A Yiddishe Tate
(A Jewish Father)

This phrase is not as renowned as the phrase 'A Yiddishe Mame' (a Jewish mother) which became popular due to the American song.

The Jewish mother has always been the symbol for self sacrifice – giving of herself for the sake of her children's well-being and happiness. She was rewarded with a song that became a hit. The most popular singers, Jews and non-Jews alike, sang it all over the world. Is the love of a Jewish mother more passionate than that of an Italian, Arab or English one? I just don't know.

The Jewish experience has confronted the Jewish mother with such exclusive experiences that they merit research of their own. However, there is no similar phrase for a Jewish father who illustrates his devotion to his offspring.

In 1930, I embarked on a Zionist mission under the auspices of Keren Kayemet LeIsrael (KKL.) My task involved reaching out to Jews in various Lithuanian townships in order to revive their faith in modern Zionism, a faith that was weakened after the appalling massacre of Jews by Arabs in 1929.

Among the towns included on my list was a remote place called Salant, a township in upper Lithuania which was known in the Jewish world for its Rabbi, Israel Salanter, who founded a stream of spiritual Judaism called Mussar, meaning moralism. His followers, called 'Mussarniks,' excelled not only in their studies but also in their elevated moral behavior. Therefore, I was particularly curious when I noticed Salant on my list of destinations.

A Lithuanian Jew like me invariably breathing in the aura of Torah and Hassidism in childhood could not remain indifferent to a visit to the cradle of the Mussar movement, even though I had abandoned their teachings. But to my regret, I was disappointed by the reception I received in the town.

Normally, the Zionist activities, i.e. the activities of the KKL, were entrusted to the local youth, in particular to the excited and lively girls who took care of the guest. The envoy's name usually reached the destination before his arrival. A letter was sent from the Zionist center in Kaunas depicting the upcoming speaker with unlimited praise and appreciation. This was not the case in Salant.

The promoter, a volunteer who was responsible for KKL donations, was an established individual Jew busy with his work and family. Upon my arrival, he received me amicably at his store, while negotiating prices with his customers at the same time. He then directed me and the coachman to our accommodations, where I would eat and rest after the long journey, one full of broken roads. According to the promoter, I would give my speech later in the evening following Mincha when I would then meet with the local Jewish community.

Everything went according to plan. I reached my accommodations, went upstairs and found myself in a small room with a cozy bed, pillows and warm blankets. I was offered a substantial meal resembling one for the Sabbath, although it was only a regular weekday. It included chopped liver, a plate of a greasy boullion with floating 'eyes' of fat, a quarter of a well-cooked goose and a fruit salad for dessert. The ambience was extremely hospitable but I kept wondering where the active and excited youngsters were. Either they did not exist in Salant or possible would come later.

Having devoured the delicious meal, I sank onto a comfortable featherbed and took a refreshing nap. When I woke up, I felt as if I were born anew. I felt refreshed and energetic. A large wash-tub near the opposite wall and a piece of soap and towel caught my eye. After I had changed my clothes, I sat down to have a look at the numerous brochures, newspaper clippings and other auxiliary material that served me during these Zionist missions. Basically, I knew the entire program by heart but, as the Sages say, “A prayer said one hundred times is different when said the 101^st time.”

In reality, the success of a speech depends on the mood of the speaker and the way he expresses himself. Most of all it depends on luck, as do so many other things. If a speaker creates an atmosphere of ease and social comfort, he will enjoy agreement and positive feedback. In this case, the speech usually flows by itself. I suppose that the key to success in public presentations is the emotional aspect. Information should come from the heart and be directed to the heart of the listener.

I was not afraid of failure. And I was not familiar with stage fright since I believed in Eretz Israel then and I still believe in it today! The more I have had the opportunity to know the simple people, the ones we used to snub, the better I understood that the shopkeepers represented the Jewish nation in the Diaspora. I felt that I had come from among the people and was now sent to encourage them, to strengthen them, to open their eyes to reality, and urge them to change their way of life.

I was sitting in the room, looking forward to seeing the activitists who would accompany me to the synagogue where I was supposed to give a speech. The promoter and two other Zionists arrived. I remember neither their faces nor personalities. It seemed that Salant was not a Zionist center in the way that other towns were, although it was not anti-Zionist either. It was a perfect example of a Lithuanian town which worried about financial survival and believed in miracles.

