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Grabowiec was a small town between three larger cities – Chelm, Hrubieszow, and Zamość – and next to the two smaller towns of Uchanie and Wojsławice. It was distinguished by its socio-cultural makeup. Our Jewish lives went through a stage of youth movements; the largest proportion of young people were members of the Zionist organizations.

From where the young folks of Grabowiec derive their spiritual sustenance as well as their aspirations to pioneering and Socialism in the Land of Israel?

Let us begin from the beginning. The Jews of Grabowiec lived in an atmosphere of full Judaism, in robustly Jewish homes that maintained a Jewish way of life consisting of Jewish content. There were four cheyders in town, where children received their early Jewish education.

During my time, Grabowiec did not yet have a synagogue, and hundreds of Jewish

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children, who represented the future of youth, were raised in cheyders.

Known in town as Mankeh, the boys of the town began their studies with him, studying the alef-beis and beginning to read.^[1] Children spent two or three years with him. He was quiet and devout, and never raised his voice. But he kept tight order in the classroom, and the children respected his every word.

He led the cheyder for boys who had graduated from Moshe's cheyder. He was known in town as Sholem Mezgi, and taught his students Torah and Talmud. Generations of Grabowiec's Jews studied in his cheyder; often, a father who had studied there later brought his own son there.

Boys studied Torah and Talmud with him. I'm really tempted to describe his wife, who remains in all our memories. I'm sure every Grabowiec native remembers her.

His taught the last grade of cheyder, after which many boys did not continue their studies. The curriculum consisted of Talmud and commentaries; he was famous for his calm, fatherly relationship with his students. Some went on to study at the study house, or in the Hassidic synagogues. Those who did not continue studying went off to learn a trade. Our town had tailors, shoemakers, shoe-leather cutters and stitchers, hatmakers, and small tradesmen.

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Shabbat and Holidays

When I remember our hometown, I see before me our shabbat and holidays observances, when Grabowiec would shed its everyday clothing and dress in festive garments. A delightful peace would descend over the market and the streets, and spread to the fields and the nearby forests, where the young people had their own ways to enjoy the day of rest. It was the same during the holidays. Dozens of young people who were studying or working elsewhere would return home, bringing joy and liveliness to town.

The holidays were always celebrated splendidly in the traditional religious manner. The study house and the synagogues would fill; cantors Moyshe Zinger and “White Itzik” chanted moving cantorial melodies, attracting young and old alike.

Grabowiec was surrounded by hills and forests. Castle Hill provided the most romantic corner for young lovers. There were two streams – the Welwic, where people would bathe on summer days, and the Siedlice, where people would catch fish for Shabbat (and also grind flour).^[2]

The town had a rich social and cultural life, with Zionist and Communist youth organizations. We had a drama club that would perform several times a year. The cultural association, which was non-political, possessed a rich library. It held “box-evenings,” “living newspapers,” political discussions, dance evenings, excursions, and meetings with the young people of Uchanie and Wojsławice.^[3] The Hechalutz Zionist youth movement offered lively activities in preparation for the agricultural camps that trained young people who planned to move to Palestine and be farmers.

Translator's footnotes:

1. The Alef – Beis (var. Aleph-Bet) refers to the Hebrew Alphabet. Return
2. Today two streams in Grabowiec are called Wolica and Siedlisko. Return
3. “Box-evenings” were an activity among interwar Jewish youth groups: participants would write down discussion questions anonymously on slips of paper, drop them in a small box. At the box-evening, the slips would be drawn out at random and the questions would be debated and discussed. Return

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The memories I set down here go back to a distant period that was much different than our own. They are of “the good old days” when we lived in Grabowiec, years when we were young and had great dreams and warm friendships that would last forever. Let our children and grandchildren page through this book and hear their grandparents reminisce about childhood and the stormy years of World War I. Later, when Germany took over the country and the forces that had been severely oppressed under Czarist rule broke free, associations and political parties developed. Private longings became combined with social wishes, and young people found their way towards a better society. Conflicts between individual and group needs continued, until the eventual victory of the group. In the end, all the movements won; there was not much difference between them.

