturgical poem.^[15] The leader infused every word of Rabbi Amnon's poem with its full weight. The entire congregation was moved as the leader led the chanting with all his heart.

The Grabowiec Jews held two thorough cleanups twice a year, six months apart. One consisted of scrubbing the home and kitchen utensils before Pesach. Armoires and trunks were brought outdoors, as though preparing for a second Exodus. The women worked as the men were asked to stay out of the house. When the holiday began, every corner of the house would be spick and span. The other cleansing was internal, purifying the soul and clearing it of any impurities accumulated during the previous year,

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in order to begin the new year cleanly – without grudges or ill-will. People begged each other for forgiveness, and entered the new year with a clean slate.

That was the Grabowiec way.

Yom Kippur was next. The synagogue, study house, and all the Hasidic small synagogues were full and illuminated. The tall memorial candles and the lamps shone ceremoniously. Occasional sobs were audible. It was Judgment Day, which struck fear into every heart, young and old; a day of repentance and loud weeping.

I remember myself as a child standing next to my father, who was huddled and weeping in his white tallis, immersed in his prayerbook. The cantor's voice rang out: “Kol Nidrei…” Father straightened up as he repeated the cantor's words. The age-old chant echoed among the candles, evoking ancestors and the candles they had lit, along with the shining lights in the synagogue.

Sukkot, the longest and most complex of the Jewish holidays, was on its way. The Jews of Grabowiec were serious about fulfilling the biblical injunction to rejoice in their holidays.^[16] People drank wine and brandy, but never broke boundaries. Men would sing “Blessed is our God who created us for his glory.”^[17]

It was a great holiday for the town's boys as well, who joined in the dance of the adults. During the afternoon before the holiday, an adult always set the boys up in rows, the smaller ones in front and the bigger ones in the back. They would begin marching and singing, led by the adults, going through the town and across the central square, until they reached the home of the richest community member,

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Yeshaya Morochnik. The children faced the Morochnik house in a semi-circle, as their leader called out, “Who are you, my children?” The boys responded, “We are the youngest students of the Jewish people – children of Israel, the nation of the Bible.” The leader called out once again, “The holy flock!” and the boys mimicked lambs, bleating: “Meh…meh…meh” The windows then opened and Yeshaya's wife flung out handfuls of nuts, candy, and fruit. Their leader watched to make sure that all the boys got a fair share. Once they had finished eating, they stood in rows again as their “shepherd” called out, “Bravo! Here's to next year!” The answer soon came: “Next year in Jerusalem!”^[18] Sometimes, he would call out, “Please, God, save us!” and they would answer, “Please, God, grant us success!”

They would march from one house to the next until nightfall, and repeat the next day, Simchat Torah proper. The women in each house happily gave them sweets and nuts, laughing with pleasure at the sight. Any woman who tried to avoid her duty or was stingy with the treats was countered by stronger, annoying calls of ‘meh…meh…meh…’, until she gave in.

Winter stole into town like a thief and eventually captured it completely by vicious attacks. Icy winds blew for days on end and brought blinding snowstorms. The windows were covered by snowdrifts, and the roads became invisible. The town was seized by a hard freeze. On the 25^th day of Kislev, the observation of Hanukkah began in each Jewish house. On the evening the holiday began, people stayed indoors for the Festival of Lights. Once the candles were lit, parties and dinners were held. People enjoyed the treats and spent the evenings convivially. Special dishes characterized the holiday, including oil-fried potato pancakes to commemorate the miracle of the oil.^[19] Cheese dishes were also common, in memory of Judith, the daughter of Yohanan the Hasmonean, who

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plied the enemy commander Holofernes with salted cheese to increase his thirst for wine and spirits, until he became unconscious and she was able to avenge her suffering people.^[20] There were three main days of celebration during the eight days of Hanukkah: the first night, the Shabbat during the holiday week, and the eighth day. The Hasids considered the eighth day especially important, and marked it with greater ceremony and excitement, as well as by singing special tunes.

The Jewish boys of Grabowiec were exceptionally fortunate during Hanukkah. Their hours of study were reduced, they enjoyed special delicacies, received gifts of money, and played dreidl.^[21] The dreidls were handmade; boys would often be seen with bandaged fingers, the result of hasty amateur woodwork.

