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The finest chapter of Kurow's bygone days, when people really loved learning, was on winter nights, after the evening prayer. The tables in the House of Study were full of people studying; not only young scholars boarding with their in-laws, but older people as well. Even a poor tramp who would have to walk to a village the next day looking to buy an animal pelt, or some old bootlegs, from a non-Jew, would sit in the House of Study at night and read a sacred book. (No other nation had such a culture of study.)

The entire western wall of the Kurow House of Study was packed with books, which formed a gigantic library. It was created by a youth organization (naturally, I was a member). Every Friday, several pairs of young men walked through town carrying tin boxes with the large-size inscription “Book Purchase.” I'd like to commend the Jews of Kurow: each and every one dropped money into our box (who wouldn't contribute for books of religious study?). The poorest man or woman would drop a two-ruble piece, middle-class people would give a six-ruble piece, and some even contributed a ten-ruble piece. The only standout was John Doe, a wealthy Jews, who would never contribute more than a two-ruble piece, regardless of our argument: “How can you give as much as the poorest man or woman?” His only response was “Me, I don't give no more.” We used the money collected in order to repair the old book bindings and buy new, unbound books. (There was no book trade in Kurow.) Book peddlers would come by regularly. Such folks are now also part of history: they were Jews who made their living by traveling around the Jewish towns with a knapsack full of books. When such a trader came to Kurow, we young guys would provide him with several long study tables, on which he would lay his books. When Jews came for prayers, they would buy a set of prayerbooks for the High Holidays, a Lamentation, or a book of supplication prayers.^[46] But we young guys bought important books, mostly the works of many commentators, and books of Jewish law. The book peddlers knew that the young guys of Kurow purchased many books for the House of Study, and brought relevant books for us (unbound, as they were easier to carry). During the “expensive year, ” John Doe denied us even the two rubles. “Don't come to me any more,” he yelled at us, “It's an expensive time. We need money for bread, not books!”

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When talk was useless, we young guys began to think of the best trick to play on him.

The story was as follows:

Once, the military company that was regularly stationed in Kurow included a considerable number of Jewish soldiers. Five of them were religiously observant and would not eat from the non-Kosher pot. Well, we needed to find householders who would host them, each one day a week. We therefore had to find 35 hosts, which was quite a task. Yet the Jews of Kurow did not refuse to host a Jewish soldier one day a week. Naturally, John Doe was also requested to host, and – truth be told – he did not refuse. The soldier whom he hosted was from Russia, quite learned, and would sometimes come into the House of Study to spend some time with a sacred book.

Once, we young guys wanted to

Two Kurow natives in the Czar's army Right – Khone (“stork”) Rubinshteyn Left – Nokhem Shtrasburg, founder of the Zionist Organization in Kurow and of the “Culture” Library, school, member of the community council, distinguished and beloved community activist

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know what John Doe was feeding the soldier, as we knew that he was a notorious miser. The soldier answered, smiling, “Kids, if you want to know, I will tell you the abbreviated version: I've been eating at his place for two months. However, on that day I never know whether I've eaten dairy, meat, or pareve.” We couldn't understand how that was possible. The soldier took out his pencil and wrote down the “menu” of his meals. Yes, it was true: neither meat nor dairy.

We started to persuade the soldier to leave John Doe, and we would find him another place. However, he was steadfast, and said that he did not want to embarrass a Jew, and that one pareve day a week was not dangerous.

It happened this way: the soldier came to John Doe for his pareve midday meal. That day, three people happened to be eating: the soldier sat at one side of the table, while John Doe and his wife sat at the other side. The meal was served: a small piece of bread with a bowl of potatoes and a small bowl of borscht. The soldier knew that the meal was pareve. However, he suddenly understood everything. Mr. Doe set a saucer of butter on the table, which he moved over to the side where he and his wife sat. [???Without saying so much as hint-tayvl-mentsh, he said, “Have some butter.”] The soldier was very embarrassed, grew pale, and confused. He stood up and said,

“Dear householder, I thank you for the entire time that you offered me food and drink. I'd like to say farewell now, but rather than part with a meeting of hands, I want to part with hand meeting cheek.” He gave him a resounding slap, saying, “This is the first slap, but it won't be the last!”

John Doe immediately stood up, and the soldier thought that he was going to start a fight. He was actually looking forward to it, as he thought that people would come and see how a wealthy man treated a poor lonely soldier. However, rather than attacking the soldier, John Doe delivered a resounding slap to his wife… The wife began shrieking: “Why am I to blame for the soldier's slap?” Mr. Doe's response was, “Sure, I know it ain't your fault… But me, I want no threats from this tough guy. Let him see that I got some fight in me, too!” Despite his anger,

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the soldier began laughing so hard that he ran out of the house, still laughing. He ran into the House of Study (which was not far from John Doe's home) and regaled everyone with his tale. This was the revenge we anticipated. We spread the story, with all the details, far and wide, and soon set up a weekly meal for the soldier at a butcher's home. Our soldier was delighted that he finally able to enjoy a decent meal. But John Doe also enjoyed it: the upshot was that he was rid of the soldier, was not a party to fights, and stayed out of the entire situation, just as though he had never been involved–and an end to it!

The combatant was none other than John Doe's son (I believe he had only one). He “surpassed” his father in intelligence and in penny-pinching. From the outset, he refused to host a soldier, and took the price increases very seriously. He had always been very strict about even the smallest expenses, but when the prices skyrocketed, he relinquished the entire concept of eating. The regulars in the House of Study said that he was very innovative in matters of eating (in other words, he developed a way to fool his stomach). He worked out a routine: the first day his wife baked bread, he did not eat, but only inhaled the aroma of the warm bread, which gave him great pleasure. It was both satisfying and free of charge. He developed some other solutions that were completely new. For instance, when he felt hunger pangs, and realized that there was no choice but to eat something, he lit a makhorka cigarette (he smoked a lot, always makhorka), which suppressed his appetite.^[48] The finale was that in the year of price increases, he contracted an aggressive form of tuberculosis (may it not happen to you, or anyone), and died. In this way, the exorbitant cost of living claimed an innocent Jewish soul for no good reason.

When it came to making matches for his children, Grandfather was much less strict. He had a practical theory, as follows: if God has blessed Hershl Flakser with some money, he should spend it wisely. The only thing he was willing to spend money on was traditional Jewish learning (his love of learning was immense). As far as matchmaking was concerned, he spent thousands on a match that combined learning and piety. It was odd. Grandfather

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was not a scholar, but rather a sensible, practical person. But, just as the most important vitamins are extracted from conventional foods, he derived the most important ethical lesson from his own common sense, which dictated two contrasting principles: save your pennies, and be generous with charity and as far as matches are concerned. In this, he concurred with the ideas of the great righteous rabbi, Isaiah Horowitz, in his book Shenei Lukhot Ha-Berit, in Part 3 of the section on the letters of the Hebrew alphabet.^[49]

Grandfather was most generous when it came to making matches for his daughters, for whom, naturally, he sought scholarly grooms. However, he was also quite careful when making matches for his sons; he preferred daughters-in-law who came from fine, scholarly families. That was the case with my mother's older brother Yankev-Yitskhok, who was named after “The Seer of Lublin,” and was called “Itsik” in Kurow.^[50] He was matched with a woman from the Aleksander Hasidic sect, whose father was the renowned RebYekhiel-Fishl Malenitser.^[51] Grandfather paid many thousands to make this match.

My mother also had a younger brother, Shmuel Henekh. Grandfather very much wanted for him to marry into the family of the then Rabbi of Lublin, Shne'ur Zalmen (may his righteous memory be for a blessing). The Rabbi of Lublin was famous throughout Poland as a righteous man and a very great scholar. He had several houses, all containing thousands of sacred books. A widespread legend about this rabbi held that whenever he wanted to look for a passage in one of his myriad books, the book immediately opened to the page he needed, as he was extremely familiar with his books and had studied each of them. This was the rabbi with whose family Grandfather wanted to make a match. Incidentally, the Rabbi of Lublin also composed a wonderful volume of responsa, titled Toras-Khesed, which became widely renowned. In short, Grandfather had his heart set on making a match with the family of the Rabbi of Lublin, who had a daughter famous for her beauty. Grandfather began sending matchmakers to the Rabbi of Lublin. Actually, the Rabbi was not enthusiastic at first (he probably wanted to make a match with the family of a great scholar and rabbi, and Grandfather was neither of these). My mother recounted what she had heard from her mother, that Grandfather had opened his iron strongbox, called Grandmother over, and said, “Beyle, do you see this? I will empty out the entire box, and the Rabbi of Lublin will be my son's father-in-law!”

Grandfather immediately sent a matchmaker to the Rabbi of Lublin, with a note saying that he was ready to offer a dowry of

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thirty thousand rubles, as well as to purchase a house in Lublin for the young couple and register it in their name. Incidentally, the matchmaker told the Rabbi's wife that Grandmother Beyle was also of fine lineage, a grandchild of a rabbi of Lublin.^[52] (At that time, about a hundred years ago, thirty thousand rubles equaled half a million dollars today.) It had an effect. The engagement contract was signed at the father-in-law's house in Lublin. Grandfather laid out the thirty thousand rubles in cash. The house, ??? which had been purchased by Grandfather previously and in which the Rabbi of Lublin was living ??? as well as the money, were registered in the young couple's name. Thus, Grandfather attained his goal.

When the match was completed, the groom – Shmuel-Henekh – was still very young. The years passed, during which Grandfather and Grandmother sent many presents to the Rabbi's beautiful daughter, including various precious items of jewelry. Eventually, the bride and groom reached the right age, and the wedding date was set.

However, as they say, “Everything is in God's hands.”. Apparently, the Rabbi of Lublin was prescient in his lack of enthusiasm for the match. It ended in a tragic misfortune.