When I was small, I considered every Jew who had a beard and peyes to be a perfect person. I was strongly impressed by devoutness and ecstatic praying, and thought they indicated knowledge and sanctity. I was disappointed when I grew older and realized that such people were only able to recite the daily prayers without understanding their meaning. Eventually, I learned to distinguish between an ordinary pious Jew and a great scholar, and also found that any act could be disguised as a religious one. However, it needed to be completely free of personal bias. Nevertheless, I continued to love simple Jews – those who did not devote their lives to Torah study but who worked hard to make a living and had little time or energy to go beyond that. Only a few attained a good livelihood. There were no easy ways to make a living; people labored for their daily bread. Yet the ordinary Jews of our town were just as devoted to Jewish spirituality as the scholars.

There were three major occasions in the life of a Jewish boy. The first was the day of his

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circumcision, which made him a member of the Jewish people, when he was wished Torah knowledge, along with a good marriage, and good deeds. The second was when, at age three or four he was wrapped in a tallis and carried to the melamed of the youngest children, in the presence of his parents and nearest relatives as well as all the children of that cheyder, who were given sweets in honor of the new arrival. He was wished well by all; the main wish was that he should be a willing student. The child stayed in the cheyder, while his parents returned home, smiling through their tears. The third occasion was at about age five, when the boy began studying the Torah. The families often invited guests to this celebration, which included the first serious dialogue of the melamed with the boy.

I, too, followed this route, when I was wrapped in a tallis and taken to Moyshe the melamed. After a short ceremony that included words of welcome, I joined the dozens of children in the cheyder. Moyshe, who had a long beard and peyes, was aided by two helpers. During the winter, and on a rainy day, a helper collected the children, each loading two or three children on his back, and deposited them in a large room, where they sat on benches along the walls.

I spent more time than usual in this cheyder, due to chronic ill health. My ability to read Hebrew and the prayerbook enabled me to shift to the next melamed up, Moynkeh, where I also stayed longer than usual.^[1] That was where I began studying Torah, and progressed to Talmud study.

Moynkeh was short and, a bit stooped, so that the lower edges of his coat touched the floor. His short beard was sparse and as yellow as the snuff that he used liberally. His eyes were large and clouded, and his vision was very poor. When he pored over a volume or used the prayer book, his head bent low enough to touch the snuff-stained pages. Surprisingly, he had used the same worn, thick, old-fashioned prayer book for about eighty years, in spite of his worsening vision. On the other hand, he was able to remember the anniversaries of all the deaths in the town, as all the funerals passed along his house, which lay between the synagogues and the cemetery. He would join every funeral as it passed, start walking, and casually ask the mourners who had died, and when. He was the living repository of all this information. Anyone who was unsure about a death anniversary would ask him as he sat with his head in his hands. After a few blinks and head-rubs, he produced the hour, day, and year – no matter how long ago it had happened.

As I noted, Moynkeh was my first teacher of Torah and Talmud. It was customary in our town to begin Torah study with the first section of Leviticus.^[2] This was odd, because Leviticus deals with rules of purity and impurity, sacrifices, incest, and the like.

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Why would a five or six-year-old be interested in such subjects? Who was capable of explaining them to children so young? Let me described a true incident. We were a group of boys aged 8-10 who were studying with a certain melamed. When we reached Leviticus, nothing made any sense. The smartest boy among us talked two innocents into asking the teacher two questions during class. He formulated the questions, which they were supposed to ask in turn. However, the boys became confused: the first boy asked the second boy's question (with some help from the second boy, to make sure the melamed would understand). The melamed, though, immediately understood what had happened, and realized who the ringleader was. He became very angry and wanted to slap the ringleader, who quickly slipped out of the window. The melamed demanded that the boy's parents remove him from the cheyder, as he was such a bad influence on the others.

He was the only melamed who introduced some secular subjects into his curriculum. We learned to read and write Yiddish, mainly for letter-writing. He was successful, and was justifiably proud of his achievement. This was a very useful skill at the time, due to the ongoing war that separated families across borders. A woman would often come to the cheyder and request that a boy come and help her write a letter to her relatives; her request was usually met. The melamed would choose the best of us, and accompany him for last-minute reviewing.

He was the finest melamed in town, who taught us Talmud and all the commentaries. He never tested new students, but grouped them all by age. As he was the highest-level melamed, many of those who graduated from his cheyder went on to study in synagogues or Great Yeshivas. The less gifted began to work and help their parents.