The windowsills bore the nine-branched Hanukkah menorahs holding small, colorful candles that flickered in the dark. Some homes had more ornate menorahs, made of brass or silver, handed down over the generations.

Some memories last for decades. Such as my childhood memories of Hanukkah nights when we lit candles, played games, and went outdoors into a wild snowstorm that pelted us with stinging snowflakes. The entire town was buried in snow as the storm raged on. The study house would then fill with boys and men studying on their benches. Some young men sat near the central oven and discussed current events, or debated the original Hanukkah lights as described in the Mishna (which spread their shine over 400 parsa) and the miraculous vial of oil.^[22]

Many memories crowd around me and shed their light like the Hanukkah candles. I long for those evenings, when we sat in the study house and discussed the Sambation River, sure that the miraculous stream flowed somewhere in the world, beyond the dark mountains. After all, people had once reached it.^[23] When would it reveal itself to us? How powerful we would be, once the Ten Lost Tribes joined us. And how about other lost treasures, such as the Ark of the Covenant, and the golden seven-branched menorah that stood in the Temple? All were flung into the raging river of Rome. The Levites hung their lyres on the willow branches lining the rivers of Babylon and chopped off their fingertips so that they couldn't play.^[24] Our heroes heaved the riches of the Temple into the Roman river so that they wouldn't be desecrated. But can they not be retrieved from the waters until they reveal themselves on their own

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in all their glory, before our marveling eyes? After all, God can change Creation at any time.

The Hanukkah candles illuminated a magnificent, stirring picture: Titus whips on the captives from Judea as they carry the Temple furnishings and the Menorah. Someone told us that scientists found ancient tablets that recount all that happened to our ancestors in Egypt. Many secret mysteries remain, quickening the heart and stimulating the imagination.

In our town, we dreamed of the ancient history of Israel. It was many years ago, and although we have redeemed ourselves from wandering in exile, our memories – and the rivers of tears that flooded our town – are powerful to this day; that is why we are commemorating them forever in this Memorial Book.

The joyful Spring sunshine encouraged the lively efforts to prepare for Pesach. The residents of Grabowiec began preparing for the holiday a few days after the earlier spring holiday of Purim. The bakeries were cleansed of any trace of leavening to the very highest level of kashrut. Then an army of experienced workers began baking matzas and working until the very last day taking care of all the necessary preparations.

Jams and drinks would be prepared in the summer, when fruit was plentiful. The geese, which had been fattened over the winter, were slaughtered at Hanukkah, and their fat was specially rendered “for Pesach.” Cleansing the flour mill began immediately after Tu B'Shevat, as were the matza-baking implements.

We have matza bakeries today, but in the old times the Jews of Grabowiec ate only those matzas that had been baked in their own specially prepared bakery.

The first step was to prepare the water, filtered through a fine sieve the day before. Matza requires water that has been cleansed and guarded in the home all night, so that it was drawn from the well the day before.

I remember that we, the religiously observant as well as members of the Hasidic groups, were busy preparing the flour and the bakery. One person was in charge of filling the flour jar to exactly the right level. He would pour the flour into the bowl at the signal from the director of kneading. We enjoyed the work immensely and diligently made sure we did not include anything that could be construed as leavening.

People bought high-quality kosher raisins and prepared their own Pesach wine carefully, following all the rules.

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It was a time of spiritual awakening for all the Jews of Grabowiec, “signs for seasons, days, and years.”^[25]

The Nisan days leading up to the holiday took the local Jews into the ancient secrets of Jewish thought that enriched their lives – and everyone was eager to fulfil the yearly commandment.

The Jews of Grabowiec scoured their homes and kitchens, to prepare a cheerful, light-filled welcome for the holiday. Before sundown on the eve of Pesach, families in festive garb streamed through the town's streets and narrow alleys on their way to the study house and the small Hasidic synagogues.

