I have told a great deal about my mother and those stories remind me of a perennial spring. Her body was tiny but the Creator took care in granting her a beautiful soul. Occasionally, when reflecting on her memory, I try to compare my mother with the greatest and most famous women in the world.

I suppose it was she which the Proverbs meant by saying, “The daughters of Israel are plentiful but you have risen above all of them.” (Proverbs 31, free translation.) From time to time, I see her in the tough days in all her greatness when she was hard as rock, not compromising on her faith, righteousness or kindness. Dozens of stories arise from the oblivion of long-gone days of my childhood. I present here a story which portrays the high moral soul of my mother, may her memory be blessed.

I left her in the provincial town of Kupishok as I departed to far away destinations in order to acquire an education and disseminate Zionist ideas among Lithuanian Jews. For most of the year, I contented myself with occasional entertaining letters in good Yiddish to my mother and received an emotional and usually eloquent reply.

From time to time, I enjoyed surprising her by sending a sum of money for covering the shop's debts. Of course, it was accompanied by a cheerful note which was supposed to eliminate the embarrassment that she might have felt when getting such gifts from her youngest son. I loved my mother and missed her a great deal. Twice a year, for Passover and the High Holidays, I used to visit her; those were the weeks of her peacefulness.

At the crack of dawn, she would leave the house for her store and wouldn't come back until midnight. When she entered the house, she was utterly exhausted from her constant efforts to persuade the stubborn customers to buy the merchandise. She was freezing in the winter and sweating in the summer. Only the Creator knows how her fragile body bore all the suffering, fatigue and hard labor.

As a matter of fact, she did not always benefit from my respect and good behavior at home. She found it difficult to understand how I followed the sinful concepts of a secular education. I was partially the reason for her tears that dropped on the prayer book “Kurban HaMincha” which I have preserved as a priceless treasure. She perhaps asked the 'Father of Orphans and Protector of Widows' not to treat her son too severely, to forgive his mistakes and return him to the right track.

My mother's time was limited and she could not spend endless hours sitting with me at home. For the sake of truth, I wasn't always at home either. The days of my visits coincided with the visits of my Kupishok friends who had been scattered all over Lithuania. We were delighted to see each other and enjoyed pleasant evenings together.

Mother was understanding and did not complain too much. Nonetheless, from time to time, the good inclination in me awoke and I felt as if I were hurting her virtuous heart by my constant absence while at home in the few days which we could be spending in each other's company. In those hours of regret, I hurried towards her store.

But good intentions and devil's deeds sometimes go together. Every time I set out for my mother's shop, I bumped into an acquaintance willing to exchange a couple of words with Hannah Kodesh's successful son, who was almost a lawyer. At the time, I taught in Jewish schools all over Lithuania and traveled to various towns delivering thrilling Zionist speeches. Many people in town were anxious to talk with me and I, naturally, didn't want to make an impression of being a stuck-up character by ending the conversation abruptly. Therefore, I kept it going and once again, to my regret and sorrow, did not reach the shop.

Our conversation would eventually end and I plodded to the store. As I went up the wooden staircase, I often found the door locked. Not locked with a padlock but shut down in haste. I turned back in despair thinking about my bad luck – precisely at the moment when I came to purify myself, mother did not assist me in doing so.

Working hours were not over yet, people were still buying at the marketplace and my mother, normally so responsible in everything that concerned her modest living was not there! Actually, I knew where she would be. Most likely she had popped over to one of the local synagogues in order to catch a 'Kedushah' which is sung by the cantor during the 'Amidah' prayer.

The synagogues were fairly close to the stores and the prayers could be heard by the shopkeepers. The holy sounds of prayers reached their ears from the open windows of two synagogues – Shul Hoif for Mitnagdim (the ones who were against Hassidism); the other one called 'Minyan” which belonged to the Hassidic part of the community and was located in a magnificently built wooden house.

Besides, there were several other 'shtiblach' (smaller shuls) which were adjacent to a big synagogue called the 'cold' synagogue since its size did not allow heating, so the place was in use only during hot weather. The holy sounds of prayer and Torah study were bursting forth from all those buildings and mixing with each other. Here the prayer starts, there it finishes, from minyan to minyan the holy sounds were rising to Heaven.

My mother had a very sensitive ear. At first glance, she was busy with her customers discussing various secular issues. She was loved by people since she had her own opinion on everything and they wanted to hear her fascinating stories. Despite that, she was invariably aware of the sounds coming from the synagogues.

She had a deep passion and was never content with three prayers during the day and used to attend an additional prayer in the women's section. She was accustomed to sitting alone or in the company of two or three women like her. For instance, ten males would be praying since one of them needed to say Kaddish. As they finished and left, somebody else started with a new minyan and so it lasted forever. Amazingly enough, the sounds of the cantor's chants reached the ears of my mother in her shop and she hurried in time for Kedushah which is said by the entire congregation.

No, she didn't consider that her absence might harm sales because the psychology of her customers was: If the shop is not open, we will come back later.

“The ones who perform a commandment are not harmed” was her philosophy.

The pattern was constantly repeated by my mother. As I bumped into the locked door, I didn't always have the patience to wait until the shop reopened. Late in the evening, when I returned home from a party with friends, I used to preach my mother about her actions at work which would not bring her success. I recall a heartfelt conversation with her concerning my arrival at a closed door. Time passed by; the days of my presence in Kupishok were about to end. In a short while, I was supposed to leave and was determined to talk to my mother.

“Mother, where do you disappear to during working hours? You are constantly complaining about your poor livelihood, pressing debts, and lack of merchandise. How can you increase the profits if the store is closed seven times a day?

She thought my words were reasonable; she shrugged and said, “The store is locked? The store is open from 9:00 in the morning until 9:00 in the evening, thank God, but my eyes are tired from seeing the place empty. I have virtually no work like all the other merchants.”“That still does not explain your absence, mind you,” I replied.

“What absence are you talking about? I just went for a Kedushah.” “You actually left many times since I knocked on the shop's door at different hours during the day. And why, for God's sake, are you so keen on Kedushah? Other shop owners are also religious; they too pray a lot but don't overdo it. Even Shulhan Aruch does not demand that a woman like bring the business to a halt so often. Why do you bother Him so much?”

She smiled at me and sent a loving glance in my direction and calmly said, “How do you want me to behave if I have a request from the Lord and await His mercy?” Naturally, I understood what kind of wish my mother meant by the hint but pretended to be naive and asked, “What is this request that you have to repeat it seven times a day? Will you be so kind to reveal the secret of your pleas?”

“By no means is it a secret,” she said with her clever eyes directed at me. “I am asking the Father of Orphans and Protector of Widows to turn your heart in the direction of commandments and faith following the tradition of your righteous father, may his memory be blessed, and the entire chain of your holy forefathers.”

Although this was not the first time that I deciphered the wishes of my mother, I still tried to display my understanding and asked, “Is this the only desire that you have? Think of something else to ask the Creator, something you have never asked before. For example, apply to Him concerning your livelihood; maybe He will send you more customers and more satisfactory profits.”

This was when my mother found time for a bit of preaching wile peeling an apple for me. She told me with a forgiving smile, “Listen, son, I can see that the Gentile wisdom in which you have immersed yourself makes you forget the teaching of your ancestors. Have you forgotten the meaning of a vain prayer which is a grave sin?” My mother was indeed educated in the field of Gemara, Torah, proverbs, etc., since she had always been present at her husband's lessons at home. She continued, “Shall I remind you of the significance of a false prayer? The person must not ask the Lord about something unreal. For instance, a man enters a town and hears that there is a fire. He must never say, 'I pray that this fire will not reach my house.' It is a vair prayer since the fire is already in his house.”

“So tell me then, Shlomo, why pray for a better living? As if this is something to be accomplished? Have you seen anyone in Kupishok who earns good wages? Our entire community lacks material means and I am obviously among them. The faith in God is a different matter altogether. This is why I am saying to our Lord, if I ever committed a sin, remember my and my husband's holy forefathers. Why don't You open the eyes of my youngest son and teach him to love You and perform Your commandments?”

“I know, my son, your deeds are righteous and the love for Eretz Israel is also a commandment. There is no one like you in relationships between people since you are so kind. But if you could enrich your life by more holy commandments, I would surely be happier.”

It was not a lottery ticket which determined my destiny but a simple train ticket – though not altogether simple. For the train itself was an innovation.

Lithuanian independence stunned me enormously. Amazing! How was it possible that I hadn't envisaged such a major change? I, who had been interested in current affairs since childhood, who was such an expert about politics; I, who thoroughly perused the first Hebrew newspaper, 'HaTzfira', which was edited (if I'm not mistaken) by the Zionist writer Nachum Sokolov.