I break off my account with a very sad episode, which is not directly related to the biography of my mother and maternal grandparents, but is closely related to my overall goal in writing here: to portray characters, types, and figures of bygone, fantastic worlds. I am mainly interested in describing a way of life that was truly a combination of light and dark. It was the result of true charity and whole-hearted faith -- characteristics that no longer exist. I also wish to illuminate the great soul possessed by my grandmother, and her remarkable acts of charity.

As previously described, a date was set for the wedding of the groom, Shmu'el-Henekh (Grandmother and Grandfather's son) with his bride, the daughter of the Rabbi of Lublin. The date was approaching, and was only a few months away. Grandmother and Grandfather's house was in an uproar: people scurried to the fabric stores to buy goods for mens' and womens' clothing. The house was full of seamstresses and tailors, a rich array of clothes was prepared for the groom, Grandfather, and all the children,

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let alone Grandmother. She even purchased an additional shterntikhl (this was a piece of jewelry worn only by rich, charitable women, and rabbis' wives).^[53] Everything was being prepared for the wealthy wedding forthcoming in Lublin. The only question was when to hold the meal for the poor, which Jews would prepare before the wedding of one of their children. This was certainly the case when Hershl Rabishoyver was marrying off his youngest son into the family of the Rabbi of Lublin.

It was best not to delay the meal for the poor until the last weeks before the wedding, when the household would be busy packing clothes, sponge cakes, and fruitcakes into the baskets. About four weeks before the wedding, a day before the new month began, the shammes announced to those in the House of Study that the next day, the first of the new month, Hershl Rabishoyver was serving the meal for the poor. All the poor people of Kurow and the vicinity gathered (the impending wedding was known throughout the area). A lavish meal for the poor was served on the first day of the month; it included plenty of sponge cake and brandy, among other delicacies. Grandfather and Grandmother distributed money to the poor participants, who extended their good wishes; the occasion was very lively. They did not know that the terrible Angel of Death was lurking just outside their door. During the very last weeks before the wedding, the groom suddenly became very weak, and died the same week that the wedding was supposed to be held…

It is difficult to describe the scene at the home of Grandfather and Grandmother, as well as at the home of the Rabbi of Lublin and the bride. Everything in Lublin was ready for the wedding; the musicians had been booked, and even the wedding invitations had been sent out. I would now like to mention only several powerful impressions that remain etched deep in my memory. Even though the events happened over seventy years ago, I remember them very well.

The eulogy was said in the middle of the marketplace, not far from Shmu'el Leyzer's home. Most of Kurow attended – men, women, and children – as well as some rabbis from out of town, friends of my grandparents. The main eulogizers were my father (may his memory be for a blessing) and his other son-in-law, the rabbi of Tarnogród (Reb Leybele Taykher). I don't remember a single noteworthy thing said by my father, but do remember the speech of the Tarnogród rabbi. He chose Chapter 31 of Proverbs – the chapter that describes a wife of noble character – and when he came to verse 21, “Her entire household

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is clothed in scarlet” he broke into tears, and said, “Dear father-in-law, I cannot console you – the calamity is great. I can only offer you some solace: your home manifests the verse ‘Her entire household is clothed in scarlet’ – all your children, sons-in-law, and in-laws, are scholars, rabbis, and are all kind and generous folks.”

At that point a great weeping broke out – my hair still stands on end when I recall it. Only my grandmother was calm, as though it was no concern of hers, and did not shed a single tear. She stood motionless, like a statue. The only movement she made was to stuff something into the charity box that was going around, saying, “God gave, and God took away.” I later found out that she had stuffed eighteen rubles into the charity box.^[54] Grandmother's demeanor during her son's funeral made a very strong impression in Kurow and the vicinity. People whispered to each other, saying that although Beyle Shoyver was known as a charitable woman, no one had known the full extent of that aspect of her character.^[55]

When Grandfather was making matches for his sons, he primarily sought a fine family that had a scholarly lineage; it was even better if the family was rich as well. As they say, “Scholarship and distinction combined in one place” is a very good thing. On the other hand, when he wanted to make a match for a daughter, he sought out sons-in-law who were busy with religious studies. He clung to the principle that “the poorer the son-in-law's parents, the better was the match.” Grandfather was practical in everything, was familiar with the phrase “the poor are the best scholars,” and believed that the most studious scholars came from poor families. When a match was proposed for one of his daughters, his first question was “Is his father rich, or poor?” If the matchmaker said “Thank God, he is quite rich” (thinking that Grandfather would consider this a good thing – rich people usually do not like the poor), Grandfather quickly said, “Go and be well; Hershl Flakser seeks sons-in-law from poor families, not rich ones!”

(Note to reader: In all these historical and biographical notes, I present tales and images that are connected thematically

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rather than in chronological order – which is not important here. Therefore, the story of the deceased groom, and other events that I remember personally, is followed by descriptions of my mother's marriage preparations etc., events that relate to the tales I heard from my mother).

David, Grandmother's brother, was nicknamed “the pious Reb Dovidl.” He was a real scholar, a fine Jew, but not a rabbi; rather, he was only a cleric. At that time, there was a prohibition against exhibiting long peyes on the street, as well as against wearing a long rabbinical coat of satin, unless one had an official dukhovne certificate – that is, confirmation that one was a cleric.

^[56]When a guard caught a Jew with long peyes on the street, he would immediately cut the peyes off on the spot (and, out of spite, cut them almost to the skull). Anyone looking like that had to hide at home until at least some of the peyes grew back. He could not go out into the street, as he would be considered either insane or someone contemplating conversion to Christianity, God forbid. (The edict was still in force when I was a child, but I secretly wore long, curled peyes regardless. Whenever I saw a guard in the distance, I panicked and ran as though I were fleeing from a bandit in the forest.)

At the time, there were quite a few Jews who were not rabbis but liked the idea of wearing the long peyes that rabbis wore; though they made great efforts to receive the certificate (some bribing was usually necessary) they were not always successful. The Tsar kept several guards and a commander in each town, and paid them each twelve rubles a month for their task involving Jewish peyes (in any case, they were all partners with the town thieves). Pious Dovidl, Grandmother's brother, was lucky; he received the special certificate. And indeed, he would walk to prayers wearing a long satin coat and sporting two long curled peyes (that was considered a sign of great fortune, as though he had won the lottery). `

Pious Reb Dovidl lived in Ostrowce, and was very poor. His only success was the fact that he could walk freely on the street in his long peyes and satin coat, without fear of the guards. Grandmother supported him almost entirely, and always sent him money. Twice a year, however,

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before Rosheshone and Peysekh, he would come to Kurow for some extra support before the holidays.

When brother Dovidl came to Kurow, and came to pray on an ordinary Wednesday with his long peyes, wearing his satin coat, not fearing the authorities, and Grandmother watched him from the house, she was so pleased that she seemed to increase in size. She did not begrudge her brother the money she gave him. It was well worth it. Such pleasure! The brother, Reb Dovidl, sensed that his sister though very highly of him, and that encouraged him to offer her unsolicited advice. I would like to recount a dialogue between brother and sister, which Grandmother passed on to my mother, and she – to me.

Reb Dovidl: You know, dear sister, that I am very surprised at you.

Grandmother: What do you mean?

Reb Dovidl: You have a grown daughter, thank God, and I hear nothing about matchmaking for her.

Grandmother: What are you talking about, dear brother? The girl just turned ten; she's a small child, and you talk of matchmaking?

Reb Dovidl: Listen, sister, you're not smarter than the whole world. Girls should be matched with a groom at the earliest possible age. Do you know the saying, “As long as the pig is young, it's very cute”? And folk sayings are sacred.”

Now, Reb Dovidl began showing off his expertise in rabbinical circles to Grandmother. He reported that he knew of good Jews who decided on a match when the bride was only three years old. He even told of very important Jews who made a match before the girl had even been born. (That was true. When I was a child I myself heard of such an event between two Hasidic Jews whose wives were pregnant; they made an agreement that if – with God's help –a girl would be born to one and a boy to the other, they would be engaged. That is what happened: the match was made between the boy and the girl. Right after the girl's naming and the boy's circumcision, the engagement contract was written out, plates were broken according to custom, mazl-tov was said all around, and the couple was engaged.) In this way, little brother Dovidl “enlightened” his sister that a match with a girl should be done “the sooner the better.” This information convinced Grandmother, and she said, “Dear brother, I'm afraid you are right.”

She immediately began discussing this with Grandfather, who also agreed that it was indeed time to think

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about a suitable match. People have ears, and the matchmakers immediately found out that Reb Hershl Flakser was seeking a match for his daughter. However, I would now like to tell you about the actual matchmaker who arranged the match between my parents, as told to me by my mother.

A matchmaker named Shloyme Shadkhn, who was famous in the vicinity of Kurow, comes into Grandfather's house.^[57]

“Good morning, Reb Hershl” “Good morning, Reb Shloyme. Do you have any good news?” “What good news can a matchmaker have? He arranges matches. I've come to propose a match for your daughter.” “Well, do you have a good match?” “Oh, my dear Reb Hershl, I have a match that is perfect all around. I know that you're seeking a match with good lineage as well as scholarship. The match I have here is triply qualified: it has lineage, scholarship, and money.” Grandfather becomes irritated, and answers the matchmaker sarcastically: “But tell me, Shloyme, are you a matchmaker?” “What do you think, I'm not a matchmaker?” “No, Shloyme, you're no matchmaker.” “Why is Reb Hershl depriving me of my livelihood?” “Because if you were a matchmaker, you'd know that when Hershl Flakser seeks a match for his girl, he wants in-laws who are poor.” “My dear Reb Hershl, when I tell you about the match, I'm sure you'll like it.” “I don't want to know about the match. Hershl Flakser seeks poor in-laws only.” “But you can hear about the match.” “No, I don't want to hear about it. Go in peace and health.”