On my way to the synagogue, I learned that because of a request from the 'Gabbai,' my presentation was postponed until the end of the Maariv prayer. Why? The official explanation given to be was because they didn't want me to have a time limit. This excuse was convincing enough since in those days Jewish speakers were not limited in time like today. On the contrary, the speaker could ramble on endlessly. So anyone who made an effort to speak before the evening prayer was extremely welcome since he saved the congregation from an enormous waste of time and ensured the proper audience for the guest speaker. As he was not a rabbi, he had no intention to return the hearts of the listeners back to commandments and good deeds.

Naturally, a legitimate question arose: What connection does he have with the synagogue? The reason for the envoy's presence was the new direction of Judaism in Lithuania. It was called Zionism.

In reality, not just any Zionist speaker received permission of the local rabbi to speak in the synagogue. But since it had been granted, there was no better time than before Mincha or between Mincha and Maariv. Invariably, some would grumble about the new idea, others would accept it with an open mind. There was no choice – new times, new tunes.

Before the evening prayer was supposed to start, the speaker would finish his presentation and everything would end calmly. It didn't matter to me whether I spoke before or after Maariv. The hosts hurried to assure me that whatever the reason for the delay, it would work out fine. They repeated that I would not have any time limit. Those who remained after the prayer would be willing to hear what I had to say about Eretz Israel and the economic and political situation in Palestine. I could speak as long as I wanted and the longer the better. Having no choice, I accepted the sketchy explanation.

The man who told me about the postponement of my speech hinted that the local activists were not being idle. Three of them went house-to-house inviting the audience to the synagogue. They promised that the guest speaker was worth listening to.

We reached the synagogue shortly before the evening prayer. Scattered about were a few Jews sitting, reciting the Psalms. Several others were spread over the room reading in solitude. The entire house sank in the dusk.

The rabbi was sitting in the corner near the Holy Ark with a large book of Gemara open in front of him. My host led me closer to the Rabbi in order to greet him. The Rabbi measured me with an inquisitive eye, as if asking, “What kind of speaker is this?” True to my nature, I found several appropriate words in order to open the conversation with the Rabbi who apparently was not excited by Zionist ideas as many of his contemporaries were. Still, he did not reveal hostility towards Zionist activists. Perhaps the polite sentences of mine succeeded in warming up the atmosphere since the Rabbi shut the book and, to my delight, began a conversation.

As we were chatting, my eyes did not stop wandering about the hall. It seemed that there were only about twenty people. Who could guarantee that even those few did not intend to slip off after the prayer and head for their home and Shabbat meals? I feared having to remain with a bunch of depressed Zionists full of sadness and frustration.

Meanwhile, the Psalm readers finished and the synagogue attendant knocked on the table marking the beginning of Maariv. The Rabbi, his eyes closed, opend the prayer with vigor. The congregation followed. I also behaved piously, directing my face to the wall and praying. As the Service progressed, I contemplated the splendor of Jewish prayers.

After the prayers finished, I turned to the audience. The synagogue was slowly becoming packed. The efforts of the local Zionists were not in vain. Dozens of men and women had already managed to return home, grab a quick bite to eat, and hastened to the synagogue where the 'eloquent Zionist speaker' was supposed to 'preach.'

The younger members of the congregation thrust themselves forward and immediately caught sight of me. From that minute on, I was inundated with warmth. The synagogue attendant introduced me to the public and gave me a slight push with his elbow towards the small stage near the Holy Ark. Although my pockets were

filled with notes and the summary of my speech, I did not use them. I knew that the audience was under my control. It was entertaining seeing the embarrassed Rabbi who earlier had apologized to me for having to return home but who now stayed on, not moving.

Perhaps I was influenced by the spirit of Rabbi Israel Salanter because I talked for about three hours making good use of all the oratory techniques which I had adopted during my countless presentations. I had an attentive audience and spoiled them with spot-on sages sayings, jokes, tales, Bialik verses and Ahad HaAm's extracts.

The congregation grew larger and larger. Some of the listeners had possibly run home to fetch their neighbors and family members to hear the excited Zionist orator. As I ended the speech with the “Vision of the Dry Bones” by Ezekiel, I was surrounded by jubilant listeners congratulating me and shaking my hand. I noticd one man among the exhilarated public who attempted to get closer to me but hesitated.

I was beginning to feel worn out by the strenuous speech and welcomed being taken care of by my hostess. She approached and said that a hot dinner was awaiting me. I was accompanied to my accommodations by several people who parted with compliments and handshakes.