In addition, I carefully read 'The Moment' in Yiddish which was the main source of the Jewish public's knowledge of world politics and Jewish affairs and was peppered with all kinds of entertaining supplements. It had some humorous sections, a little about health, and finally the famous serialized romances which thrilled the readers' imagination. The story was invariably cut at the most dramatic moment and everyone was longing to know what would happen in the next episode.

All of this was very much a part of my teenage years. In fact, current affairs attracted me much more than the endless philosophical arguments of Gemara which tired me. My well-developed imagination allowed me to change the world events which were not to my liking.

In 1914, when the Frist World War began, I was about eleven years old but already felt deeply involved in the world of politics of the time. From the first days of the War, I supported the German Emperor Wilhelm whereas my eternal rival, Hirsch Leibke – a shrewd and persistent individual who aroused my envy – stood by the Russian Czar Nikolai II, the persecutor of Jews.

I was a born politician! So how come, I thought, didn't I pay attention to the change of flags, to the numerous meetings at the Market Square, and the general revolutionary atmosphere around me. I was almost sixteen by this time and should have been aware of the crucial moment in the country's history.

One day the German occupation forces disappeared completely and Kupishok was suddenly flooded with red Lithuanians – bolsheviks. These were craftsmen, peddlers and even tradesmen who had decided to be Communist revolutionaries. They were dressed in short leather jackets with a gun stuck in their belt and were the people who embarked on fixing the world in the Marxist spirit.

Adversity makes a man wise and we knew already that each new attempt to correct the ways of the world or the borders of our small country with the neighboring powers started with the robbery of the local stores.

These plunderers acted in the traditional way! The soldiers took over the stores, grabbed anything valuable for themselves, mixed up the merchandise, spoiled more than they took and were off. As the storm passed, the Jewish merchants, who were quite accustomed to the procedure, would peek out of their shelters, count the damage, repair the lock and put everything in place again. All of this was considered natural.

But one Sabbath morning, however, things were somewhat different. For one thing, these were not hungry and shabby soldiers who had escaped from the battle and vented their anger on anything that was in their path. Instead, the Kupishok Jews were ordered to open their stores. It was not a robbery, God forbid, but a perfectly legitimate confiscation.

In other words, a few local apprentices, coachmen and peddlers who had now joined the red militia appeared to fulfill the holy mission of confiscating the goods from the shops of Kupishok bourgeois who exploited the working masses. It was a little bizarre to see Yankel Terpido, just a little older than me, in the role of the local commissar giving orders to his fellow revolutionaries what to take and how to pack the goods. All the merchandise was transferred for the sake of the Socialist Revolution, whatever that meant.

Bourgeois stood for my mother, Aunt Tzippi and Aunt Gittel, the widow who pawned her candlesticks for half a ruble every Sunday to pay for her children's heder. (We shouldn't forget, however, the virtue of the moneylender's wife who ran to Gittel's house every Sabbath eve to bring the candlesticks back.)

The Lithuanian Bolsheviks disappeared as quickly as they had come since the new leadership called 'Tariba' pushed the 'reds' out of the government with the help of the Church. The winning powers – America, Britain and France – forced a peace treaty on the defeated Germany as well as their allies, the Russians who, after the October Revolution, liberated the Poles, the Baltic peoples, and Lithuania from occupation.

Lithuania was one of those newly- born republics which emerged on the remnants of the Czarist empire. As I have said, I wasn't actively involved in those upheavels so the only thing I remember from that period are the sudden assemblies in the middle of a market day, flags in the air, fierce debates between the speakers and curses of Jewish shopkeepers about the waste of precious market time.

The new Lithuanian state appeared as if out of the blue. It began to recruit young men into the army and started some state services, the railway being one of them. The train operated between 'Abeli' – the last station in the north-east and 'Eidkoon' on the east -Prussian border.

In those days, I had a feeling that my Kupishok had disappeared and wandered around town having no idea what to do with myself. I dreamt of the 'Gymnasium' (a German high school) although Kupishok did not even have a secondary school. There was one in Ponevitz, about half an hour by train, and my sister Peska (Pnina) taught in one of the schools there.

As a center for education, the city did not particularly attract me. There was a different reason for my strong desire to go to this neighboring town. I was deeply in love with a girl I had never seen before. She was a cousin of my sister's colleague, Abraham Kessin, and what I heard about her urged me to leave everything, discover a new place, and prepare myself for a proper education.

Although I was quite good at Hebrew, German, and arithmetic, I hardly knew any Russian, the main language of teaching at the Gymnasium. Still, the incentive of being in Ponevitz overcame all barriers. My distraught mother packed some pillows and clothes; I filled my suitcase with all kinds of books, put a few marks in my pocket and these were all my belongings when in 1919 I arrived in Ponevitz.

Having rented a small room at the Lipshitz's, I tried to find ways that would lead me to an education and a future living. Both of these aims led me to the same Abraham Kessin, a sharp, handsome man who had captured my sister's heart. There I met the young lady who was the hidden reason for my coming, Shira Miller. She was about fifteen, pretty, and arrogant, especially towards a provincial type like me who didn't even speak Russian. I was totally infatuated with her but she rejected me with one hand and cunningly beckoned with the other. Shira agreed to help me with learning Russian. In the meantime, I met some local young people and learned that there was a Jewish youth party called 'Tzeirei Tzion.' There I felt like a fish in water since the Zionists considered Hebrew a significant language and I was quite an expert in it.

Soon I was elected Secretary of the Party's Ponevitz branch and one of my tasks was to write circulars. I then duplicated them on the amazing machine which copied manuscripts on wax. I also taught Hebrew privately and thus earned a few extra marks.

My mother used to send me food parcels as she did when my father had studied at the famous Slobodka yeshiva during their first years of marriage. I spent some months torn between all kinds of political activities, private lessons to earn a living, and preparatory Russian classes with Shira, who continued to treat me in a reserved and slightly condescending way.

These lines may not be precise chronologically since my memory betrays me occasionally but I remember that my Ponevitz period did not last long. Shortly after my arrival, my sister moved to Kaunas, worked as a teacher for some time and then started her career at the national 'RAT' – the Jewish National Council which was an active organization in the few golden years of Judaism in Lithuania.

It was a period of Jewish cultural independence. There even was a Minister of Jewish Affairs, Dr. Menachem Soloveichik (Sulieli, in Israel), an educated and respectable man who ruled with violence as a minister until he was sacked.

In short, I was abandoned by my sister with virtually no chance of entering the Gymnasium and my Russian teacher did not reveal great interest in me. I was active in the Party, awaited a miracle which would show me the way out of the dead end and, as it usually happens, time did what the brain could not do.

Life in Lithuania acquired some order. The Jews grew accustomed to the new rule by ignorant Lithuanians. (We called them 'Klompes' for the wooden shoes they wore in contrast to the leather ones which were a symbol of status.) Schools opened, businesses functioned, and the Jewish political life prospered under the aegis of the National Council. The mess in the government did not interfere with daily life for several reasons.

The disorder was no greater than it had been before and in any case the adaptability of our people to any chaos is famous. But most importantly, the Polish and Lithuanian Jews who had established themselves in America began to send money to their remaining relatives.

There also was some financial assistance from the Joint Distribution Committee (JDC) and other public organizations so that Jewish life somehow took its course.

One evening I entered Shira's room to find her with a train ticket in her hand. The railway was already in existence at the time but valid tickets had not been produced yet. Instead, there were special forms filled in by the few literate people.

She gave me a sheet of paper and jokingly said, “You've got a sister in Kaunas, so take it and go,” which seemed to be the answer to my prayers. I didn't hesitate for a minute! I took Peska's address (the Little Vilna Street 19), separated from Shira and some friends at the Tzeirei Tzion Club.

A small coach was loaded with my scarce belongings and I set out for the railway station. I arrived in Kaunas in the evening. It was the first time that I had ever been to a big city!

There were buildings of three and even four stories high! But I was even more surprised when I saw that the streets were decorated with Zionist flags – white and blue with the Star of David. I naively believed the entire city belonged to the Zionists – a path to the Land of Israel…

I later found out the reason of that festivity; the Kaunas Jewry celebrated the day of the Balfour Declaration, the second of November 1917, and many believed it was the beginning of redemption. It was explained that Zionist demonstrations were held on that day and the flags were the remains.

Eventually I reached my sister's home. She wasn't there but her landlord was kind enough to let me into her room. Peska hadn't really expected me in Kaunas and despite her affection for me had little reason to be excited by my arrival. She was lonely herself and could not do much to help a provincial, uneducated and penniless person like me. Had I waited for her invitation, I would never have reached the capital at all. With hindsight, I understand that she had made quite an effort to show her hospitality and was deeply impressed by adventurous behavior. I fell asleep in the city of my dreams!