Most older students – except for the most exceptional (some whom we've mentioned and others we haven't) – continued their studies in the study house. The study method there was different, based on individual study and debates among the students. They used a special chant with variations as they studied, which everyone learned. Study itself became a kind of musical expression,

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along the lines of the Talmudic debate “When you study Talmud is it merely a song?” Is the material you study only like the lyrics of a song that you do not understand?^[3]

I have been able to describe only the little that remains engraved in my memory; after all, I studied in that cheyder for a relatively short time. Much of what I have recorded happened more than seventy years ago, and is rooted in an even earlier time: my teacher Moynkeh, born in the 19th century, was himself educated by someone who had studied in the 18^th century. The town continued to exist along the same lines, within the large circle that encompassed generations of lives, education, and beliefs. The Jews of Grabowiec lived in a small world. Some had never even left the town limits. Their world stretched from Zindl Motalis's place to that of Leybish Kory, who in my time lived in the last house in town on the Siedlice road. Yet the town had an active public life, and its Zionist activity was well-known throughout Poland. Zionism had quite an effect on the town.

Every year, before the freezes began, the town seemed to sink into a mud flow. The ground was swampy, and wooden walkways were set up in the town center and along the side streets. The cart-drivers added boards at the sides of the walkways to facilitate the movement of their horses, carts, and merchandise, making the walkway like a bridge. However, during the rainiest periods, the soil seemed to swell up and overrun the bridge. Each step on the bridge felt fraught with danger. The worst times were during the pitch-dark autumn evenings, when people walked in single file. A leader who took a wrong step would sink into the mud, and people resorted to various methods in order to pull him out and see him home safely.

Speaking of mud, I would like to describe a related event, of a type that was not too rare. The cart-drivers of our town were always a special breed. They and their carts supplied the only means of communication between the town and its surroundings. “Big-head” Yankinyu ran the line to Chelm; he kept a large stable with horses and carts next to his house. He himself did no driving, and delegated that work to a crew of drivers.^[4] Notable among them were Simcha Keysar (who later became Yankinyu's son-in-law), Mendi Fack, and others. They took care of all the property, animate and inanimate. The hard-working, thrifty, and honest Griziniks worked the same route.

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The lines to Zamość and Hrubieszow were run by the Strakis. They were tall and strong, honest and courteous and plied the rough roads daily. Their large, well-trained horses carried merchandise back and forth safely. However, when faced with a serious obstacle, their owners, the Strakis, lent their own strength to overcome it. More problems were solved, until home was safely reached, often late at night. Then, the incoming merchandise (which consisted of iron bars, boxes, sacks, etc.) had to be unpacked and delivered to the shopkeepers who had ordered it, and the horses and carts had to be readied for the next day's journey. The above-mentioned ‘bridge’ was another hurdle. At first, the drivers hoped they could traverse it on their own, but the harder they tried, the deeper the wheels became mired in the mud under the bridge. The drivers were still struggling, when a group of men appeared at Baruch Melamed's house on the bridge. Standing in a circle, they listened to instructions given by Yankinyu and Simcha Keysar, then dispersed and took up positions in the mud around the cart. They waited for orders from a few guys holding whips on either side of the horses. Simcha Keysar took up the reins, wielded the whip a few times, and the men around the cart yelled in unison, “Giddy-ap! Giddy ap! All together!” The horses pulled with all their might, and the cart slowly broke free of the mud and rose above it. The cart had reached the town pump.

It was certainly a display of force. However, it was somewhat exaggerated, as the bridge was pulled along with the cart; it was certainly not the crew's intention. The town couldn't be split in half without a walkway during the muddy season. But some enterprising fellows who weren't discouraged, were able to solve this problem as well.

Despite all the internal, real differences among the Jews of Grabowiec, their common ground was a feeling of being heirs to the nation's historical strengths. They practiced and amplified these qualities, and continued to exhibit their talent for life. Every act was another link in the chain of moral values they considered basic. Their sons and grandsons, who turned towards modern values, continued to maintain the special qualities of the Jewish people.