The meal was superb. Having devoured it, I laid down to sleep. All of a sudden I heard a slight knock on the door. When it opened, I recognized the man who had captured my attention in the synagogue. I smiled at him but he was standing stiffly. He was pale and breathed heavily.“You are not well, are you?” I said. I offered him a chair and he sat down with an apologetic smile. “I was running in order to reach you before you went to bed, and then this asthma of mine!”

“You don't have to justify your visit. On the contrary, I am most delighted to have company for the evening since I have a couple of questions to ask you about your renowned town. But as I can see, you have a different matter to discuss, so go ahead.”

We continued to chat about this and that because I wanted him to eliminate his shyness. When we began drinking tea, I said, “It is not nice for a person to talk about himself,” I started, “but as the Sages say, 'When people do not know who you are, you are allowed to say that you are a wise student.' You probably do not know but my livelihood is not based on Zionist speeches. I am a lawyer and work as an assistant to an established solicitor in Kaunas who transfers complicated cases to me. I guess that you have some sort of sadness on your mind, so please feel free to tell me about it. If I am competent enough to give you advice, I will give it. If not, I know how to keep secrets because of my nature and the profession I chose.”

The ice was broken! The man sat comfortably and thanked me for my gentle approach. “I have made a stupid mistake,” he said, “and I now don't know how to get out of it.” I asked, “But what is your mistake exactly?”

“I have come here to match you with my daughter,” he pronounced finally. “She studies at the conservatory. You see, I was deeply impressed by your exhalted speech at the synagogue. What spirit! What prominence! You were beaming with hope and confidence, so I thought such a beautiful soul like my daughter deserved a husband like you. She too is hoping to go to Palestine one day and to teach Jewish children to play the piano. I know you are about to leave tomorrow, but I feared that I would lose this rare opportunity which my daughter's destiny might depend on.”

In virtually every town I reached, there were many transparent hints on the parents' part or the young lady herself offering a tour around the town's sites, forests and lakes. All of this was part of the general matchmaking effort of Jewish families. Nonetheless, there was something quite extraordinary going on now. The father's choice was based mainly on his strong belief in Zionism.

Actually, he came from a famous Zionist family. I realized that it was necessary to compensate him for his efforts and I could not give a straight-forward negative answer. I was glad to learn that there was a small bottle of wine which was kept for guests. I poured a bit for both of us to dilute the slightly tense atmosphere.

I then confessed that I had already been matched with a relative of mine when we were both in the cradle. It was not a lie. As a matter of fact, at the time, I was becoming interested in my cousin who years later perished in the Holocaust with all of her family.

The father spoke a great deal about his talented offspring who was invited to Leipzig by her relatives in Germany and currently studied at the conservatory there. Little by little, he acquired confidence. Even though nothing practical came out of his visit, we conversed about our families, life in general, and the opportunities for his daughter in Palestine. He modestly mentioned his brother who was a famous Jewish leader in Europe.

We discussed the crisis of the Zionist movement and the tensions between secular and religious Zionism which did not enjoy great support among religious Jewry. He was a clever person; our conversation was flowing smoothly and the poor matchmaking attempt was forgotten.

Dawn was penetrating through the darkness when I saw my visitor down the narrow stairs leading from my room. I invited him to Kaunas and said that I would be happy to meet his daughter one day.

When I sank onto my cozy bed that night, I thought that only a longing for Zion could inspire a Jewish father to overcome his self-respect and shyness by believing that his beloved dauighter could not expect more from her life than having an eloquent Zionist speaker as a spouse.

The Five Torah Cities

Prologue:

It is necessary to include this story of the Five Torah Cities where I served as an official Hebrew teacher. In the course of my other stories, I obviously repeated my adventures but repetition is the way of the elderly so why should I be an exception to the rule? I hope the reader will forgive me. My impaired sight prevents me from reading my manuscripts.

It's important to remember that all those Jacob's communities have since then been massacred by the Nazi monsters and their Lithuanian assistants. The latter were extremely efficient in their work; not only did they murder thousands of innocent people but also saw to it that no remainder of the glorious Jewish tradition would be left in their country. Nothing remains: Neither graves nor monuments nor memorials.

It is therefore vital that we remember each Jewish name and institution which can add to our better understanding of the way of life that is gone forever. The decades that separate us from those events will surely add a special flavor to these stories.