The next day found me alone in the room. My breakfast was on the table with a note in Hebrew, “Will be back at noon.” What should I do until then? I stepped outside and began to walk from the house constantly turning back in fear of getting lost and entered the main street called Liberty Avenue. Its beauty astounded me!

I felt very lonely in that great world when, all of a sudden, somebody touched me on the shoulder. I can't recall the language the man spoke but it was with a clear Russian accent. He was a student who I remembered from way back in Kupishok. Here is the story.

It all happened at the end of the First World War when some Kupishok people, and I among them, decided to get together and spend some time singing, reading and even acting. We rented a big room in the house of Bentzi, the moneylender, and organized a club called 'Locale.”

The girls decorated it with taste so that the place became a real cultural center for the local youth. Each one of us contributed his own talent to the venture. One of the girls was a good singer and I had some aptitude of reading in public so we combined the two abilities and created a successful duet which had romantic consequences for both of us.

In general, I didn't have much success with girls so the club was an opportunity to correct the injustice. I was good at reciting Hebrew texts and that dramatic skill of mine was appreciated by the listeners. The place became a kind of spiritual shelter for the growing youngsters of Kupishok since everyone of us longed for human warmth in the harsh reality of the times. Our pleasant evenings contrasted with the horrors of the past war, occupation, and pogroms which we had all experienced. Our future was not paved with gold so the Locale sweetened the heavy feelings we had.

One winter evening as we were enjoying ourselves in the warm room, the door opened and a young man burst in. His outfit, a hooded jacket, showed he was a Russian student. He started in Russian, a language few of us understood as it wasn't taught in Kupishok even in the days of the Czar so we absorbed only the names he pronounced with his heavy accent – Palestine, Gerzel (Herzl), Tel-Aviv, pioneers and many other words which we had heard before but they did not really penetrate.

However little we understood, he spoke with such vigor that we wanted to hear more and more of his excited Zionist speech. In fact, I had encountered the words he mentioned in the Hebrew magazine, 'The World,' which was my secret reading material hidden on one of my father's bookshelves. Still I had never heard Zionist propaganda before so the entire event impressed me a great deal.

As he finished, many of our friends left but my cousin, David Pinskoy (Pinsker) and I remained to show him the way to the local hostel. It turned out that his name was Eliezer Perelson and he was involved with transferring Jewish refugees from Russia to their hometowns. As he happened to stay in Kupishok for one night, he naturally searcahed for youth and that was how he found our Locale. I told him about myself and we parted.

The club members discussed his performance for some days after he left until the event was forgotten.

Curiously enough, that same Eliezer Perelson (later Perry, an important figure in Tel-Aviv, and one of the first managers of the publishing company Am Oved) was the first person I met in Kaunas. I willingly shared my ambitions with him and was stunned when he offered me a job at 'HaHalutz,' (The Pioneer), an organization which started to act in liberated Lithuania. It united groups of Jewish youth who wanted to build and to be rebuilt in the land of their forefathers.

The HaHalutz movement was inspired by three outstanding figures: Eliezer Perelson, who was an energetic leader and Dr. Moshe Shwabbe, a young scientist who fled from Germany during the war and never went back. He was married to a German-Jewish girl and they had two children. His house was open to anyone who wished to hear about Zion and it became the center for many gatherings. Later he founded the Hebrew Gymnasium in Kaunas, whose students left their mark on the Jewish Zionist society of Lithuania. When he came on aliya, Dr. Shwabbe was Professor of Greek at Hebrew University until he died.

The third leader was David Cohen, the son of one of the famous Hassidic rabbis in Lithuania. He became a well-known writer, father of 'HaNoar HaOved,' (The Working Youth) and served as editor of the weekly 'HaMa'aleh.'

Perelson introduced me to the young Zionist leadership and I quickly became very much a part of their society. The HaHalutz building was situated opposite my sister's house but as far as I remember I soon found some other arrangements and moved out of her room.

I spent nights and days either at the Movement's office or at Dr. Shwabbe's place. My first occupation was installing small silk white and blue insignias to the jackets of our members as well as making donation boxes for the activists.

This is the story of my unusual absorption in Kaunas and all had been due to a memorable train ticket!

Had I been a truly pious person, I would have had to atone for my sins after my behavior at the Jewish Secondary School of Exact Sciences in Kaunas. It was founded during the German occupation by Dr. Joseph Carlebach, a German Jew from Frankfurt-on-the-Main with a religious Orthodox background.

This community, which carefully preserved its identity despite the general tendency of assimilation, was highly educated, had patriotic feelings towards Germany and fiercely opposed the secular Zionist ideas of Theodor Herzl. In the course of the First World War, they even volunteered to serve in the German army and some of them reached high military rank. If I am not mistaken, Dr. Carlebach was a major. Moreover, Emperor Wilhelm II, who was determined to win the war and annex Lithuania to Germany, considered the Yiddish-speaking Jewish population loyal to his country.

The first attempt was the establishment of the Jewish Secondary school whose main language of teaching was German. Religion classes were conducted in Hebrew. Dr. Carlebach, still in officer's uniform, was appointed headmaster. He was supposed to create a high-level education institution – a task which he successfully performed as he was an experienced and tough educator.

Finding staff was not a problem since German teachers of Jewish origin could be found in the German army, some of them of the same Orthodox background as Carlebach himself. He also invited some Gentile teachers in uniform so the school had a mixed German-Jewish character.

Subsequently, the Germans were expelled from Lithuania and even lost a part of their east-Prussian territory. Thus, an end was put to German occupation and the Baltic states became independent.

Kaunas remained with two major Jewish schools: The first was the 'Russian Gymnasium' and the second – the above-mentioned German school. The headmaster and most of the teachers saw no point in returning to the defeated, hungry Germany. Presumably, some of their reasons were idealistic. Most importantly, the school continued to work and the classes were full, many of the students were expelled Lithuanian Jews who had returned from Russia. Dr. Carlebach's prestige was not impaired after he changed his military uniform for civilian clothes.

The subjects were countless: German language and literature, Russian language and literature, the Bible and Hebrew literature, Latin, mathematics, physics, chemistry, geography, Jewish and general history, art and sports were taught. In other words, practically all domains of human knowledge were covered. Most surprising was the fact that there were quite a few students who were good at virtually all subjects. It was that school which I entered in 1920.

I remember the interview with the Deputy Headmaster, Dr. Schlesinger from Vienna. He spoke Hebrew with a Sephardic accent (which I heard for the first time in my life that day but got used to it during our conversation.) He asked me to read a Gemara page with Rashi's commentaries. I read it fluently and Dr. Schlesinger allowed me to choose the class I wished to enter but prudently suggested the sixth form because of my complete ignorance of secular subjects.

My school education was limited to fluent German, some elementary knowledge of arithmetic and a little Russian. The sixth class was just three years before the demanding matriculation exams.

I entered the boy's class (girls studied at the same level but in a different group.) Gradually I became integrated and even excelled in Judaism, history, and German literature. Except for math, I coped with studies with relative success and passed all the sixth year examinations.

For whatever reason, I received an exemption from the school and was never asked to pay. Mr. Halper, the school's treasurer, was laughed at by the students for his careful attitude to money, but he treated me extremely well. He invited me to his home where I met his daughter who was my age, spoke fluent Hebrew and even wrote poetry. He also recommended me as a private Hebrew tutor to a family with two spoiled girls, a part-time job which was my livelihood during my gymnasium years. So the question remains: Why did I rebel against the management and ruin the school's discipline when everyone supported me so much?

The element of rebellion had been inherent in me since childhood. I was a well-behaved boy though a little spoiled by my mother. She occasionally indulged me with a sweet or two which was a rarity among the poor Kupishok children. She also protected me against my father's wrath which I caused frequently with my mischievous behavior. Complaints about me reached him and he could be severe in his punishment but, at the same time, cared about me a great deal.

He was anxious about my health, feeding me with all kinds of foods which were supposed to strengthen me. In fact, in all my ninety-five years, I have not been able to find out what he meant by the dangerous disease called 'skruplitzni' for which eggnog and fish oil were the best remedy. The fish oil, called 'lebertran,' was thought to be the source of health. Every morning I was sentenced to swallow a spoonful. After that, I was compensated with an apple or a peeled pear. Eggnog was an altogether different matter as I have already described in a previous story.

As a student, I was good at humanistic subjects, German in particular. I somehow muddled through geography and Russian and wasn't successful in math – a subject in which I lacked basic knowledge. One subject which I especially hated was Latin! But most of all, I couldn't tolerate the teacher who was an arrogant German officer and one of the few Gentiles who remained in our school after Germany's defeat.