Translator's footnotes:

1. Moynkeh is referred to earlier as Mankeh. Return
2. Leviticus 1-5. Return
3. The argument is derived from the Talmudic phrase in Eruvin 60a. Return
4. In modern Israel the Hebrew expression “Rosh Gadol” (literally ‘big head’) connotes a strategic thinker or ‘outside the box’ innovator. Return

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In my imagination, I listen to a dialogue in their lingo, about me.^[1] “Just take a look and see what happened to this respectable young man! He thinks so highly of himself – and why? Because he can write? Just give me a penny and you'll see what I can do.” Others say, “I don't understand God at all… How did He set up the world? One person was given brains, but not a pen. Another, with no brains whatsoever, was given a pen, of all things. Well? Can you understand that?”

Yes, we owe them much. We cannot speak to them anymore, but we can certainly talk about them. That is the point of this volume, and many others like it: talking about them. The article below presents memories of my childhood home. The events took place within five or six years, during World War I and afterwards. I was then aged 10-15, and my parents were about 30-35.

Our house was in the center of town (“mid-market” in Yiddish). It was a warm home, in the fullest sense of the word. In winter, shopkeepers roaming the market (“how do I make a living? I prowl around in the market”) as well as everyone who passed by were drawn to peek inside. The big room was divided by a wall that served as one side of the oven, which was stoked from the kitchen on the other side. The thick, smooth, solid wall radiated heat throughout the house. A niche in one corner held a built-in samovar with a 200-glass capacity; it was heated day and night. A special shelf offered sugar cubes, tea essence, and glasses. Anyone could come over and make a glass of tea (“a hot drink”); after he was warmed up, he'd go about his business.

I remember how, during a severe shortage of sugar, we debated the issue among ourselves (“a glass of tea is no small matter for half-frozen Jews”). We actually decided to stop – temporarily, of course – but postponed it for another day or two. This happened several times. As it turned out, this essential product – a glass of hot tea – was never cut off. My parents viewed it as a great victory: “God simply had mercy on us,” they would say, often repeating the story. There was less tension, and the house was full of people once again.

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It seemed that normal times were resuming. We children – like children everywhere – were the only ones who felt out of place, a fact our parents were too busy to realize.

At that time, our town had no organized help for the poor. But there was a group of women who were sensitive and perceptive, and understood that those who lacked money, or were in some other kind of critical situation, needed assistance. A woman in need would approach a member of this group. If the problem was too big to handle on her own, she shared it with the organizers. They would gather in the leader's kitchen. Often, while preparing a meal, they would allocate tasks as they stood and worked. Once they dispersed, each knew what her job was. They set out to request contributions from the generous residents and helpers. Everything was done with love and devotion, and, as far as possible, in secret.

My mother, Gitl-Chana (Devora's daughter) was a member of this group. Our kitchen was the site of many serious discussions, which set the tone in our home. Often you could see Mother, together with Chaya (Chayim-Leib's wife), Esther (Shiyeh's wife), and Bracha (Gitshe's daughter, who was always in a hurry as she had left her shop), Yosl Goldfarb's mother, and several other women, whispering as they clustered together. Once they had taken care of the problem, they quickly left, still whispering. Such excited, whispered consultation was seldom a good sign.

Mother was also considered knowledgeable about childhood diseases, though she was unable to help six of her babies. Six other children survived until the Holocaust. The youngest daughter and her family, as well as the youngest child, Simcha, were murdered along with my parents.

A child who had fallen sick, especially if he woke up screaming, terrified the family. They knew the child's life was in danger. Gitl was awoken on cold winter nights only in serious cases. She herself was not strong, and suffered from heart and lung diseases, among other illnesses. People hesitated to call for her, which meant that precious time was lost. But she always insisted that saving the life of a child was the most important thing of all.

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She would awaken at the slightest touch on our window, and was with the sick child in a flash. One look was enough to diagnose the problem. If it was diphtheria, Mechl the doctor would be summoned. He confirmed her diagnosis, gave an injection, and left without asking for pay.

That was his arrangement with my mother. Injections were available by then, but they were very expensive, and poor families with many children couldn't afford them. And while they hesitated, the Angel of Death was busy.