These are the five towns:

• Kupishok, my home town where I worked as a teacher for two years in 1918 and 1919.
• Neishtot-Sugint, near Tavrig, where I taught for three months during the summer holidays in 1920.
• Kretingen, a border town near Klaipeda, where I worked for one academic year in 1924.
• Wilkomir, a county center, where I taught for two years from 1925-1927.
• Neishtot-Shirvint, near Shaki, where I both taught and managed a school from 1927-1930.

Each community has its story – in my community, the story is about a 'Melamed' – Meir Kodesh, my beloved father, may his memory be blessed, who loved his students and did everything to bring them closer to Torah and the Hebrew language – subjects about which he had profound knowledge. He possessed special methods to impart the love for Torah learning. He did not conceal his anger when it came to mischievous students but, all the same, he treated them with respect.

My father arranged a suitable learning environment – a separate wing of our house was dedicated purely to heder – the traditional Jewish school for boys between the ages of 7 and 13. My father accepted twenty-five students only and divided them into two groups studying in adjacent rooms.

In the first room sat thirteen pupils who studied Torah and Hebrew (reading and writing.) The other room housed those pupils who were already at the level of the prophets and Gemara learning, including Hebrew at a more advanced level. They learned to read the Bible with proper intonation as well as Hebrew books for children found in the heder's library. It was a great innovation to teach children fluent

Hebrew reading and they enjoyed such series as 'Perachim' (flowers), 'Nitzanim' (buds), and various tales.

The person who supplied the brochures and books was my elder brother, Shmuel (or Samuel.) He lived in Vilnius at the time, to dad's disappointment. He had left the modern Lida yeshiva of the Zionist Rabbi Reinish and now tried to make ends meet in the capital. The material he sent was stored in a special bookcase at heder. On Shabbat eve, every student would receive a brochure for reading at home during the weekend.

This was the pedagogic ambience in which I grew up. Dad loved speaking Hebrew with his Ashkenazi pronunciation. Being the youngest member of the family, I was deeply attached to him during the fourteen years of my life at home. At least twice a weeek, he would take me for a walk in the fields between the afternoon and evening prayers. Those hours were devoted purely to Hebrew speech and my father vigorously preserved that tradition even at the time of the German occupation.

Kupishok was conquered by the Germans in a fierce battle one year after the war began. The occupation lasted for three years and ended with the defeat of Germany and its withdrawl from Lithuania. Later, in 1917, the enormous Russian empire was swept away in the whirlpool of the October Revolution. The Czar was overthrown and the country drowned in blood and red terror. Lithuania was later to become a Soviet republic – one of those formerly independent states which were enslaved by the Communist regime for many years thereafter.

For the sake of historical truth, I must point out that my first teaching experience coincided with my first days of being an orphan. It happened after my father returned his soul to the Creator in April 1918. His death occurred some hours before a heavy curfew was imposed by the Germans so the burial ceremony had to be done in haste. The few people who made the procession walked up the steep road to the cemetery.

I, a 14-year-old, was brought there by a side-road since, according to an old Jewish custom, an orphan must be prevented from mingling with the funeral procession of his father.

Having walked a fair distance with Tuvia, the tanner, he suddenly turned to me and said, “Shlomo, your righteous father has died. The Lord will console you one day but what about us? Who will read the daily Gemara page with us between Mincha and Maariv? We are ignorant but thirsty to learn. It occurred to me that when you have finished the 'Shiva,' you could replace your father as our guide at the synagogue.”

It so happened that Tuvia's words came true. And, indeed, at the age of fourteen, I was already quite knowledgeable in matters of faith since my father had taken good care of my education.

I did not have a particular fear of any audience nor did the daily Gemara page frighten me so I accepted the offer. What was much more surprising was the consoling visit of the German educational supervisor – 'schulbesirks inspektor' – who had respected my father tremendously. Having said some polite words about his virtues and his teaching talent, the inspector stunned me with an unusual request: To take over my father's post at the local Jewish school in Kupishok. He suggested to pay me the salary of my father (twenty marks a month – quite a sum of money at the time.)

For two years, I served in my father's shoes as a teacher of religion. At the time it aroused astonishment but not today – more than 75 years after the event. Sons should continue their parents beginnings and this was what I did. I was immersed in Judaism and Hebrew – virtually from birth – and knew the Holy Tongue both in writing and speech and could also recite the Bible almost by heart as well as read the Torah at the synagogue since my bar mitzvah days.