He was a Prussian 'junker' who always wore officer's boots. When he took off his uniform, he continued his dictatorship in our class. His manner of teaching was condescending. He even slapped the students' faces but did not touch me – not out of kindness but due to absolute contempt. He might have heard something about me from the school's management and possibly decided to keep his distance from the 'cheeky Jew.'

After each lesson of Latin, I attempted to arouse my classmates to action. I claimed that the teacher had no right to physically punish sixth level students. “We must protest against the teacher and his shameful actions,” I vehemently preached. And little by little, my speeches took effect. The class somehow accepted my leadership and I only had to wait for the right moment which was soon in coming.

One morning our violent teacher failed to restrain himself. When checking the students' homework, he perused the notebook of one of my classmates named Kalverisky, the son of a well-to-do fur merchant in Kaunas. He was a quiet boy, slightly spoiled and not particulaly bright but he had a good reputation in class.

Unfortunately, the Latin teacher looked at the wrong page in Kalverisky's notebook. He stood up and slapped the boy's face. When the boy showed the right exercise, the teacher mumbled in German, 'Ach so,' (Ah, here it is) and turned to another student as if nothing had happened.

The boy returned to his seat with a disappointed look. The class became silent. All of a sudden, I raised my finger. “What is it?” asked the teacher. I stood up and said in correct German, “Sir, you forgot to apologize for the punishment which Kalverisky did not deserve. And besides, I do not think that you have the right to beat students in our level.” I then spoke to my fellow students in Yiddish and declared firmly, “We are leaving the class!” With those words, I walked to the door.

A few others rose and followed me energetically. Miraculously, the classroom became empty in a few minutes as the other students joined us in the yard. Two or three cowards remained but the teacher did not pay any attention to them. He stormed out of the class, passed our group without looking at us, and entered the management department.

“To the synagogue!” I exclaimed. We began to walk towards an old and neglected building in the vicinity of our school. Some of the boys were hesitant, others were excited as we filled one of the synagogue's rooms. More than seventy-five years have passed since that memorable incident and I still cannot understand the source of my courage.

I must give credit to two of my friends – Zevadia Levinson and Jacob Retzko. The first lived in Panmolis, a wealthy Kaunas suburb which was linked to the city by a shuttle. Zevadia, who came from a well-off family, always had pockets that were full of the coins he received from his caring mother. We stuck together from my first day in class. I even let him stay in my rented room from time to time, provided my landlady agreed to ignore the unknown tenant.

The other friend, Jacob, also originated from a well-established family and was not thrilled by school. So the three of us would miss some particularly boring classes and saunter to the Kapulsky Cafe where we devoured 'pirozhne' – absolutely delicious cakes.

We decided not to go back to school – either now or later. Our parents would not know! We agreed, instead, to continue our lessons when each subject would be taught by a student who was an expert in it. Thus, Jacob Dambo, a born mathematician, taught math; Jacob Sachs taught Latin and, or course, Israel Bernstein from Yorbourg conducted Russian classes.

It was my responsibility to teach Hebrew literature and the Bible, knowledge which I had gained at home. I had experience in teaching the subjects and had served as a private tutor. (The more renowned students of mine were Chief Justice Aharon

Barak's father who survived the Holocaust and became a successful economist in Jerusalem, as well as Michael, one of the famous Lithuanian Communist leaders, who was eliminated by Stalin in the years of terror.)

Having filled the teaching roles, we agreed to follow the rules and appear for the regular classes. It was not a planned riot but eventually we developed ideas which perfectly reflected the dilemma of Jewish youth in Lithuania at the time. It was a new trend in Jewish culture for it combined elements from the Orthodox religious tradition with the new wind of Zionism expressed by the Balfour Declaration.

The excitement quickly disapppeared and we had to find a place where we could organize our classes. My idea was the soup kitchen on Mapu Street 7, where one could find a basic meal for a symbolic price. Mrs. Verblovsky managed the place with two of her daughters and her older sister, who was my landlady. She cared for me like a mother and I believed she would not refuse the request.

We were faced with the difficult decision how to continue the rebellion. Someone suggested that we produce a document in German which would outline our reasons and demands. When the class dispersed, four of us were left: Jacob Sachs, Eliezer Leipziger, Mattiahu Arnovitz and myself. This group was supposed to write the decree whereas the others would sign it the next morning.

Since signing the decree could mean being expelled, our classmates' fear was understandable. So someone suggested a brilliant idea – the signatures would be in a circle so that there would not be first and last ones. I was given the privilege of writing the document. Some friends approved, others disapproved what I wrote.

It contained four demands:

- Teachers will use no physical punishment from the 5^th grade onward.

- Students will be allowed to sing 'HaTikvah' and other Zionist songs (which had been until then forbidden.)

- Students will be allowed to conduct a dance once a year with the participation of girls from the parallel class.

- No student will be punished for the rebellion.

We copied the text several times, drew a circle and left space for the other classmates to sign. The next morning virtually everyone turned up with a feeling of dignity and put his signature on the paper.

A suggestion was made to share our misfortunes with a member of the Parent's Committee. It was a good move as he was a gentle person who understood our feelings and even encouraged our struggle. Having calmed us down, he took the decree and presented it at the next meeting of the Committee. It turned out that the Headmaster had known about the Latin teacher and presumably made his decision for we never saw him again.

When on the morning my classmates turned up for the lessons conducted by their fellow students, I had a message to convey. “We must go back to school,” I said. “Dr. Deutschlander, a former German officer and a professional educator, is the new Headmaster.” As we later learned, Dr. Carlebach was about to leave Kaunas and to become Chief Rabbi of the Altona community in Germany.

I saw him again a few times but he never expressed a desire to talk to me even though he had heard about me from his colleagues. Dr. Deutschlander, however,

displayed some interest and sent me to teach in a small town during the summer holidays that year.

Five months remained until the end of the school year. The teachers pretended that nothing had happened but there was something in the air which signaled a change of attitude. Our Bible teacher, Rosenson, a young and likeable man, had revealed his Zionist ideas back in Carlebach's days and was not fired since he was the husband of Chief Rabbi Kook's daughter.

The regime of punishments left over from the German occupation period eventually disappeared and, in any case, the old-fashioned 'Carlebach method' was no longer popular in the city's Jewish community. Our childish rebellion had its practical effect for us but also symbolized the other impending upheavals in our school and community.

As for me, the event greatly increased my popularity. Many more people strove to be on friendly terms with me and I was invited to their homes.

But the peak was the dance at the end of the school year, when I finally received some attention from the girls. The 'flying post,' the then way of courting, brought quite a few notes in German and Hebrew addressed to me, some of them were signed, others weren't.

It was a good sign for the future.

From a Stool in a Tavern to a Zionist Stage

A gathering of Kupishok youngsters. A 16-year-old orphan, none other than myself, was standing on a stool speaking excitedly.

The meeting took place on a Saturday night in a tavern at Moshe's house, a teacher and merchant. His spacious home also served as a meeting room for German soldiers in the days of the Occupation (during World War One.) On Market Days, it was a tavern for Lithuanian peasants.

On that particular Saturday, the place turned into a general ideological assembly of two main streams. The first was the 'working class' as the left-wing partisans called themselves. They consisted of simple workers, craftsmen and some shop-keepers.

The other stream called itself the 'intelligentia' (although their rivals used to refer to them as the 'rotten' intelligentia.) These were the sons of the local bourgeois, merchants and religious officials (rabbis, slaughterers, cantors, and beadles.) Some of the latter discontinued their religious practices as a result of the upheavels during World War One: The expulsion of Jews from the border towns in Lithuania, the Russian Revolution, the fall of Germany, and the destruction of religious institutions including townships like Kupishok.

There was an atmosphere in the country of rebellion and liberation. Even the uneducated Lithuanians from the villages would gather at the local market place opposite our store and make patriotic speeches in favor of an independent Lithuania which had been enslaved for hundreds of years. So this was the general ambiance of the day. It obviously influenced the Jewish youngsters, mainly males at first, who also decided to hold a meeting at the local tavern.

I was usually quite shy and soft spoken with strangers but on this day I uncharacteristically climbed on a stool and produced my first public speech. Although I cannot remember the exact contents of the presentation, it seems that I supported the ideology of the intelligentia.

The different opinions were similar at the gathering since everyone spoke about the sunny future awaiting us, about liberty, enlightenment, and a better world. What I never forgot was the storming applause which accompanied me as I descended from the stool. On that day, my reputation as a speaker was born!

I must point out that during my early childhood when nobody was at home, I would wrap myself in my mother's headscarf as if it were a tallit and imitate wandering preachers, called 'Magid,' who used to give pious talks at the Mitnagdim synagogue. The preacher accompanied his speech with a heart-breaking tune and would tell the gathered crowd all sorts of stories, fables, and anecdotes. The listeners would place coins on the plate which stood at the entrance since the preacher was often extremely skillful, eloquent and either had a good voice himself or appeared in the company of a local boy who assisted him during the musical selections.