Now Grandmother felt bad for the matchmaker, and said, “Hershl, let the matchmaker tell us about the match.” Grandfather softened his attitude, and said, “Well, let's hear about the wealthy man who possesses both scholarship and money.” The matchmaker calmed down, and said, “Well, my dear Reb Hershl, if you'll let me talk, I'll tell you all the details about the match. The father-in-law is the rabbi of Ostrowce, Rabbi David Hacohen Rapoport, a descendant of the Shakh (may his memory be for a blessing)^[58] His son is a real treasure, a prodigious scholar, named Abale, after a famous scholar from the Shakh's family.”

The moment Grandfather heard about “the rabbi of Ostrowce,” he completely changed, and began using a friendly tone with the matchmaker.

“Now tell me, Reb Shloyme, have you already discussed this with the rabbi of Ostrowce? Or did you come to me first?” “Yes, Reb Hershl, I've just come from

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Ostrowce, where I completed the match. The rabbi of Ostrowce and his wife were very pleased with it. They had heard about Reb Hershl Flakser long ago.” Grandfather was interested once again. He asked the matchmaker, “I beg you, Reb Shloyme, tell me the truth: Is the rabbi of Ostrowce truly wealthy? Is it as you told me, ‘both scholarship and money’?” “Why do you say that, Reb Hershl? Riches? I said nothing about wealth. I only wanted to say that Rabbi David has held his position in Ostrowce for many years, owns his house, and his home is opulent and rabbinical. I would say that as compared to other rabbis, he is wealthy.”

Grandfather tells Grandmother to bring cakes and brandy to the table, and invites the matchmaker to join them for the midday meal. He says cheerfully, “I understand that the rabbi of Ostrowce is not rich. Rabbis are not rich. I like the idea of the match. I also understand that the family of the Rabbi of Ostrowce probably includes a scholarly boy. By the way, I will send an examiner to see if the match is indeed one that was made in heaven. But before I grow serious about this match, I must check it out, and only then will I know whether to consider it at all.”

The matchmaker becomes very worried, and listens carefully to hear what Reb Hershl means by “checking it out.” Grandfather begins to explain (in a louder voice, speaking of himself in the third person, as usual):

“Hear me out, Reb Shloyme Matchmaker. You should know that when Hershl Flakser marries off a daughter, he naturally prepares a very handsome trousseau for her, from shirts to silk and satin clothes, as befits a wealthy man. However, Hershl Flakser also usually prepares the same rich trousseau for the bridegroom, with all the details: from shirts to silk and satin housecoats, a sable shtrayml; he prepares the same for the groom's father (for a rabbi – a satin coat and a spodek, a tall fur hat). He also prepares a trousseau for the groom's mother, identical to that for the bride's mother. If the rabbi of Ostrowce is very grand and doesn't think the match suitable, I'll drop the whole idea.”

And Grandfather continues the conversation. “Hear me out, Reb Shloyme Matchmaker.” I will pay your expenses for the trip to Ostrowce and back, as well as leave a few rubles for your wife and children. Go straightaway to the Rabbi of Ostrowce, tell him what I have said, and remember to let him and his wife know that I want this, down to the smallest detail.”

The matchmaker breathed more easily, and he

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realized that a rabbi could in fact do this. The rabbi and his wife pretended to be puzzled, and said that it was the first time they had heard such a requirement from a prospective in-law. But the matchmaker was successful. They agreed to this condition.

Shloyme Shadkhn flew back to Kurow (without an airplane), and gave Grandfather the “good news”: the Rabbi of Ostrowce and his wife had agreed to his requirements, saying they had hesitated a bit but did say that they did not want to spoil the prospects of a match for that reason… Grandfather was overjoyed, as Hershl Flakser had achieved his goal. Letters began flying back and forth, and it was decided to send an “examiner” to the groom.

In the meantime, Grandfather Reb Hershl discovered something new: Reb Ber Volf, the brother of the Rabbi of Ostrowce was none other than the Rebbe of Kotsk. Furthermore, he was the son-in-law of the first Rebbe of Kotsk, Menachem Mendel (may his righteous memory be for a blessing forever).^[59] The first Rebbe of Kotsk was very famous in his lifetime as the founder of the Kotsk Hasidic dynasty, with its very incisive, somewhat philosophical Hasidism.^[60] There is a legend surrounding the marriage match between my great-grandfather, the father of the Rabbi of Ostrowce, and Reb Mendele of Kotsk: Reb Mendele sent a matchmaker to my great-grandfather (the rabbi of Pińczów) proposing a match, but the rabbi of Pińczów was not interested, thinking the match was not suitable. For the descendant of the Shakh and of many generations of rabbis who were scholars and great experts in rabbinic matters, a match with just any rabbi was a poor choice (at the time, there were still many misnagdim in Poland).^[61] But Rabbi Mendele of Kotsk produced a miracle: the groom, son of the Rabbi of Pińczów, suddenly became very weak. Reb Mendele of Kotsk sent a special emissary to the Rabbi of Pińczów, with the following message: if he agreed to the match, the boy would have a complete recovery. The Rabbi of Pińczów immediately responded through the same emissary: he agreed, but only on condition that Reb Mendele would pray for the groom. And indeed, right after the messenger brought the Rabbi of Pińczów's agreement to the match back to Reb Mendele, the boy was completely healed. They formalized the engagement immediately. The groom, the son of the Rabbi of Pińczów, later – as Reb Mendele's son-law – became the official Rabbi of Kotsk. (Reb Mendele remained the leader of the Kotsk Hasids, whereas his son-in-law became the town rabbi.)

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Grandfather Becomes Very Enthusiastic About The Match, And Begins To Speed Matters Up

When Grandfather was informed about the new lineage, of which he was previously unaware (as was the matchmaker), he grew even more enthusiastic; it meant that his family was marrying not only into the family of the Rabbi of Ostrowce, with its connection to the Shakh, but also into the entire Kotsk dynasty. Grandfather began to count the days before the engagement would be finalized. He immediately summoned a certain person from Lublin, a great scholar, who was a specialist in examining prospective grooms. The examiner promptly came to Kurow, and Grandfather discussed everything with him. The next day, the examiner went to Ostrowce to examine the scholarly prowess of the groom.

How overjoyed Grandfather was, when the examiner returned and said, “Reb Hershl, not only is the groom a good boy, he is also really a serious scholar. I'm afraid he is a better scholar than I. I also saw that he has a certificate of ordination as a rabbi.” And Grandfather danced with joy.

Now, the real correspondence began, concerning the dowry, support for the young couple, etc. Everything worked out very well, and a date was set for signing the documents, with God's help.

There were considerable deliberations and differences of opinion over this issue. The grandfather in Kurow wanted the ceremony to be in Kurow. His argument was that the bride was his youngest child (actually, he wanted to host representatives of the Kotsk dynasty at the ceremony; Kotsk was not too far away). However, the Ostrowce grandfather was feeling frail (he was then quite elderly), so the Kurow grandfather had to agree to hold the ceremony in Ostrowce.

When it became clear that they needed to go to Ostrowce for the engagement ceremony, Grandfather Hershl called Grandmother, and said, “Beyle, today I'm starting to throw money around. Order, and buy, the most beautiful and the best, and lay in a trousseau fit for the wealthiest.” Then he added, “It's also time that I had a third housecoat made, to celebrate the engagement.”

He soon ordered a coat of the finest cloth and the best quality (he had always had a fine one, which he wore when he had to visit a landowner, but

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an engagement called for a new one.) He kept saying to Grandmother, “Remember, Beyle, today I feel money is like dirt. If God, blessed be he, has helped us to marry into such a distinguished family and to have such a wonderful son-in-law, I will definitely throw around as much money as I can.”

Grandmother immediately went to Lublin, to deck herself out at the jeweler's with a golden shterntikhl, and ordered several beautiful new diamonds as well as a brand-new crinoline that was embroidered in gold thread and was even wider than the previous ones. On the way, she visited Grandfather's grave (she was still concerned about the Hanukah lamp that had disappeared into thin air. Before the engagement ceremony, she wanted to beg forgiveness of her grandfather, the Righteous Man of Lublin – may his memory be for a blessing).^[62]

They immediately began to buy expensive wines and bake cakes (both ordinary and fruit cakes), and packed everything away in large baskets. Then Grandfather told Grandmother to give him eleven of her finest and most beautiful plates, and have them packed well separately for the journey. He explained that he wanted the plates for breaking during the ceremony. (Grandfather was something of a dictator when it came to matchmaking… In general, he was seeking ways to spend money, and Grandmother followed his orders, though she felt it was a shame to break the plates.) Now that all was ready and packed, they started on their auspicious way to Ostrowce.

The home of the Rabbi of Ostrowce was already in an uproar, preparing for the in-laws. Their arrival time was well-known, and there was much cleaning, decorating, and general preparations for a welcome suitable for the important, rich in-laws.

However, not only the rabbi's house was in an uproar. A kind of quiet excitement spread throughout the town. People knew that their rabbi had formed a match with a millionaire (Grandfather's fortune was estimated at 200,000, which then counted as much as a million).^[63] When Grandfather and Grandmother came to Ostrowce, people gathered in small groups, curious to catch a glimpse of the rich in-laws. The people grew even more curious when they saw packages and baskets being unloaded from the in-laws' carts. As people in small towns used to do, they began to speculate about the engagement that the Rabbi's rich in-laws would celebrate.