Mother faced the problem of paying off the debt to the doctor. Unusual solutions were called for. Here is one example, which has been a secret until now. Freyde, Mechl the doctor's wife, was the town midwife. She was kind and generous, without a mean bone in her body. They were relatively well off. Mother involved Freyde in the group's activities and told her about special cases. Thus, Freyde was aware of events. When she finally learned of Mother's debt to her husband for his visits and medications, the poor chances that it would ever be paid, and Mother's constant worry because of it, she told Mother of the special fund that always contained some money for charitable purposes. Freyde intended to use this money to make good the debt. This solution, which had never occurred to Mechl, could only be possible between two good friends of noble character.

Mother was widely admired because of her humanity. Whenever she entered a home, even for the first time, she spread a feeling of intimacy. There were no barriers, and the mood was very friendly.

She was extremely intelligent, quick to grasp the causes of events, and easy to talk to. A single meeting was enough to create a lifelong connection. I was present once, when a woman came in with her five-year-old son. “Gitl, do you see this naughty kid? First God, and then you, gave him life.” She reminded Mother that she had once cared for him between 2 and 4 a.m. She had visited the doctor the day before to thank him on her son's fifth birthday. Although it had been more than four years previously, the doctor said he remembered it very well. He had thought the case hopeless. “I didn't conceal my opinion from Gitl,” he said,

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“But in all honesty, Gitl is the one who should be thanked.” The woman kissed Mother and gave her some small gifts she had brought – a few radishes, green onions, and greens for soup. She had grown them in her kitchen garden. Mother was very moved, offered some treats, gave the boy a small package of goodies, before she kissed and caressed him. They parted with a mix of smiles and tears.

This was not an isolated case. There were many similar ones, as her need to help and save lives was immense. I'm happy to say that this zeal was approved at home. I do not remember a single occasion when my parents argued because of her special activities, although they sometimes interfered with regular home life. On the contrary. Father was kind, generous, and decent. He was extremely modest, and was always ready to carry out good deeds. On occasion, he would take on a task that involved risk and was actually beyond his ability; but he was incapable of refusing.

Someone once said that small-town Jews do everything out of kindness.

My heart weeps whenever I think of Grabowiec, my home town…

This was my childhood home, its landscape, its people and their customs, their conversations, and daily lives as well as ceremonial occasions. These are the elements that become deeply engraved on a person's soul and remain throughout life, regardless of location and the passage of time; they are beyond his control. I need only to close my eyes and think of the town as it was six or seven decades ago, and the beloved figures and images rise up before me: parents, teachers, educators, friends, with whom I exchanged ideas and thoughts. These were the forces that shaped me and determined the course of my life.

I have set down the memories as they come to me, day and night. They are not a history, but rather experiences I have had. My parents' home was typical of the Jewish homes of Grabowiec, which fulfilled the injunction to live a life of traditional Jewish learning together with practical and ethical behavior in the secular world. They were able to combine time in the study house with their daily work and lives: the men spent their days working, whereas mornings and evenings were dedicated to prayer and study, with the full support of our mothers. All the Jewish men of Grabowiec did was possible thanks to their devoted wives. Children were taught at a young age to respect the spiritual achievements of their elders, as well as spiritual achievements in general. Father and Mother were the very first teachers, and were always referred to as “my father, my teacher” and “my mother, my teacher.” Studies in the cheyder came later, where wealthy and poor alike sent their

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sons. The biblical instruction “and you shall see” is rightly interpreted as referring to the three main forces that shape one's personality: parents, environment, and education.^[2] We learned much from our elders, then from our environment, and finally – from our self-education.

These notes are not complete or finished. The continuation of this book will present more details of life in our town and the customs of its residents. They were decent Jews, who served God with dedication and sincerity; observant Jews, who followed the Torah and its interpretations; young people who longed for national renewal and were swept away in the tremendous wave that began in the early twentieth century, yet were able to combine traditional values with new ones. They were aware of social changes and ideas about a new world and a new society, while being proud Jews who resisted harsh decrees and persecution, and were devoted to their own people.

Such were the Jews who constituted the Grabowiec community, until it was decimated by the eradicators, along with the entire Jewish population of Poland. It is incumbent on us to gather the surviving shards of life in Jewish towns and attempt to shed light on their societies, religious practices, culture, and economics, before they are forgotten and lost forever. We must not allow the memory of this glory to be obliterated. Time must not fade the memories of our parents, brothers, and sisters, who through their everyday practices enriched life in our town.

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