During my rehersals, I would try my hand both at preaching and singing and also invented stories, tremendously enjoying this solo appearance. But this was all a result of my childish mischief and playfulness. This time, however, I found myself on a real stage, albeit only a stool, with an audience in front of me. To this day, I haven's stopped speaking publicly although the thrill of it is partially lost as the years go by.

It was shortly after this memorable experience that my Zionist beliefs took shape and I turned into a well-known 'tribune' or to be precise 'tribune number 2' among Kupishok Zionists. I was not half as good as Yankel'e (Jacob) Hoffman, the youngest son of Getzil Hoffman, a flour merchant and an outstanding scholar who would eventually become a respected Zionist leader.

Yankel'e was near-sighted, with ginger colored hair, and charismatic since birth. He already had some pioneer experience behind him since in Russia he had been a member of the Zionist group called 'Mishmar HaVolga.' Until today, I am convinced that he was a born orator. When this competitor of mine left Kupishok for Eretz Israel, I naturally took his place as head of the big mouths in town.

During our turbulent youth, we used to organize cultural balls. A typical program consisted of a Zionist speech at the opening, songs, and readings in Yiddish and Hebrew. Then came the romantic correspondence called 'flying post,' where boys and girls would exchange anonymous letters, and finally dancing. At the end of the evening, the boys respectfully accompanied the girls home. If one happened to be lucky, he might even have succeeded at giving a girl a quick kiss. These were typical romantic evenings of the early twenties in Lithuania.

I was very involved in the organization of those evenings and would recite extracts from Bialik, Frishman, Frug and other Hebrew and Yiddish writers. I read with great excitement, often receiving loud applause from the audience. I even tried my luck in acting as well as in producing although the latter field was dominated by an old bachelor, named Hair Kreichek, who did not have good looks but possessed a great sense of humor.

The disease of public speaking got a firm hold on me even after I had left my hometown. Already in my first days at the Kaunas Gymnasium, I was noticed as a talker. There I had tough competition from my classmates. One of the best was Eliezer (Leizke) Leipziger from Yorbourg, the brother of Aliza Porat from Kibbutz Afikim. He was the same age, same height, and we looked like brothers. Leizke excelled at math and painting and possessed charismatic qualities. In the skill of oration, however, I perhaps surpassed him due to the comprehensive Jewish education I had received at home. Still, the girls preferred him!

During my university years in Kaunas, where I studied law and economics, I became increasingly involved in the Socialist-Zionist party. Eventually I took over the task of spreading the party's ideas to the provinces. Having gained some experience, I was often invited to various communities, travelling widely throughout the entire country on a voluntary basis. I even paid the expenses out of my own pocket as I couldn't think of deriving material benefits from sacred ideals.

I received the nickname 'Kraft' which meant 'strength' in German and Yiddish because of my ability to give impressive speeches that excited the listeners. I have often wondered about the secret of an orator's ability to thrill the hearts of his audience. What is the reason for that unseen link which is created between the speaker and the public? And how is it created?

A person might flatter himself foolishly but being liked by others is a subject that has not stopped troubling the mind of the social man. The impression a person makes on others has remained one of the most important aspects of life.

What was my secret? I have no intention whatsover of praising my talent as an orator who struck others with his eloquence or revolutionary speeches. Not at all! Not once did I bore my listeners chatting aimlessly about this and that. Moreover, I was never excited by my own presentations, exercised self-criticism, and tried to improve for the future.

I have never been fond of relying on a script. Instead, I tried to focus on someone in the audience and watch their reaction. That allowed me to assess the degree of interest among the listeners and only on a few occasions did I need an auxiliary sheet of paper.

More important than anything, however, was my unequivocal love for the people I spoke to and my strong belief in the ideology I represented. In my childhood, I was invariably attracted to people and to human matters. The education that I received at home was based on Habad Hassidism which was characterized by an extremely human approach to life.

Unfortunately, my father did not provide me with an insight into the sophisticated philosophy of Hassidism as it was formulated by the founder of Habad, Rabbi S. Zalman from Liadi. Not one single hour, among the numerous lessons I had with my father was dedicated to 'Tanya,' its central teachings. Instead, I had absorbed countless proverbs, cognitive stories, and colorful sayings which I used extensively in my speeches, preferring them to dry analytical explanations.

I have always felt that it was easier to speak to the hearts of an audience than to appeal to their intellect. The reason is simple: The human mind is structured to cope with intellectual challenges whereas the heart is open to emotions. It is enough for a speaker to show the audience his sincere affection for them and his desire to share this knowledge that the listeners will immediately react positively to the presentation.

There is nothing worse in public relations than telling the audience inaccurate information. The speaker's reliability is lost forever and any effort to correct the impression will be in vain. Knowing this, I have never separated myself from others; I mingled with everyone regardless of their age or status. The certain popularity which I have acquired over the years stems from this.

A few years after Lithuania attained independence, there was a sharp increase in Jewish awareness. Numerous Zionist organizations were established, conferences held and the Lithuanian Jewish community temporarily enjoyed some cultural freedom. The end of that short period marked the beginning of an era of hatred towards Jews and a drastic decline in economic well-being.

The reasons for this sudden alienation had always been present in Catholic countries in general and particularly in Lithuania. The fanatical priests considered Jews to the 'assassins of the Messiah,' and believed in the eternal curse of this people. The churches were constantly preaching against Jews by exploiting all the primitive accusations and blood libels. During Passover, the attacks would become particularly vicious using all the anti-semitic techniques, especially the one accusing Jews of using the blood of Christian children for the Matzot.

Although the libels had existed for a long time, the issue was now complicated by the fact that the Catholic fanatics received a majority in the Lithuanian parliamentary elections in 1917. They immediately embarked on limiting the opportunities of Jews in commerce, state offices, and the army.

Only due to our people's ability to cope with great difficulties, many nevertheless retained their positions as doctors, lawyers, engineers and scientists. They worked in conditons of constant persecution by their colleagues and youth who desired to occupy their places. That ''Lithuanian intelligentia'' was the one to collaborate with Nazi Germany during the Second World War in their horrible task of genocide.

In the 1920's, for reasons which have remained unclear to me, the Lithuanian government did not hurry to completely destroy the scheme of autonomous Jewish education although it used all possible techniques to limit it. During those years, about twenty Jewish secondary schools operated in the country providing thousands of Jewish students with high-quality education and a widely recognized diploma, which gave the Jewish teenagers the opportunity to enter university.

The only practical remnant of the long-discussed Jewish autonomy was the national Jewish education. It involved four years of primary education at the government's expense and another eight years in a 'Gymnasium.'

The students completed their education by taking matriculation exams, usually supervised by a superficial Lithuanian official. At that stage, most youth prepared to enroll in universities which were still liberal enough to accept Jewish students. Medical careers attracted dozens of applicants. Despite the tough entrance conditons, many Jews studied medicine.

The faculties of Law and Economics were another popular option among young and ambitious teenagers like myself. The rest received BA degrees in philosophy, history, mathematics and natural sciences. The result was an influx of highly educated Jewish students into a limited Lithuanian job market. This fact naturally aroused a great deal of frustration and anger among their Lithuanian peers who hated Jews even without having to compete with them.

In general, the situation was not favorable for young East-European Jews. Many of them began to search for immigration opportunities. There were the 'ideal' destinations like the United States. Because conditions were generally so difficult, even poor and devastated countries like Argentina, Mexico, Brazil and Paraguay seemed a possible destination.

Palestine was another possibility but it was problematic. Many felt a great deal of patriotism but the harsh life-style of pioneers and the seemingly incurable disease of unemployment was not particularly attractive for the ambitious white-collar professionals.

The publication of the Balfour Declaration provoked a great deal of excitement in many European Jewish communities. Some people even believed that Zion was finally revived by a supernatural force. Zionists attempted to attract settlers to the barren land and called for donations. Very few responded positively to the request although there were some emotional Jewish women who readily contributed their valuables to the Zionist enterprise. Alongside them, some impoverished home-owners also donated their last resources and finally there appeared young excited boys and girls willing to go to Palestine to build and to be rebuilt. The message of the kibbutz particularly impressed them and some made attempts to reach the Promised Land against all odds.

As for the well-off part of the Jewish population, very few gathered enough courage to make aliyah – the majority abstained from places with limited investment opportunities.

The British Mandatory Rule did not look forward to receiving new immigrants, gradually becoming more and more hostile to the building of a national Jewish homeland. Simultaneously, the nationalistic Arab movement did everything in order to torpedo the return of Jews to their historic land: The horrible bloodshed of the late 1920's in many Jewish settlements in Palestine provided the British with another 'good' reason to limit the return of Jews. All of these events together contributed somehow to the negative attitude of east-European Jews towards aliyah.