After Grandfather and Grandmother arrived at the home of their in-law, and following the first greetings of

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conventional “Sholem-Aleykhem” and “welcome,” they all sat down to a glass of tea, and began talking about the schedule of the engagement, and the guest list. The Ostrowce rabbi said that he would like to hold the ceremony the very next day, had a guest list, and, in general, had prepared everything. The Kurow grandfather said that he wanted the ceremony to be held in two days, as he wanted to hold the meal for the poor before the engagement ceremony, and the preparations for it would take time. A rabbi usually pinches pennies, said the Rabbi of Ostrowce, and a meal for the poor is normally held only before a wedding. However, said the Rabbi of Kurow, as the wedding would be held in Kurow, the bride's town, he wanted to please the Jews of Ostrowce. Naturally, the rabbi agreed, and immediately called for the town shammes as well as for the rabbi's shammes, to begin the preparations: to set up tables and benches in the House of Study, do everything else that was necessary, and make an announcement in the House of Study. Everything was made ready in one day. Grandfather and Grandmother began unpacking the baskets with brandy, wines, cognac, and fruit cakes, and handed everything over to the servers. Then they, too, prepared to go to the House of Study for the meal.

“My dear in-law, the Rabbi of Ostrowce,” says Grandfather, “I forgot to prepare cash.” “What do you mean, in-law Reb Hershl?” asks the Rabbi of Ostrowce.

“I forgot to have cash ready, to distribute during the meal,” and Grandfather immediately took out fifty rubles and said, “Dear in-law, please arrange for a few people to go through the town and change this money into forty-groschen coins, and let them buy small paper bags.”

A rabbi has enough errand-goers. A group scattered through the town, and in a few hours there was a large pile of forty-groschen coins. Grandfather and Grandmother began placing equal amounts in the paper bags.

Word of the meal had spread throughout the town, as well as that money would be distributed there. The residents grew more and more curious to see the rabbi and the in-laws.

The men's procession: Both grandfathers walked at the head: the rabbi with a brand new satin coat, and a spodek (a spodek is not a shtrayml, but rather a ceremonial rabbinical hat, similar to today's top-hat).

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Next to him was the Kurow grandfather, in a new cloth coat with a slit (a rich man's outfit), holding a bone cane topped with a silver knob, and wearing a new tall-crowned silk cap – the latest fashion. Naturally, he was accompanied by a group of his friends. Incidentally, the Rabbi of Kurow was tall and imposing, with a beautiful, well-kept beard. All this created quite an effect and evoked curiosity.

The women's procession: The wife of the Ostrowce Rabbi walked arm in arm with Grandmother Beyle, who was quite striking, tall and beautiful. She was dressed in all the splendor that suited her position as the Rabbi's wife. Next to them was a group of pious women, her friends. The entire town stood and gaped.

Brandy begins to be poured out on the tables, as well as expensive wines, cognacs, pound cakes, fruit cakes, and other baked goods and fruit (all of which were brought by the grandparents) – when the Ostrowce Jewish band suddenly appears. (There was a large Jewish band in Ostrowce; their participation had been arranged by the Kurow grandfather and kept a secret.) The Kurow grandfather had ordered as follows: “Play a splendid march for the father-in-law, the Rabbi.” The musicians do their best and sound a fine march. This is followed in turn by a march for the Kurow father-in-law, a new march for the Rabbi's wife and the Kurow mother-in-law. Now the entire town is present, and the windows of the House of Study are besieged by onlookers on the street. The Kurow grandparents begin handing out paper twists with money. Mazl-tov wishes are heard on all sides, and the atmosphere is very joyous. A few hours later, it is all over. The crowd disperses, and the in-laws go to their lodgings at the rabbi's house. However, groups of people remain on the street, saying “Only a millionaire could afford this.” Some are envious, while others wish for similar festivities for every Jewish bride and groom.

At the rabbi's house, things are lively. Tables and chairs are assembled, some that belong to the household and others that are borrowed. The list of invitees is examined once again, to make sure that no one important has been overlooked. In fact, some people are added to the list. The rabbi's assistants begin to hurry through the town with invitations. People arrive, and the tables are surrounded by the important householders of the town, as well as scholars. The in-laws and the groom are seated at the head of the table, and the town's rabbinic judge strikes the table with force, announcing, “Silence during the sermon!” Listen up! The groom will now deliver a bit of commentary!

The groom stands up, and

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delivers a short commentary. The guests are eager to eat, and the rabbinic judge shouts, “That's enough for now, groom! You'll deliver the rest of your commentary during the wedding.”

The audience is delighted at the successful joke, and the writing of the engagement contract begins.

The rabbi's assistant comes up and places two large old, well-used plates on the table. Grandfather winks at grandmother; she opens a basket and sets out eleven expensive plates, part of a set. The rabbi asks, “Dear in-law, what is this?” Grandfather explains that these are the plates that he wants to be broken during the engagement ceremony. The rabbi of Ostrowce smiles to himself and says, “Why so many plates? Especially such expensive ones! I've been a rabbi for many years, and I know: nowhere are eleven plates specified.” Grandfather is a bit offended, and explains: “Dear in-law, Rabbi of Ostrowce, the bride will be eleven years old this week. I do this to ensure good luck: one plate for each year of her life. It's a good-luck talisman.” The rabbi smiles again, saying, “If it's for good luck–I'm not experienced in that area – may it really bring them luck.”

The engagement ceremony is over, as is the plate-breaking. People begin the business of eating and drinking.

The Kurow grandfather was a sedate person who rarely drank brandy; and even then no more than a small glass. However, he celebrated by taking a few small glasses, and when he was tipsy he said loudly, “In-law, Rabbi of Ostrowce, I demand that you do a little dance with me, as a good omen for the future joyful dance with the young couple, God willing!” The Rabbi of Ostrowce was not feeling too well; in any case, he was no dancer, and answered with a smile, “Kurow in-law, let's wait until the wedding, God willing.”

At that, Grandfather Hershl got up and struck the table, saying loudly, “Listen, Ostrowce in-law and all the important guests: if my in-law, the rabbi, dances with me, I vow to donate an expensive Torah scroll for the Ostrowce synagogue, and a parokhes as well, with mantles and all the accessories!^[65]”

The Ostrowce householders immediately chimed in: “Rabbi of Ostrowce, it's a lost cause. You must grant your in-law's request.”

The rabbi had no choice, and the two in-laws

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began to dance. The crowd stood, clapping, and shouting mazl-tov! mazl-tov! until the dance was over.

The engagement dinner lasted late into the night. Before the guest and householders left, Grandfather asked for an estimate of the cost of the Torah scroll; when he drove away, he left behind the entire cost of the scroll.

Grandfather and grandmother enter their home, and want to wish the bride mazl-tov. But she is nowhere to be found. They start asking the neighbors, but no one knows. They haven't seen her for some time. Grandmother grows worried, thinking, she's a bride, and a bride needs to be watched over. They search everywhere, and finally find her in the other marketplace, in some courtyard, playing jacks. Grandmother runs over to the bride and says, “Mazl-tov, dear daughter – you've become a bride. Come home.”

But the bride is in mid-game and refuses to come. Grandmother shouts out again, “Come home, you've become a bride.” The bride replies, “Mommy, let me finish the game. I'll become a bride a bit later.”

They did manage to bring the bride back home, and began to talk about her new status. But she couldn't care less about it, and before they knew it the bride was outside again with the jacks. (My mother said that even after her wedding she would sneak out to play jacks with the girls, hiding it from her father. The moment her father went to pray in the House of Study, she would invite the girls to a game. The moment she saw her father returning from prayers, she would open the window and the girls would leave through it.)

As I recounted earlier, the Kurow grandfather originally wanted to hold the ceremony in Kurow, but had to follow the wish of the Ostrowce rabbi. Coming back from Ostrowce, though, he began to think whether it would be possible to repeat the ceremony in Ostrowce. However, he wasn't certain whether that was permissible. He then wrote to the Ostrowce rabbi, explaining that he wanted to have

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a celebration with the Jews of Kurow.

The Ostrowce rabbi replied more or less as follows: a festive meal for the locals can be held, even more than once, and reading out the engagement contract is also permitted (two copies of the contract were made). But breaking plates again is not right. The Kurow grandfather was disappointed. Why hold an engagement ceremony if plates cannot be broken? (In the old days, breaking plates was one of the holiest sacred acts. People believed that it abolished all the old transgressions and bad things that the bride and groom had done, rendering them completely righteous.)

The belief that all the sins of a bride and groom are forgiven is quite ancient, and is mentioned as early as the Talmud (Jerusalem Talmud, Bikurim 31). Breaking dishes is also noted in the Talmud (Brachot 31). However, it exists only in the commentaries. Each generation creates its own interpretation according to its particular culture. In recent generations, the topic of “breaking dishes,” especially during the engagement ceremony, was shrouded in secrets and mystery. People believed that the “breaking” ensured good fortune. (To this day, it's the custom for the groom to break a glass while standing under the khuppa; the custom had a different rationale in ancient times.) I remember an incident in Kurow that took place in my day: A fine young scholar, who was very devoted to his studies, was matched by his parents with a bride from Miechów. His parents went to Miechów to see the bride and write the engagement contract (if the bride agreed). The dowry, as well as arrangements for room and board of the young couple with the bride's parents, had been discussed earlier, in letters. The bride agreed, and the engagement contract was written. Naturally, in those times, the groom did not see the bride until the wedding. However, it later emerged that the groom's parents also had not seen the true bride. Instead of showing them the bride, the parents showed them her younger sister (who was quite beautiful, while the true bride was ugly). The groom found out, and wanted to cancel the match. The parents and relatives were very upset, saying that it was better for them to divorce after the wedding; the reasoning was that the breaking of plates had rendered the contract irreversible. People believed that one could meddle with anything, even with the devil – but not with plates that had been broken.