The study house was well-lit, the furniture was freshly scrubbed until they were as good as new. The Torah Ark was covered by a red curtain, decorated by silver and gold embroidery that spelled out “The crown of the Torah.” Groups of youths came in and showed off their new clothing and gleaming shoes. As the sexton rapped loudly on the Bimah table, silence fell. Yisro'el, the cantor, approached the lectern, rearranged his tallis and sash, and became more serious. His curled sidelocks seemed to grow longer as his chant penetrated the hearts of the congregation.

The Seders were celebrated ceremoniously in each home. The heads of the families led the Seder as they sat on pillows around the tables, which were spread with dishes that symbolized both slavery and freedom. The Seder, a celebration of freedom, began with a festive Kiddush and continued with special melodies as each section was chanted. The meal was unique in its riches of unusual dishes.

The Seder concluded with an invitation to the prophet Elijah. As the door opened, the family raised the third glass of wine and chanted the request “Pour thy wrath” to relieve the nation of its sufferings.^[26] The Seder ends when the fourth cup is drunk, and the wish “Next year in Jerusalem” is sounded, expressing the age-old longing to rebuild the traditional center of the nation. The Seder is over.

Pesach was a celebration of no ordinary freedom in Grabowiec. On the Shabbat before the holiday, the rabbi explained in his sermon that the holiday was one of freedom itself, “our own freedom,”

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which is ensured by the words incised on the Tablets of the Law.

As I wandered in the Russian vastnesses during the war, I often thought of the rabbi's words about the essence of our freedom. It was then that I understood how we, the Jewish people, could have continued to exist under the harsh conditions of exile: it was only because even the poor felt that they were supported by the nation as a whole.

The town's Jews were always sensitive to the needs of the poor and strove to ease their plight. Ma'ot Hittin, the “wheat fund,” is a perfect example: a person who needed to rely on others never felt that he was an ordinary beggar dependent on the public. Rather, he was cared for as a relative, just as the ancient sages said, “Let the poor feel at home with you.”^[28] People cannot dictate their own fate. The residents of Grabowiec knew this well. Their charity was gentle and calming, and ensured that the poor person would be supplied not only with food but also with warmth and friendship.

That is what we call freedom.

As I wandered, I suffered endless abuses; but whenever I was able to celebrate Pesach with Jews, I immediately felt like a family member joining an occasion that was being observed by the entire large Jewish family. On those occasions, we told each other all we had undergone as well as reminiscences of our youth and hopes for the future.

“Let all who are hungry come and eat, let everyone who wants to celebrate the holiday come and celebrate!” The heads of families and their guests formed one large family – that of our exiled nation.

“This is the bread of affliction…”^[29]

As the weeks came and went from the holiday of freedom, Peach, to Shavuot, the holiday the Torah was given, the Jews of Grabowiec gathered late at night, according to custom, for spiritual practice. Sitting in the study house, which contained the small world of the Torah from start to finish, they read the Mishna, section by section.

In the morning, the simple old words were chanted in the familiar melody. As small children in the cheyder, we learned that Shavuot commemorated the giving of the Torah. During the weeks leading up to the holiday, the rebbe read the dialogue between the nations of the world and the Jewish nation, and translated it into Yiddish. We were so captivated by his reading

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that we continued to sit stock still when he had finished, as though struck by deep slumber in a world of light and warmth, emanating from a radiant sun and a spirit as lively as the rebbe's story:

On that day, all the nations of the world gathered around the nation of Israel, asking provocative questions, such as “Who and what is your God, why doesn't he appear although you have been slaughtered and martyred for him, and exterminated by implacable enemies? Wouldn't you be better off accepting our religion and assimilating into us?”

The Jewish people responded wisely, “You have flooded me for thousands of years with waves of evil and atrocities, and could not vanquish me. For centuries, you roasted my flesh in flames. Are you now trying to kill me gently?”

As the rebbe continued reading, his excitement increased. When he came to the last section of the prayer, his eyes seemed to dart fire: “In the future, the terrible wild bull will appear for a duel with the horrible whale, and there will be a great battle, the likes of which has not been seen since Creation. At that moment, the Creator will rise and kill both of these tyrants, and prepare a feast for all the righteous among the Jews. They will eat, and drink the special wine that has been saved since the Creation, and enjoy the favor of God.”^[30]

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