The appearance of Dr. Theodor Herzl caused a great deal of embarrassment for religious Jewry who awaited the Messiah, the Lord's messenger, to liberate them and bring them to Eretz Israel. They could never come to terms with an envoy in the form of a polished diplomat who was secular and ignorant in matters of faith. Traditional tales had predicted the arrival of the Messiah in various ways but none of them foretold of an Austrian journalist, unknown to his own people and famous among the Gentiles.

Naturallly, not all Orthodox rabbis openly criticized Zionism. They preached against the secular tendencies of contemporary Jewish society, against religious ignorance, and the mixture of boys and girls at public events. Still, generally speaking, the hearts of many of them were also directed towards Zion.

Quite a few rabbis declared themselves as Zionists, in particular the members of the newly established party 'Mizrachi,' which was under the aegis of Rabbi Jacob Reinish. As the leader of the Jewish community in Lida, he established a Zionist yeshiva which became very popular among the Jewish youth. His center succeeded in combining Torah learning with open support for Jewish settlers in Palestine.

Still, the vast majority of east-European rabbis did not back the Zionist enterprise although they expressed interest in everything that was happening in Palestine. They would listed attentively to the news and mourn those who perished there in the struggle for Jewish revival.

I must mention here a horrible story about my relative Rabbi Israel Noah Hetzkevitz, the rabbi of the Kupishok Habad community. Being a great scholar in the field of Jewish mysticism and Hassidic literature, he was involved in studies and community matters. Although the hot debate between Zionists and their opponents did not interest him, he was thirsty to hear any news about the pioneers and national rebuilding. He would yearn for the High Holidays when I used to visit my hometown and fill him in on all the news about Palestine. As a sign of gratitude, he sang some of his splendid Hassidic tunes at the end of our conversations and overwhelmed me with his immense spiritual wealth.

Adjacent to his house lived a 'Shabbat Goy,' the non-Jew who solved technical problems on Shabbat that Jews were forbidden to do. Many years later that same man spoke to Israeli visitors about the horrors of the Holocaust in Lithuania. He told them that the entire family was caught by the Germans and together with some other remaining Jews was put in the wooden town synagugue. The Nazis and their collaborators set the synagogue on fire with the people inside.

To everyone's astonishment, a voice was heard singing from within. It was one of the Sabbath tunes which the man had heard so many times from the Rabbi. It was the old Hassidic song composed by the Alter Rabbi Zalman, and is sung to this very day every Saturday and once a year on the 19^th of Kislev in his memory.

The Orthodox rabbis were not our main rivals in the struggle for Zionist ideals. We did not witness any fierce antagonism on their part; our differences of opinion were felt only in election propaganda. Even then, the argument did not go beyond agitated but civilized discussions. Our parents had the opportunity to enjoy the eloquent talk of their offspring who would constantly add some Biblical and Talmudic expressions to embellish their speeches.

Our real political enemies were the left-wing, anti-Zionists who increased Jewish autonomy in Lithuania with the foundation of schools in Yiddish, the unofficial Jewish language. Their success was limited to a number of primary schools with Yiddish as the language of instruction but they never outnumbered schools that taught in Hebrew.

Then there were the Jewish Communists and their supporters. They were a particularly hostile group who hated Zion and detested any attempt to build a national Jewish homeland in Palestine. The Communist Party was outlawed and anyone who was caught was sent to prison and savagely tortured.

Despite the efforts of Yudel Mark, a prominent educator whose ideology was split between a love for Israel and his belief in Yiddish as the Jewish unofficial language, his students turned into extremists. They were glad to hear any bad tidings about Palestine which proved their case. They would hold dozens of fanatical demonstrations all over Lithuania calling Jews to look for liberation in the Diaspora instead of distant Palestine where Jews persecuted poor Arabs living in their historic land. Jewish children, they screamed, should not be educated in the obsolete Hebrew but in Yiddish, the living and colorful language of Mendel'e 'Mocher Sforim,' Shalom Aleichem, I.L. Peretz and others. Regardless of whether they succeeded in elections, the Communists harmed the Zionist enterprise a great deal.

During the thirteen years of living and studying in Kaunas, I was active in local politics which combined my passion with my studies. In our socialist rigor, we even tried to teach the illiterate Lithuanian peasants by organizing secret talks in their villages explaining to the people their rights and calling for a united struggle against employers, most of whom were Jewish. We did not receive proper gratitude from our 'students' in the days of slaughter. They paid us with blood and smoke but this is a theme for a separate story. We may or may not have learned our lesson.

I might remind the reader of that talented 'ginger' boy whom I mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, Yankel'e (Jacob) Hoffman. He left Kupishok for Palestine but, as it later turned out, did not reach the Promised Land. He arrived in Paris and was fascinated by the Communist dream which occupied Paris at the time. Jacob held a leading position in the Communist movement and became a newspaper editor under the pseudonymn 'Spero.'

It so happened that in the 1950's I was invited by the French government to Paris as a specialist in bi-lingual education. I decided to meet Hoffman. After locating his address and telephone number, I called him and introduced myself. There was no excitement in his voice, and he refused to me. Nonetheless, I pressed on.

We met. Although we both had changed, we felt that our Kupishok past united us. He and I overcame the ideological barriers when we spoke of our childhood. He confided to me that Communism and all its high ideals were nothing in comparison to the strength of our Jewish roots, to good old Kupishok with its values and people where he would have loved to return to even for a minute. He had long before returned to Zionism in his heart, he said, but could not free himself from the obligations to his Party which was the source of his livelihood.

The above chapter is dedicated to my grandson Avi on his demobilization day.

Zionism on Wheels

The house of Beinish, the director of the Keren Kayemet office in Lithuania, was one of the households which was open to me in Kaunas. I cannot remember whether it was a friendship through my own merit or my sister Peska who was acquainted with some families during her activities at 'The National Committee'. In any case, I used to visit quite a few households of this sort in the course of my Zionist work in the city. Meanwhile, I acquired a certain status as a promising young Zionist, an exciting speaker at meetings and a generous contributor to national funds (when a coin was found in my pocket). Being an amicable partner in living-room conversations, possessing all the social graces of a young man and, above all, a bachelor. I was well-received at the Beinishes.

It was the time of the 1929 events is Palestine: Jew were massacred in Zefat and Hebron; there were bloody clashes in settlements, and the Mandatory Government continued its negative policy towards the National Home banning aliya and land purchases. After each conflict between Jews and Arabs, an objective investigation was underway but it heard mainly the Arab claims and there could be no illusions as to the final recommendations – always hostile towards the Zionist enterprise.

All of this served as a topic of endless conversations in Jewish households, mostly left-wing, i.e. Communist. The anti-Zionist Labor party (Bund) was not particularly active in the then Jewish Lithuania. The Lithuanian Communist party, invariably led by Jews, acted in conspiracy since the authorities forbade its existence; many of its members were arrested, thrown into prison and suffered from terrible torture. Consequently, these left-wing activists penetrated into anti-Zionist parties and became extremely popular there.

The general distress in Palestine served as oil on the lamp of the anti-Zionist camp. The national Party published a daily newspaper Folks Blat which fought against Zionism and the Hebrew movement in Lithuania. It even had a special correspondent in Palestine called Abba Goutass who was based in Haifa and each week produced a defamatory article about the situation there. The most unimportant incident was painted in the gloomiest possible colors. The anti-Zionist rejoiced at calamity, the Zionists were furious and denied the libels, where one word as most Jews were embarrassed and hoped for good news from the land of their dreams.

It is worth mentioning the phrase 'nothing will stand against money'. That same Abba Goutass, who slandered Zionism and caused such wrath and depression in the Diaspora, was no other than Leible Rabinovitz, a Haifa resident. Years later we met and became friends; he was a warm person, member of Haganah and brougt up his children in the best Zionist traditions. Not once did we talk about his evil correspondence and understood the suffering he went through when producing those shameful articles.

That was the state of affairs in the Zionist community of Kaunas in the days of the struggle for Jewish existence in Eretz Israel and the general cultural awakening in Eastern Europe. Lithuania was an integral part in the list of changes concerning the Jewish population and the future of our people was one of the major topics in the living room conversations of the time. We discussed all these matters endlessly during my Sabbath visits at the Beinishes.