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The Kurow Grandfather Devises A Clever Solution

One day, Grandfather calls Grandmother in, and said, “Listen, Beyle. I really want to have a party for the Jews of Kurow. I also want to read out the engagement contract. Let the walls of our house also hear the contract and join in our joy. The rabbi, our in-law, orders us not to break plates; but we must break something. So I thought of something: let's break the windowpanes. What do you think of that?” (Grandmother always agreed to Grandfather's whims in everything related to matchmaking.)

No sooner said than done. Grandfather calls for the local glazier, and proposes the task of breaking the windows. He said, “Listen, glazier. Count all the windows of the house, and calculate the amount of glass you'll need. Buy the glass, as well as some extra; I will let you know when to come.”

And it was on the very day that Grandfather had set for the window-shattering that all the clothing and food shops were closed (it was a long summer's day), two glaziers arrived (from Kurow and from Markuszów), and used long sticks to strike the windowpanes of the house and the upper floor.^[66] The din of the glass was heard all over town, and people stood and watched the ominous spectacle. If an ordinary person had done it, he would have been considered insane, a fool. However, as there s no such thing as a foolish rich person, people said that a very rich Jew had the right to act on whims and to behave oddly. And, by the way, poor glaziers would make money, and consider it a coup. Once the job was done and new windows were installed, Grandfather invited the workers to have cake and brandy, paid them their due, and they wished everyone mazl-tov.

A few days later, Grandfather held an engagement banquet for a small group of relatives, friends, and important householders. (He did not want it to be made public, as the true engagement had already been celebrated.) The engagement contract was read out quickly, and the partying began. At the height of the merriment, Grandfather said that he would donate a Torah to the Kurow synagogue, just as he had done for the Ostrow synagogue. He brought in an important scribe from Lublin and gave him a separate room on the second floor. The process required a long time. When the scribe had finished

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writing the Torah scroll, Grandfather brought in a proofreader. When everything was ready, Grandfather brought the Torah scroll to the synagogue ceremoniously, and held a festive meal for the managers of the House of Study and the synagogue only (he feared the evil eye). According to my mother, the scroll was read from for decades. When Grandfather was called to the Torah, he specified that only the scroll he had donated be used for reading.

As my mother was only eleven years old when the engagement took place, the wedding was delayed for two years, until she reached the age of thirteen. However, the preparation of trousseaus for the bride and her parents began several weeks before the wedding. One of Grandfather's principles was that whenever one of his daughters was married, he would order trousseaus for the groom and the in-laws as well. Grandfather

Malyeh, Rabbi Rapoport's sister

The time passes swiftly, and the wedding week arrived. We knew when the in-laws would arrive, and also knew where they would stop over. (Grandfather had reserved the lodgings, an entire mile away from Kurow [7 versts]).^[67] It was evening, and the night was very cold; the chilly breeze penetrated to the bone. However, the trip had to be made. Several carts carrying Jews left Kurow, each cart

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bearing a torch; naturally, the passengers brought along liquor. They reached the in-laws, and wished each other mazl-tov. Everyone's teeth were chattering with the cold, waiting for Grandfather to hand out some brandy. But Grandfather ignored them all, and ordered the coachmen to drive into town. People became somewhat annoyed – how long would Reb Hershl wait before offering drinks? The cold was painful. Suddenly, near a field full of haystacks, Grandfather shouted out “Stop!” Then he ordered, “Coachman, get down! Take the torch and set fire to a haystack, so that we can warm ourselves!” (The landowner who owned the hay was heavily indebted to Grandfather.) The stack was burning, spreading light and warmth. Now, Grandfather ordered the box of liquor to be brought out. People began drinking brandy, and grew tipsy. Grandfather continued ordering: “Dance!”

Once they had drunk a bit, people began dancing in a circle around the burning haystack. The fire dwindled, and it was soon dark again. Grandfather shouted, “Keep going!”

They departed, and camped.^[68] Every several versts, they came to another haystack; and Grandfather repeated his order to stop. The same scene recurred: drinks and dancing, and shouts of mazl-tov, all the way to Kurow. (Once they were back in Kurow, Grandfather sent a servant to the landowner, requesting that the value of the two haystacks be added to his own account.)

There was an ancient custom in Kurow, as follows: As soon as groom and in-laws arrived in town, they circled City Hall three times (the municipal buildings were located between the two marketplaces of Kurow). The coachmen were intoxicated by now, and as they entered Kurow they rose from their seats, stood up, and began to whip the horses, which started galloping like unearthly creatures and never stopping, continually circling City Hall. Grandfather orders them to stop, but no one is listening. At that point, Grandfather stands up and yells, “Respect! Stop!” When Hershl Flakser says “Respect” even a drunken coachman pays attention and stops. Now Grandfather orders, “Everybody go home!” The only ones left, the two carts with the families of in-laws, were instructed to go to Grandfather's house.

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Grandfather Locks His Doors And Won't Let the In-Laws Go Inside

When the in-laws come to Grandfather's house, the front doors are wide open, and Grandmother is standing there to invite the in-laws inside. Then, Grandfather suddenly comes up to Grandmother, begs her pardon, and says that he wants to lock the door. Grandmother can't understand what Grandfather means. The in-laws also stand there, wondering, not understanding what is happening. Then Grandfather opens the courtyard gate and turns to the in-laws, “I beg your pardon. Come with me.”

The in-laws go into the courtyard, and Grandfather shouts, “Open the windows, and bring out a chair!”

The windows open, and a chair is ready. Grandfather invites the in-laws to enter the house by way of a window. Well, they have no choice. But they can't understand what this means.

The Ostrowce grandfather likes jokes; once the in-laws have sat down and rested a bit, he says smilingly, “Reb Hershl, I know it's a good charm, and I know that you're an expert in charms, but can you explain it?” The Kurow grandfather explains as follows: “People say, ‘in one door and out the other,’ but people don't leave through windows.” The Ostrowce grandfather chuckled and said, “We really should write these charms down; but unfortunately we are not Hasidic leaders, only rabbis…”

As my mother was barely 13 at the time of the wedding, the marriage was not legal (she became 13 at the last of the Sheva Brachot); Grandfather did not want to advertise the wedding in town and did not commission any musicians.^[69] (As usual, he bribed city officials to ignore the affair; but when a wedding was accompanied by musicians, non-Jews, young and old, would gather at the windows and thus disclose the fact that a wedding was taking place.) He did not even invite any guests outside the immediate family and in-laws.

There were over ten in-laws on the groom's side, most of them rabbis: the Rabbi of Pińczów (the grandfather's brother), uncles and great-uncles – nothing but rabbis. There were a few relatives on the Kurow grandfather's side, but no one else was invited. Before the chuppa, Grandfather

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locked the doors, and quietly – with the closest relatives only– held the khuppa ceremony. The officiants were the Ostrowce grandfather, and his brother, the rabbi of Pińczów.

That same day, the hair of the bride (my mother) was shaved, and a silk kerchief was placed on her head. The closest relatives participated in the bride's circle dance with guests, when she danced between her grandparents; then they had an informal meal, which ended the wedding. The Ostrowce relatives spent only a few days in Kurow. They were all rabbis, and had to return home. (In those days, a town couldn't go a single week without the presence of a rabbi, as people constantly asked questions about ritual observance. Nowadays, a rabbi can go away for a while …)

The in-laws went away in peace and health, and things quieted down. My parents had an apartment in the house later occupied by Gedalia Glezer, and my father immediately turned to studying the Talmud, which he did 24 hours a day. A bit later, he began tutoring students as well, good scholars from the House of Study.

My father (may his memory be for a blessing) never wanted to be photographed. Though we children begged him on various suitable occasions to have his picture taken, he always refused. Like most old-time pious Jews, he firmly adhered to the biblical admonition “You shall not make for yourself an idol or a likeness of anything” (Exodus 20, 4). Yet he was tolerant enough to give our mother permission to please the children, and have her picture taken.

Because of the admonition “Honor thy father,” and, as our sages said, “Honor him in his life, honor him in his death” (Mishna Kiddushin 31b), I would at least like to create his “spiritual photograph,” as it were, by describing his lifestyle and deeds, and especially his spiritual worldview. However, I very much doubt my chances of success, as my father's characteristics were on the whole not always consistent. His spiritual essence was variegated and multicolored. As the sages said, “A stone can be broken into several fragments” (Mishna Shabbat 78b).

To all appearances, my father was a plain and simple man, and extremely sincere. You might think that he was easily understandable. However, his innermost nature was very secretive, problematic, and complicated; often even

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contradictory. For example, though he came from an aristocratic family, he was nonetheless a man of the people, naturally merry and joke-loving. However, in his heart he was sad and bitter. Thus, his spiritual and moral character was many-faceted. It is therefore impossible to draw a complete portrait of my father's view of the world and of people. Yet, I will try to honor him here by a description that is limited by my own capabilities. I will divide the description into several paragraphs, for the sake of comprehensiveness.

My father (may his memory be for a blessing) was not only a great scholar, but also a decision-maker on practical religious topics. Most importantly, he had experience in decision-making, thanks to his upbringing in the home of a rabbi. His father, the Rabbi of Ostrowce, prepared him for the rabbinate from earliest childhood on. He was not content with a theoretical education that included the Shulchan Aruch and other religious authorities, but also trained him to decide on practical issues. Thanks to that, my father (may his memory be for a blessing) was ordained as a rabbi while still unmarried.^[70]

As an experienced decider of practical issues, my father applied Jewish law leniently (it is easy to decide which foods are non-kosher, but one must be very learned in order to decide which foods are kosher). I remember one instance in Kurow (I was about six years old at the time, but six-year-olds were then definitely considered Jews: a young man with peyes.) There was a butcher named Avigdor who was known as “Vigder Ketch” (everyone had nicknames.) He had just slaughtered an animal, and there was a serious question as to whether the animal's lung was kosher. The rabbi had struggled with it, and had concluded that he had to decide against kosher status. However, before he uttered his decision, he wanted to consult with my father.