During one of the debates, Mr. Beinish expressed his opinion about the poisonous Bundist propaganda and those words of his were to effect my life for the next few years. And this is what he said, “The nation is in turmoil and loses hope. The extremist left-wing propaganda is often successful and causes despair among Jewish youth. The Zionist movement seems to have lost its core with Herzl's death and cannot cope with the aggressive Bund on the one hand and the religious Orthodox on the other. The hatred towards Zion that both of them spread among the people shows itself in the income of Keren Kayemet, the Redeeming Fund. What we lack is a young Zionist acitivist with a sharp tongue who would go out to the most faraway villages and tell the Jewish people about the lofty activities of the Zionist movement. Despite all the attacks and difficulties, Jewish settlements in Palestine do make progress, each year more and more land is possessed by the pioneers either openly or secretly and the land of Israel is craving for working hands.”

At this point, Mr. Beinish got so excited by his speech that he turned to me directly and asked: “Actually, Shlomo, why don't you fulfill this task? You have just returned to Kaunas from the post of headmaster in Neishtot and intend to embark on building your reputation as an independent lawyer. Several years will pass until matters have been settled and you open your office. So why not accept my offer at this tough tome for Zionism? I am looking for a 'propagator' who will travel around rural Lithuania and get the message of Keren Kayemet across to the nation. I am familiar with your abilities and think the mission is built for you. Come to my office tomorrow and we will see how this idea can take shape.”

Those words fell on fertile soil indeed; I loved being on a stage and had a few successful presentations on my record. I hadn't yet finished all the bureaucratic arrangements which preceded the official lawyer's license. I had saved some money in Neishtot in spite of my extravagant lifestyle but still needed more in order to rent an office. Moreover, I had no particular desire to look for a job in somebody else's office, neither did I want to remain in the realm of teaching, nor did I have any family obligations. Going back to Kupishok did not occur to me and, thus, the idea took shape and I accepted the offer.

Until today I cannot remember whether the enterprise was purely voluntary as during my previous Zionist activities or was it for a symbolic salary. I was promised to be reimbursed for travelling expenses and was thoroughly instructed by Beinish, who was acquainted with the smallest corners in Lithuania. He reminded me of the famous notebook of Menahem Mendel from the stories of Shalom Aleichem. I also organized a notebook for myself and included there all the possible details about my destinations: Names of local activists and the address of the person responsible for Keren Kayemet donations. In addition, I was equipped with brief information about the leaders of communities, rabbis and their attitude towards Zionism, youth movements, school headmasters and details of just righteous Jews.

Dressed up in an impressive fur coat (used, but in good condition), which I purchased for the occasion, fur hat to prevent freezing in snowy Lithuanian forests, two large suitcases full of books (my custom since boyhood) and various brochures of Zionist propaganda, I was ready! Obviously, I didn't forget the photo album, an effective method during meetings with youngsters, especially Jewish girls who got stuck in the provinces, whereas their heart longed for a more active life. In other words, all was prepared for the yourney.

My future destiny did not prevent me from travelling, mainly educational missions in the Diaspora. I invariably did my utmost not to disappoint either those who sent me or the Jewish public I reached. However, the impressions of all those trips could never be compared with the experiences of that memorable Keren Kayemet tour. I do not exaggerate if I say that some fresh Zionist spirit was then blown into the dry bones of Lithuanian Jewry before the great destruction.

Some sixty-four years that have passed since then have not darkened my sheer excitement at the offer of Mr. Beinish.

One Saturday morning my friends and I attended an anti-Zionist gathering which shocked us tremendously. It took place in a hall opposite the City Garden in Kaunas and the topic was 'The Zionist Disappointment', the lecturer being one of the most talented and sharp-tongued anti-Zionist speakers of the time. His name has unfortunately escaped from my memory but I perfectly remember his eloquent highbrow Yiddish, yet with a lot of colloquial expressions. He did not bless the pogroms in Palestine, did not rejoice at calamity as his fellow Bundists and Communists. He even found a few good words for the young idealistic pioneers who risked their lives for the sake of a dream invented by their leaders.

These 'Dortikes' (from the German 'dort' which means 'there' in contrast to 'Doykes', who believed the solution of the Jewish problem is 'here' in the Diaspora) did not understand that the Jewish minority had the future of a cultural autonomy in the more and more liberal Europe. He spoke to us in a condescending tone and described the hars reality of Palestine full of aggressive Arab extremists. “Who can ever cope with them?” he asked. “That land is in barren, the Mandatory rule betrayed the idea of national Home, closed the gate in front of the Zionists, etc.”

“Eighteen million Jews” he went on “the choicest and best of contemporary humanity have the opportunity of being a respectable minority wherever they choose. It will be a minority linked to the rest of the Jewish nation by common cultural values in the national Yiddish language and a prosperous Jewish life. True, some outstanding pieces were written in the Holy Tongue but what does the Judaism of tomorrow and the obsolete language have in common?”

It was an impeccable lecture indeed, spiced with fables and jokes, based on facts and numbers. Our group, who deliberately occupied the gallery in order to disturb the hostile speaker, was spellbound by the lecturer's words lacking any provocation or hatred. The stormy applause depressed us greatly and we left the hall quietly and frustrated. The speech came as a blow! At the Beinish's on Saturday, they had discussed the sad situation Zionism was in among the provincial Jews. The lecture confirmed this viewpoint.

Having served as a teacher and youth guide in several towns around Lithuania, I felt deeply involved in the Zionist struggle for the soul of youngsters. An enthusiastic young man as I was, I could not ignore the political arguments that arose. In the capital, however, the situation was different. During the seven years of my absence from Kaunas some new speakers had flourished and only a few of them remembered me on my return. I felt strange and alienated.

At moments of confusion, I tried to keep Zionist ideas out of my thoughts and concentrate on the law career which awaited me. Some of my acquaintances left for Palestine and thus realized their dream. One of them was Jacob Abel, a close friend of mine, whom I was often in touch with. At the same time, I applied to a relative of mine, the famous writer Alter Droyanov, author of the book “The Joke and Sarcasm”, who cooled my enthusiasm.

I was to visit virtually all Jewish towns according to the following schedule:

Weekends at larger cities, weekdays in towns and villages.

Transportation in the Lithuania of the early 30's was most primitive, one national railway track with a few branches crossing the entire country from East to West. Many towns were at quite a distance from the main road and could be reached only by coach. Buses almost didn't exist at the time so I traveled by rented coaches which often provided me with a bit of adventure.

On trains I met all sorts of people; during coach trips I enjoyed the fabulous forest views and breathed the fresh frosty air.

Normally I tried to reach my destination in the afternoon. There I was expected by the Keren Kayemet representative and a few Zionist activists, usually youngsters. After the initial meeting with the local community, I was led to a small hotel where I had a short rest before the evening speech at the synagogue or a special hall.

My speeches were long enough to satisfy those seeking new ideas and hope which was important in may folorn communities. Some of the talks continued for two to three hours spiced wit Biblical verses, sayings of our Sages, and Zionist songs. All in all, I succeeded in exciting the audience. Applause was not practised in synagogues so the talk was followed by a Kaddish DeRabanan prayer, the traditional custom of the community. The more liberal congregations allowed women to listen to the speech with men as if it were Simcha Torah festival; there were others who insisted on strict division. In the latter case, the girls approached the men after the program and joined them on the way home, with me leading the procession.

A delicious meal awaited me at my host's and served as a break between the official presentation and meeting with the youth which took place later in the evening.

Those spontaneous Zionist evenings became more and more exciting from place to place and there was no limit to our exhilaration.

The gentle twilight under the summer sky or even the warmth of a hall in the winter added to the feelings of togetherness and inspiration for a better future. Everyone felt delighted to escape for an hour from dark reality to the world of dreams and hopes. With the youngsters as with the adults, there was an exchange of opinions and ideas until we reached the main part. And that was the happy Zionist songs; also Hassidic tunes and Yiddish folk-songs were equally welcome. In every community there were men and women with good voices who kindly agreed to lead the public singing which continued until very late.

My departure was a difficult experience for all of us. For about a year, I rushed from one township to another and thus visited dozens of them.

A Zionist Sermon at Dawn

In the State of Lithuania, which gained its independence immediately after the First World War, there were about a quarter of a million Jews. The Jews of Lithuania had been renowned for their love of Torah, prominent and wise religious leaders deeply attached to Jewish heritage, and the hope for redemption.

The soil was poor as were its Jews. They were settled in hundreds of large and small communities earning their living by hard labor. Only a few of them achieved an adequate economic status. The vast majority of the Jews worked in trade and commerce trying to keep their and their families heads above water. The Balfour Declaration of 1917 and the news of young energetic people building our homeland excited the members of these communities.

Our longing for Zion was engraved in our hearts from childhood. Each person absorbed this attachment to Judaism from Biblical stories, Sages, tales, sermons of story-tellers and the Zionist enlightenment of the previous generations. Zionist envoys who reached Lithuania after a long journey from Palestine were warmly received by their brothers in the Diaspora. If he was a young person, he would find himself among his local peers who were thirsty to hear what the envoy had to say. The youngsters clung to him, organized parties in his honor, and they were elated by the good tidings from Eretz Israel.

If he was an adult, he enjoyed the hospitality of the middle-class Zionist members and was respectfully invited to the synagogue where he would give a speech to the congregation, informing them about the various events in the Land of Israel, about the brave actions of the pioneers ploughing the tough soil, about the Hebrew speaking guards whose weapons were on the ready against anyone intending to disturb the well-being of the pioneers.

As the guest departed, he would leave some Israeli songs and melodies behind which were happily sung by the youth. These songs aroused a great deal of emotion among the members of the community since they concerned the country of their eternal dreams. As a matter of fact, the envoys did not always arrive from Palestine itself. Occasionally, they happened to be the local Zionists who were talented orators who volunteered to make their contribution as well.

After the bloodshed of 1929 in Palestine, deep sorrow descended on the Jews

of Lithuania whose eyes were directed towards Zion. The victims of violence in Hebron, Zefat and other places; the helplessness of the British mandatory rulers in defending the settlements; the anti-Jewish sentiment which was frequently expressed by British officers – all this depressed the Jews in the Diaspora who were extremely sensitive to whatever occurred.

A number of students who studied at the University of Kaunas joined the army of Zionist envoys at that difficult time.

It was a Thursday. The young activist hired a coach in order to go to one of the remote towns in the thick forests. All the residents of that area earned their living from a variety of forest trades: Lumberjacks, wood experts, and the agents and owners of carts who brought the products to the place for distribution. The work was extremely hard and not very profitable either. The workers who were both Jews and Christians carried their burden, desperately trying to make ends meet.

Before he arrived, the head of the Jewish community had prepared the groundwork for the envoy's visit. The members had been waiting for the Zionist representative. Like in many other places which he had visited before, he stayed at the house of the community leader. After an hour's rest, the emissary would head for the synagogue where his listeners would be awaiting him after a day of hard work, eager to hear what he had to say. The next morning, the visitor would awake early and proceed to the Jewish community nearby where he would spend an enjoyable Sabbath.

It so happened that one cold Thursday my hopes were dashed! All of a sudden a heavy snow storm started. The harsh wind was blowing large heaps of snow into the air; the tracks from the horse had disappeared. The wretched animal was trying its best to struggle against the weather. I found myself inside a deep forest where no way out could be discerned. The curses of the driver did not improve the state of affairs, neither did his nervous hits on the thin back of the horse. The peasant was irritated by everything and obviously by the fact that the bloody Jew had talked him into the risky enterprise of going through the storm. There was no point in argueing with him.

I wrapped myself into my long fur coat and patiently waited for the end of the storm. The day is long, I calmed myself, and I will reach my destination before dusk. However, the wind grew stronger and apparently the storm was going to continue. Hours rolled by and the wintry sun began to set.

My serenity enraged the coachman who began telling all sorts of horror stories about predator wolves and forest robbers. These stories obviously were not particularly encouraging but they were the least of my troubles. What will happen to my mission in the community was the main reason for this anxiety. Night was approaching rapidly and the Jews were waiting for my arrival. As a matter of fact, not all volunteers among the students were excited by the opportunity to spend their time in some forsaken hole but I understood the importance of my duty and was not frightened by wolves or robbers.

Darkness descended on the forest. I knew from experience of traveling that as dusk fell it would be easier to see houses since they were lit. On the other hand, there was no guarantee that we would reach the right town. It was clear that I wouldn't get there on time. The following day, Friday, I was supposed to be in a different town with a larger community where I would spend the Sabbath eve.

At a very late hour, we finally arrived at the house of the local Zionist leader. Although most of the people of the town had already sunk into a deep sleep after the long working day, a few had remained awake and they were sitting inside worried about the envoy who had gotten lost.

As the 'lad from the center' stepped in, the household became jubilant. Hot tea was ready in a minute's time; the long-expected guest drank some anti-cold syrup. Large amounts of previously cooked dishes were put on the table. Hearing the noise, the older kids woke up and their bodies appeared from the beds in the corner. Their curious eyes were directed towards me, who was apologizing for the inconvenience caused by the storm.

“Oh, it's just as well,” said the host, “as tomorrow is the Sabbath, you will have a good rest. We will be delighted to have such a respectable visitor here. There will be no end to the excitement of our congregation which is invariably deprived of a proper Sabbath cultural activity, especially of a speech given by a Zionist activist.”

I felt that the misunderstanding should be cleared up and explained that I had to be on my way to another community the next morning. The host and his fellow activists started to ask for mercy. “Don't deprive us of the pleasure of having you here for the Sabbath. The Jews of this town hardly survive. The poverty is unbearable, the families are large, and some even suffer from lack of food. Despite all the difficulties, they are not short-armed and donate a bit of money to the Jewish settlements in Palestine. The news about your arrival has spread over the town. People spent an hour waiting for you after the evening prayer and dispersed with great sorrow. If they find out that you had been in town and we let you go, they would eat us alive!”

All that was undoubtedly reasonable but the schedule could not be changed. It actually was the activist's wife who made a suggestion. She saw that the dispute had gone too far and her husband had become more and more disheartened, so she hesitantly said, “Maybe we should leave our guest for an hour's rest. In the meantime, we can gather the crowd.” Her husband signed and thoughfully responded, “It is almost midnight and everyone is already in bed.” His wife insisted, “We don't enjoy such visits every day. The public will never forgive you when it turns out that the envoy was in town and not everyone met him. You'd better let people know and whether to come or not is their problem. Let's go and wake up the synagogue attendant; he should open the doors and light the heater.”

As she was talking, she got dressed into winter clothing which was hanging on a nail. That probably persuaded her husband and he joined her. The other people in the room left the house in order to interrupt the sleep of the local Jews. I was the only one left in the room and fell asleep at once, though not for long. About an hour later, a freezing wind burst into the room and I was up. It was the young people who were sent to accompany me to the synagogue.

My entourage and I entered the synagogue. Two candles were lit and burned steadily. They produced very subtle light which allowed me to see several bearded men sitting around the table with their heads resting on their folded arms. Loud snores filled the room.

A number of young community members were huddled in the corner. A group of girls were sitting in front of them wearing large headscarves, their eyes filled with expectations. Some of the people raised their heads and smiled at me.

One of the community leaders opened the proceedings with several general blessings and told the people about the tribulations of my trip. He praised my perseverance in fulfilling the Zionist mission against all odds. The speaker finished and I stood up in order to give my speech.

There was something amazing about that room. It was in semi-darkness and the shadows of the people standing or sitting were moving slightly as a result of every little movement in the audience. That bizarre atmosphere puzzled me and my talk was a bit quiet and I even stammered.

But when I mentioned Eretz Israel, I recalled the miraculous deeds of the pioneers. I imagined those morally strong people defending their towns and villages and my voice was restored to its formidable power. At once, my brain was full of verses, tales and stories since I felt as if I had just left the settlements in Judea and the

kibbutzim in the Jezre'el Valley in order to tell that frozen Jewish community about the heroism of the pioneers.

My words were encouraging but did not involve any euphoria. Eretz Israel expects her sons to return back to its borders and the nation must prepare the ground for newcomers. The pioneers are building cities and villages thinking that their brethren in the Diaspora will provide the material and bricks for the future buildings. I touched on many other topics using some humorous remarks and unusual stories. The tense atmosphere in the room lessened and the people were captured by the speech.

I spoke with my heart and the listeners felt it despite their sleepy mood. Not all of my eloquent speech was clear to the listeners but it made them feel proud and they sat up and straightened their backs!

The speech lasted for quite a long time as speeches always did in Lithuania where audiences loved to listen to more and more. The congregation was overjoyed to hear about the Jewish shepherds in the Homeland. It seemed to them that Jacob and Rachel had stepped out of the Torah and walked on the Holy Land. They loved to hear about the big city, Tel-Aviv, whose policemen and judges were Jewish and Jews walked there without any fear.

The sounds of roosters crowing reminded me that dawn was approaching and the people didn't even have time to rest before the working day began. I ended the speech with a lovely story and finished with the verse from the Torah, “The one who comes to Zion brings the redemption closer” (free translation.) The synagogue attendant said “Kaddish DeRabanan” and as he finished the last sentence, the youngsters in the corner sprang to their feet and began to sing 'HaTikvah.' The older generation did not quite understand the meaning of the words but everyone in the room knew that something significant happened in their empty lives that night.

The public returned home in order to start a new day which was breaking from behind the heavy clouds that covered the frozen land.

Many years later the envoy came to the Land of Israel. When I have plunged into my memories of those turbulent times, I have always been deeply touched by this extraordinary story.

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