He told Avigdor, “Go to Reb Abele for me and ask him to do me a favor and come and see me.” Father was quite busy, but the butcher wouldn't leave, and said, “Dear Reb Abele, you must save me!” In short, Father went to the rabbi, who showed him the questionable section of the animal. Father said, “This is really a bad situation, but I must try to save it.” Various books were hauled out, rummaged through back and forth. Father racked his brains, rubbed his forehead, and – like a major criminal lawyer – began seeking loopholes and legal tricks to solve the problem. Finally, he said, “I have found various methods to permit use of the meat, especially as it is before Shabbes; besides, the butcher is poor and would lose much income. It is my opinion that it should be permitted.”

And so it was. The decision was that the meat was kosher, and the butcher

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was overjoyed. The best part, however, was the incident's epilogue.

Mother sent the servant girl to buy meat, which she bought from the very same butcher, Avigdor; he sold her a cut from that very animal. Father was ignorant of this fact. The meat was cooked and consumed, but Father later found out about it. Well, you'd better not ask about what happened.

The butcher was immediately summoned, and berated: “You sinful Jew, you murderer, what do you want from me? Why have you made me so unhappy in my old age? You know that I use only meat that is glatt-kosher.”^[71]

The butcher, however, argued: “Reb Abele, I thought that you did not eat meat that you did not certify as kosher; but this is meat that you yourself certified.” Father saw that the butcher was quite sincere, and said, “I see that you are speaking the truth; otherwise I would have had you banned.”

I was then quite young, and asked my father, “Daddy, why are you angry at the butcher? You yourself certified it as kosher, and so you can use it.”

Well, Father (may his memory be for a blessing) proceeded to lecture me, saying, “Listen, my child. You need to know that a true Jew should behave according to the Talmud's dictum (Brachot 22a), ‘Lenient with others and strict with oneself. Leniency is justified when necessary, but on the other hand one should be especially strict towards oneself.’”

Then we began studying the Talmud (Hulin 44, b): “ ‘Who is a Torah scholar? One who is aware of his own non-kosher product; in other words, if the status of his own animal is uncertain, he considers it prohibited, without concern for his own monetary loss.’ There are other explanations as well, but I,” said my father, “believe that the nuance lies in the words ‘without concern for his own monetary loss.& #8217; Everyone has the right to pronounce something kosher, but you must be very careful.” Saying so, I understood that eating something that has been classified as non-kosher has an adverse effect on all one's limbs and sinews, to the point where the soul itself may be poisoned. Therefore, one must always be extra careful, even when there is the very slightest of doubts.”.

My father (may his memory be for a blessing) was a great expert on the Bible, and had it memorized almost in its entirety.^[72] He was also an expert on the Hebrew language. However, that is not what I want to emphasize. His main passion was calligraphy. He never used a steel pen, but wrote everything with a goose quill-pen he himself fashioned; he also made ink. All his manuscripts were written in the Rashi script, and were so symmetrical, so artistic, that

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they hardly seemed to have been hand-written.^[73] Even the best printing press could not produce such beautiful work. Once he had finished the book, he began working on the title page. Now his visual artistic talent became fully expressed. Each of his title pages was decorated with pictures, in the old style. After he had done the title page, he bound the book himself; the product rivaled that of the best bookbinder

Father also created a mizrakh for the Kurow House of Study, a work of art that included wonderful papercuts.^[74] He was a painter as well. People in Kurow used to paste special papercuts on the windowpanes (shevueslekh or reyzelekh) on Shvu'es.^[75] Every year, he would create pictures for us children. I still have one of those pictures, which depicts the biblical event, with the Israelites standing at Mount Sinai as Moses gives them the Torah; it is true art. He could also do every kind of craftsmanship.

Almost throughout his life, he led prayers in the House of Study during the High Holy Days. I remember one Yom Kippur when Father led all the three services of the day: Shacharis, Musaf and Ne'ile (I don't remember the circumstances). He would often tell us, “Children, you must remember that knowing the simple meaning of the words is not enough. One must understand the deepest intentions of the prayers.” One of his books is, in fact, entitled The Intentions of the Prayers.

It is worth mentioning that my father, who came from noble and distinguished forebears, and many generations of rabbis – and was himself profoundly learned – held simple, working Jews in high esteem and had great love for them. I remember that one year, at the end of Yom Kippur, we sat at the table, and my father said, “You know, children, that I really envy this guy, Me'ir Gap.” (Me'ir Gap was in charge of helping my father to kneel during the ‘Aleinu prayer’, and later helping him back up.^[76]) “I am not sure that my prayers are completely pure. I am only human, and might sometimes be overcome by a sense of pride, God forbid. But Me'ir Gap does his work so virtuously and innocently. I envy him with all my heart; I wish I had the simplicity of a plain Jew.” The hasids of Kurow (and they were all hasids then) looked down on craftsmen. That was why Father really respected Jews who lived by their honest labor. He would often mention the words of the Sages (Brachot 8a:

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“One who benefits from his hard labor is greater than a God-fearing person.” My father was the only Jew in Kurow who studied with craftsmen in his own home every Shabbes, invited them to all three Shabbes meals, and sang the traditional songs with them.^[77] The chief musician at these meals was a man called Volf Shtshetshok. I remember the melody, which we still sing in my home at the three meals, in commemoration of Father and the three Shabbes meals with his friends, simple Jews.

In any case, this was the custom until I married and left home. I do not know whether Father continued to study and enjoy Shabbes meals with his friends into his old age as well.

Although he spent his life dealing solely with halakha, and )especially in his youth) studied only Talmud and Poskim, he also had an immense sense of romanticism.^[78] He was physically small, with an enormously dreamy personality. As a man of the people, he wrote most of his books for working people rather than for scholars. Thus, he wrote many books on legends and midrash, intending them to be works to elevate workaday Jews, and provide them with security and spiritual joy.^[79] His books contain many instances in which he expresses himself with breathtaking lyricism in rich, graphic flowery language that is easily assimilated, and “comes into his bowels like water and like oil into his bones.”^[80] The words often led to an elevated spiritual state that culminated in religious ecstasy, ignoring material reality and reaching the higher realms of praising God through music.

In the spiritual world, he was a giant. When a biblical verse was being discussed, or a midrashic phrase, he sparkled, and could speak brilliantly about each and every word or idea, in a way that touched on human wisdom and senses. In general, he was smart and practical. He was invited to join rabbinical courts, and fought fiercely for his side, seeking any and all means to defend his party. If he ever wrote out a partnership agreement, or a verdict, it was so well-reasoned that no lawyer could challenge it. On the other hand, in everyday life he was so naïve

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and trusting that he could be thought completely unworldly. He was easily tricked, believed everyone, and had no conception of lying. Here are some examples of his naïvete.

This is what happened: several tailors were staying in our house, making the trousseau for my brother's wedding (my brother Me'ir – may his memory be for a blessing – who later lived in Tel Avid, where he died). I remember only two of the tailors: the pious Eli Tailor, and Dovidl Haftiledreh (the name of the third escapes me). It was a beautiful summer's day, the windows were open, and a gentle sun came through, with a light breeze, creating a pleasant, happy atmosphere.

Dovidl Haftiledreh takes a spool of thread from his pocket, and says, “Look, I made a mistake. I wanted to buy black thread, and bought white thread instead.” He goes on to say, “Long ago, a mistake was nearly disastrous. I was a handsome bachelor. One time, I'm working in a town near Łódź. I'm walking along, when someone suddenly grabs me by the collar of my overcoat. I turn around, saying, ‘What do you want?’ ‘You won't escape me alive,’ he answers, ‘You left a wife who has now been an agunah for three years.^[81] This will end today. Either you divorce her, or reconcile with her!’ I start arguing with him. ‘Are you crazy? What wife? I'm still unmarried!’ He doesn't listen. Soon, a whole group of cart drivers surrounds me, all yelling, ‘Take him!’ They seize my hands and feet and set me up on a cart. Giddy-ap – we're leaving. They bring me to a town (I forget which) and take me to a small house where a young woman lives. Everyone starts shouting, ‘Brayndele! Who is this person?’ ‘Oy, of course it's my husband!’ ‘Are you sure it's him?’ ‘Is this a tall tale? If I didn't recognize him, I'd tell you!’

‘Now they start threatening me with their fists, and even with butchers’ knives. ‘We'll make an end of it now. Come with us now to the rabbi, and fill out divorce papers, or behave properly and go back to your wife!’

“I realized that the situation was dire, and instantly

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decided, ‘I'm not so crazy as to give an unknown woman a divorce.’ I immediately said ‘Jews, I regret leaving my wife. I'll reconcile with her!’ ‘That's the way to go,’ they all chimed in. They brought out brandy and began drinking; I drank quite a lot myself. The woman had a nice house. She and I lived together peaceably for six months, while I worked and earned money. Eventually, the work became scarce. One dark night, I took off!”

Father was sitting at the tailors' table. When he heard the story he sprang up angrily, shouting, “You brat! You criminal! Get out of my house this instant!” He took up a broom. “Out, you disgrace to the Jews! You lived with a married woman, and you'll defile my child's clothes! Out! Out of my house!”

Dovidl Haftiledreh left immediately, but continued standing at the window, shaking with laughter. Father didn't understand what was happening; the other tailors laughed as well. Father asked him angrily, “You're laughing, where you should be mourning. Living with a married woman!”

The tailors now said, “Reb Abele, the whole story is a tall tale. You don't know this clown. He saw you sitting at the table and wanted to have some fun.” “Is it all right to have fun at the expense of a married woman?” he asked, less angry now. “Well, it can't be helped. He's a clown, after all.” Now Father smiled. “Well, call him back in. There's work to do.” Dovidl came back in and said, “Reb Abele, don't be angry. It's a wedding, after all, and it should be fun.” “Well, sit down and start working,” said Father, who had completely cooled down.

It was so easy to fool him.

Father was at the house of the Rabbi, discussing a difficult halakhic dispute that was being heard by three rabbinical judges. It was past midnight. Mother could not stay awake and went to bed, after placing one pot of soup and one pot of noodles and beans on top of the tiled stove. Father came home and ate his supper. The next morning, he asked Mother,

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“Matl, why did you cook a red soup?” Mother started to laugh. “Did you eat the smelly red borsht instead of soup?”^[82] She quickly went to the stove, and saw that she was righte. The soup was untouched, while Father had eaten the red borsht instead. He was quite surprised to see that Mother had made a red soup.

On the day Dr. Herzl (may his memory be for a blessing) died, I happened to be in Warsaw. Herzl's picture was being sold on all the streets; of course, I purchased a picture. En route from Warsaw to Opatów, I stopped in to visit my parents in Kurow, placed the picture on the dresser, and went to sleep. As he did every night, my father sat and composed his books. When I woke up in the early morning, he was still sitting there and writing, but I noticed a smile on his face.

“Look, my child,” he said, “I am very fond of Dr. Herzl, a dear Jew; but it makes me miserable to see him bareheaded. So I dressed him in a fedora. Actually,” he went on to say, “I wanted to give him a Jewish hat, but I was afraid you would be angry.”^[83] My father always had a variety of colors and brushes, and loved to draw and paint. The picture with the hat was a work of art. I was quite a bit younger then, and did not realize that it was worth preserving as a symbol of the naïvete of old-time Jews.

The population of Kurow consisted of only two sectors: Hasids, and craftspeople (there was a small proportion of ordinary people, such as house-owners who were neither hasids nor craftsmen). Three strands of Hasidism were represented in Kurow: Ger, Kotsk, and Lublin.^[84] As was common among hasidic Jews, they did not get on well. Each group belittled and sneered at the others, leading to long-standing animosity. I remember once, during the first processions of Simkhat Torah, there was a terrible fight between the hasids of Lublin and Ger.^[85] Both sides were far from sober. On that occasion, the Lublin hasids were stronger. One of them, Yekhezkel Yirmiya (son of Dovid) attacked the Ger hasids violently. Everyone was intoxicated. Enraged, two Ger hasids (whose names I don't want to mention)

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Peysekh, the son of Beyle Rokhl, who was the in-law of Yekhezkel Libhober (the son of Yirmiya Dovid), a great scholar and Lublin hasid, who studied with the author of Toras Emes and with Avrom Eiger.[86]

The reaction was indescribable. Father came home depressed, saying, “If it weren't a holiday, I would start to mourn.” It is usually said that people who are products of a certain culture but have their own particular character cannot live their lives out in their environment, but must live with their own personality. The Talmud says, “All scholars are individuals” (Ta'anit 10b). My father really was the “lone individual” in Kurow. He was unusual in that he could not stand the behavior of hasids and their numerous disputes, as well as their dancing. He stood out by being the only Jew in Kurow who sat day and night and wrote scholarly books (that was his only pleasure; he reveled in the joy of creating scholarly works).

He was also special in that he believed in the hasidic leaders. Every time he was in Lublin, he would visit the Rabbi of Lublin (may his memory be for a blessing); when in Puławy, he always saw Rabbi

Yitzkhok Fishman, Sholem Volf's son-in-law, a Lublin hasid, prayer leader, and community historian for years

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Yisro'el Pilever (of the Kotsk dynasty); such behavior was not accepted by hasidim.^[87] It was said among Kurow hasidim that though Rabbi Abele was of fine lineage, a scholar, and a significant ruler on rabbinic law, he was nevertheless no hasid.

Though Father's entire beginnings, behavior, and way of life were deeply rooted in bygone customs and manners, he also had a keen sense of orientation; where history-making events in the Jewish world were concerned, his way of thought was quite modern, logical, and commonsensical.

When Dr. Herzl and political Zionism first appeared on the Jewish horizon, rabbinical and hasidic circles were in an uproar. A “black office” was created, which flooded Jewish cities and towns with anti-Zionist pamphlets. These vilified Dr. Herzl as well as those who mentioned him positively. The term “Zionist” became anathema, synonymous with “heretic.”

I recall a relevant episode that occurred in Kurow. Several anti-Zionist pamphlets somehow showed up in Kurow. A fine young man of Kurow, a diligent student named Noyekh (his father was an admirable person called Shmu'el – fondly called Shmulik) was sitting in the House of Study and reading one of these pamphlets. The notorious Mendele Kratzer comes up and slaps him, saying, “Well, Noyekh, are you a Zionist yet?” Noyekh starts to make excuses. When Mendele sees the content of the pamphlet, he slaps Noyekh yet again: “Yes, that's what I mean! Don't even peek at the anti-Zionist publication. Let them all die horribly while the Jews are spared.”

At that time, people in the Kurow House of Study were violently opposed to Zionism and Zionists, especially “Herzl, the medic, may his name be blotted out” (their nickname for Dr. Herzl).^[88] Though Father read all the anti-Zionist material, he was a Zionist at heart (not openly, which would have been dangerous). When among family, he would say, “True, Dr. Herzl may not be worthy of being the redeemer of the Jews, but he can be the messenger of redemption. At this time, Jews are not so pious enough as to request that God's messenger also be a righteous man.”

Father, therefore, was a kind of “spiritual blend”

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a synthesis of two worlds. As the sages say, so precisely, “Two worlds that kiss each other” (Jerusalem Talmud, Yevamot 15, 2).

Over the years, Mother and Father lived in peace and quiet; as the phrase goes, “like a pair of doves.” However, spiritually and emotionally, they lived in separate worlds. Father came from generations of rabbis, and began preparing for the rabbinate from his youth on. He also acquired all the qualities and features that would be helpful to a rabbinical career. In addition to being a scholar and rabbinical authority, he was a fine cantor, an artistic calligrapher, and an inspiring speaker. It is a fact of nature that talent does not like to be as secretive as a lamed-vovnik.^[89] No matter how unassuming and modest a person might be, he cannot conceal the urgency of his talent, which does not want to remain “like a fetus in the womb of a pregnant woman” (Ecclesiastes 11, 5) but is struggling to emerge. Obviously, Father's mission in life was the rabbinate – the vocation to which he felt called without any reservations, and which would have provided him with spiritual satisfaction. But Mother came from an entirely different world; she was born into, and brought up in, a home headed by her rich merchant father. She had little desire to depend on the stipends of a rabbi. That was my parents' only bone of contention .

My grandfather, the Rabbi of Ostrowce, continued to write, demanding that my parents move to that town and receive room and board from him. My Kurow grandfather agreed, and was even willing to pay room and board, as he yearned to have sons-in-law who were rabbis; my Ostrowce grandfather planned to have Father replace him after his own death. Mother let herself be persuaded, and they moved to Ostrowce. They had been there for six months, and the Ostrowce rabbi had even handed my father his sermon for the Shabbes before Yom Kippur.^[90] However, my mother would not give up her wish to return to Kurow. Father had no choice but to agree, and so he spent the rest of his life in Kurow. A person must make a living, and cannot subsist at his father-in-law's expense forever. He finally became a merchant.

“My father, the merchant” is easily said. It was actually my mother who was in charge of business. Father kept the records and the accounts, and helped Mother a bit. But he spent every free minute writing his religious treatises. Although he was affluent all his life (though not very wealthy), arranged respectable matches for his children and supplied them with substantial dowries (Mother was right – it would have been impossible to achieve with rabbinical stipends alone),

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he was almost always inwardly embittered; his world was not that of business.

It was in his very late years that the need came up for a rabbinical judge in Lublin. The great Rabbi and hasidic leader of Lublin, Rabbi Tzadok HaKohen, proposed Rabbi Abele of Kurow for the position. Father received a letter from the Lublin community, as well as a letter from the rabbi. He was very eager to take up this position, but could not respond without Mother's agreement. I still remember the sad evening when Father and Mother had a serious conversation.

“Matele,” Father argued, “How much longer will I continue to sit in Kurow and be a businessman? I hate business; studying is my passion. None of my ancestors was a businessman. This is my chance. Rabbi Tzadok also agrees that I should move on. Let's sell the house in Kurow and leave. I'm no longer young; ‘if not now, when?’”^[91] But Mother began to weep, saying, “Abele, if you really want us to leave, I will obey you. But I fear for my future life. Here, I am very close with my mother, I love Kurow, I was born here, and want to live out my life here.”

Following this conversation, Father wrote to Rabbit Tzadok HaKohen (may his memory be for a blessing), saying that he could not take up the position because his wife did not agree. When Father became ill, I went to Kurow and sat at his bedside until his death. He kept saying, “My child, I have wasted my life with nonsense” (having written only ten books…).

List of books and manuscripts composed by my father, Rabbi Avrom Abele HaKohen Rapoport, son of the great Rabbi and rabbinical judge David HaKohen (may his righteous memory be for a blessing), Head of the Rabbinical Court of Ostrowce, descendant of the great Rabbi Shabtai HaKohen (may his righteous memory be for a blessing).

1. Ne'ot Deshe (on Midrash Rabbah, Esther, Ruth, Lamentations, Ecclesiastes, Song of Songs)
2. Zechor leAvraham (on Midreshim Peli'im)
3. Zechuta deAvraham (commentaries and comments on Mishna Megilla)
4. Khasdei David (responsa on halachic issues, between my father – may his memory be for a blessing – and my grandfather, Rabbi David –may his memory be for a blessing–Head of the Rabbinical Court of Ostrowce)
5. Yaldei Avraham (on the Pentateuch)
6. Hosha-Na (on the Hoshanas)^[92]
7. Shirei Tsiyon vi-Yerushalayim
8. Banui le-Talpiyot (additions and comments on Midrash Talpiyot)
9. Oneg le-Shabat ve-Rishfei Esh (two different commentaries on Shabbes prayers

10. New Expanded Commentary on the Pesach Haggada, with a special addition regarding the poem Kama Ma'a lot Tovot in the Haggada; shrewd comments on Shabtai HaKohen's methods; a wonderful commentary on the famous amulet of the Rabbi of Griditz; and several other commentaries.

Father (may his memory be for a blessing) also created a personal prayer that he would recite before falling asleep every night. It is an acrostic (the first letters of the lines spell out his name, Abele). That prayer, too, is part of Work No. 10, in the possession of Rabbi Maimon.

Note: The commentary on the Rabbi of Griditz's amulet consists of a single page, and is a kind of “map” of the Bible, done with great artistry and expertise.

This is the brilliant, God-fearing Rabbi Avrom Abele HaKohen Rapoport (long and well may he live), son of the great Rabbi David HaKohen –may his righteous memory be for a blessing–head of the rabbinical court of Ostrowce, descendant of the great Rabbi Shabtai HaKohen –may his memory shine in the world to come–who has presented his aggadic innovations to me. These are fine observations on the sanctity of Shabbes, and other important opinions; he is worthy of your care and support, thanks to the merit of his holy ancestors. I express this opinion in honor of the Torah, its scholars, and sign this in the Fall of 1893, Warsaw.^[94] (Signed) Petachya Horenblat, local rabbinical judge and arbiter. (Seal)

When I saw the book Oneg le-Shabat ve-Rishfei Esh by the learned and devout rabbi, son of the righteous rabbi David HaKohen, head of the rabbnical court of Ostrowce (may his memory be for a blessing), and a descendant of the great teacher Shabtai HaKohen (may his memory shine in the world to come), and read the true and proper observations concerning the sanctity of Shabbes, I call on all Jews to help him in any way, to support and assist him in publishing and distributing the work. May his merit and the merit of his holy ancestors favor us and all Jews. Amen selah forever. (Signed) On the 23d day of Elul 5653, Warsaw, by Yisachar Dov Kopyets, Warsaw.^[95] (Sealed)

The great rabbi and illuminator, Rabbi Avrom Abele HaKohen (long and well may he live) Rapoport, son of the great righteous and learned man Rabbi David HaKohen (may his memory be for a blessing), a descendant of Rabbi Shabtai HaKohen (may his memory shine in the world to come), has shown me his book Oneg le-Shabat ve-Rishfei Esh, concerning the sanctity of Shabbes. From the little I have had the opportunity to see, the book offers pleasant contents accessible to every reader, and has already been recommended by the great Rabbi Petachya, local rabbinic judge. Therefore, I too approve of it, and ask everyone to help and support him. May the merit of his holy ancestors help us and our descendants. I will purchase the book once it is published, God willing. Signed by the upholder of the Torah's honor, 23 Elul 1653. (Signed by Chaim Yehoshua Gutschechter (the son of Rabbi Gutshechter, may his memory be for a blessing.)

In conclusion, I think it is necessary – like the bygone great defender of the people, Rabbi Levi Yitzchok Barditshever (may his memory be for a blessing) – to say something in defense of previous generations in general,

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and our Kurow ancestors in particular.^[96] I believe this is necessary, because in the present “Biography of a Generation” I have delineated many memories, figures, and characters, as well as events, facts, and episodes that appear strange and bizarre, bordering on fanaticism and appalling superstitions. I've written everything with humor (it's hardly possible to describe the contents otherwise). The average reader might think that I took this tone in mockery of previous generations in general as well as of our Kurow predecessors who I suppose to have been simpletons, fools, and fanatics, and generally spiritually unenlightened. We moderns, on the other hand, are wise and have the right to jeer at previous generations and their way of life as well as at their outlandish customs. I would therefore like to present several historical notes that will shed a completely different light on the previous generation.

I have described the bygone custom of cutting, or shaving, the hair of a thirteen-year-old bride, and placing the traditional special cap on her head. Of course, this is laughable and tragi-comic. However, a dreadful history underlies this comical custom. In ancient times, there was an edict against Jews that led to the following custom (I quote only one mention, in the Jerusalem Talmud): “A virgin about to be married is first deflowered by a prefect” (Ketubot 3.2). (One citation mentions a wedding on Wednesday, but later commentators believe it is true of a wedding that takes place on any day.) The sentence is hardly worthy of printing, and I feel odd translating the Hebrew into Yiddish; however, I'm obliged to do it for the sake of readers who do not know Hebrew. In any case, in remote antiquity, a disgusting decree was promulgated against Jews: every bride was bound to spend her bridal night with the local ruler. (At that time, each town was the property of its ruler, who dictated everything.) Sometimes brides were snatched away as they stood under the chuppa and brought to the landowner. In those benighted times, Jews married off their young daughters and immediately cut off their hair, or shaved it, so that they would look younger. As our sages said sorrowfully, “The daughters of Israel are beautiful, but poverty makes them ugly” (Mishna Nedarim 66a). In other words, Jewish girls are very beautiful, but persecution and poverty steal their beauty away. Thank God, that edict has long since been rescinded. The disgusting lecher, the bygone landowner, and the special marriage cap have all been crushed under the wheels of the new,

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more liberated times. Thirteen-year-old brides now belong to another existence. Today's grown-up Jewish brides are proud of their beauty and their long hair. New times are here, with new breezes, and an entirely new view of the world. However, all this applies to the larger cities only; these changes never reached the traditional small towns, whose tiny skies remained clouded for a long time, without a ray of light or contact with the larger world. The wedding cap, which originated in an edict, became a symbol of virtue, a tradition, and, with time, a sacred regulation.

Our conclusion is that the old-time, small-town Jew was far from a simpleton, but became very conservative as a result of life in a small, desolate town. Of necessity, changing habits was a long, gradual process.

My written contribution has also touched on traditional remedies such as amulets, of which I wrote with amusement but certainly not with mockery; what else could people do, in the absence of medical help? When one is drowning, one grasps even at the sharp edge of the sword. Incidentally, the use of folk remedies was a product of the times and not confined to Jews alone; all nations utilized them, even more than Jews did.

I have laid out very many facts, sunny and dark, joyous and sad, serious and comical, because it iseen a biography of a multifaceted generation. It therefore required a general overview of all aspects, positive as well as negative, and a summing-up. Of course, each of my readers has the privilege of finding their own way out of the labyrinth of contradictory facts and drawing personal conclusions about previous generations.

In my opinion, the previous generation had more positive than negative aspects, more light than shadow. The Jewish town was a place of true Judaism, not only in form but in content as well, and was rooted in Jewish continuity. Jews were rightly considered “people of the book.” The House of Study was the educational institution for old and young alike, where the sound of study was heard twenty-four hours a day. All classes of society loved the Torah. Town Jews were mostly economically poor, but spiritually rich, and constantly aspired to a plane above daily life. Their lives were glum, with grave concern over financial issues; however, they also derived much pleasure and joy from celebrating Shabbes and holidays.

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The joys and woes of the town's Jews also gave rise to authentic Jewish jokes and folklore, steeped in popular language, character, traditions, and style, and, especially, wonderful Jewish traits.

What is the face of our current generation? We “modern” Jews are no longer connected to our roots. We have completely forgotten our own soil. We live only on a narrow strip, a brief spiritual area of “no man's land,” neither yours nor mine, a spiritual “no man's land” between worlds and cultures. We live in a gloomy, twilit period, and have trouble seeing and orienting ourselves, even inside our own small space. The younger generation is leaving us, happily abandoning our rich heritage with both Yiddish and Hebrew cultures, and is left ignorant and lacking any culture. In short, we live in an era of spiritual wandering, moral confusion, and spiritual decline.

Whenever I have the opportunity to be a guest speaker at memorial occasions for the martyrs of Kurow (initially in Montreal and later in New York), as I stand on the dais preparing to speak, I am carried away by profound thought. I think of the Talmudic tale (Mishna Brachot 3, 1) of when the sage Rabbi Yosei entered a ruined building in Jerusalem, and heard a cooing dove-like voice weeping and saying, “Woe to the children, due to whose sins their home was destroyed and their palace was burned to the ground.” In my vision and imagination, I seem to see the pained souls of bygone righteous men of Kurow, as well as the later martyrs, “vanished, intangible souls” floating in the heavenly heights above the ruins of Kurow. As with the ancient ruins of Jerusalem, I hear a distant murmured communal wailing, like a heavenly voice. My ears strained to catch a few distinct words: “Woe is to us; our homes have been destroyed and our spiritual palaces have been laid waste and burned down; like Cain, we wander around looking for a place to rest in this boundless universe: distraught, lonely, killed by a murderous hand, forgotten even by our own people.”

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I found a bit of consolation in our memorial book; like all the other books that commemorate our martyrs, it sanctifies their bright memory. With Hebrew letters of remembrance, written in blood and tears, their

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pure souls are made eternal, shine as bright as heaven for all time, and sanctified for generations to come, for our children and grandchildren. I thought that this might be their salvation…

Seated, right to left: Motl Frumer; Khayim Kirshenboym; Rabbi Tuviya Gutman Rapoport; Berl Ritser; Moyshe Ritser Standing, right to left: Sore Frumer (Motl's wife); Silvia Kirshenboym (Khayim's wife); Frandl Goldfayn (Rozenson); Sore Ayzenshtat; Moyshe Ritser's wife

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