Every day I swallowed the Hebrew newspaper 'HaTzfira' (The Alarm) and the weekly 'World' which I read from cover to cover. The book of Talmudic folklore by Bialik and Ravinitzky had been my brother's present when it first appeared. The other creations of modern education were a bit dangerous to read in public so I managed to obtain them secretly.

Needless to say, the various Rabbinic teachings, Rashi's commentaries and other types of religious literature were an indispensable part of my learning process. With hindsight, I must add that it wasn't a small bit of information and I was indeed better acquainted with the sources than my classmates.

The issue of discipline did not exist. The German inspector officially introduced me to my students-friends and did not forget to mention that I was permitted to slap someone's face in case of discipline problems or laziness. Fortunately, I never used that privilege.

I loved the kids and they loved me. Sometimes I would tell them stories that I had read or even invented for the occasion. Not lacking imagination, I enjoyed story-telling and hope the listeners did too.

During the first year after my father's death, I served as a public envoy, leading prayers at the synagogue. There weren't many adults learned enough to fulfill the lofty task. Many fled the town during the mass flight so the congregation contented itself with my childish voice but with my father's intonation. The respect everyone had for him combined with natural mercy for the poor orphan added to my prestige both among my pupils and their parents.

This success was probably the only happiness at my home which was in total depression after my father's death, the occupation regime and general austerity. The fact that my activities served as some consolation for mother filled my heart with satisfaction. The war was approaching its end and many families began to return to Kupishok. Liberation was in the air and I was asked by the parents in the town to renew the tradional heder of Meir Kodesh, of blessed memory, which I did.

The 'skameikes' (benches that were linked to the table following the school tradition of the time) were painted and two rooms were prepared for the mission. The voice of Torah and children's laughter were constantly heard in our yard. The only problem left was the study fees. The parents did not deprive me of my salary, God forbid, but the German mark deteriorated from day to day and had virtually no value.

A solution was found: The parents would pay through the medium of various goods that they themselves produced. My salary was expressed in such goods as wheat, barley, clothes, shoes, live birds and dairy products. Mother took these items from me and sold them in her little store so that we did not lack anything at home. I enjoyed the new, active lifestyle.

My mood was further improved by two pretty pupils of mine (both my age,) Pessia Cooper and Shifra Karpuch who, I could clearly see, were not indifferent towards me. I used to spend hours in front of the mirror carefully combing my hair. However, all of the sensitivity found its expression in intensive sessions of Biblical reading.

A bulky volume of Biblical stories and tales reached me at the time. It was called 'Bichurim' (written by Pinnes) and included endless articles which we absorbed with enthusiasm. It seemed as if our official morning lessons were not enough to satisfy the students thirst for knowledge.

My friends, members of Hirsh Ash's family – Leib-Reuven, Shimon, Azriel and Mordechai - influenced me to host these intellectual encounters at my place. They were joined by Michal Margalit, my Pinskoy counsins and my widowed aunt, Gittel Kadishevitz. Together with some others we read various texts in Hebrew and Yiddish.

During the evening prayers in our comfortable house, boys and girls of all ages participated. I was often the youngest and shortest of the company but it didn't prevent me from being the undisputed leader in discussions.

The only sad moments for me began when they started to leave, the boys invariably accompanied the girls home whereas I was left with my lonely romantic thoughts. I was sometimes tempted to scribble some love verses on the margins of 'Leitzte Neis' (Latest News) – a Yiddish newspaper that reached us from Vilnius, bringing the hottest pieces of news from the bustling outer world.

The description of my pedagogic experiences in Kupishok would not be complete without mentioning the professional-personal battle which I led against an aggressive and stingy fellow-Jew. Here's the story:

I used to teach an extremely sweet girl at my heder. She was about seven or eight years old and succeeded in her studies. Everyday she was accompanied by her mother, a gentle, good-looking woman who contrasted sharply with her husband. The latter, a wealthy merchant of agricultural products, had a bulky figure, treated his daughter's education with utter contempt and didn't even bother to negotiate study fees with me.

My agreement with the mother included an exchange payment in the form of two sacks, one of wheat and one of barley. It was clearly stated that one of the sacks was to be brought at the start of the semester, which lasted for six months, and the other after three months. The man, however, did not honor the agreement. He didn't deny the need to pay but evaded payment through all kinds of excuses and pretexts. He delayed payment for weeks but I couldn't allow myself to exclude the girl from class because she and her mother were such likeable people.

It so happened that Lithuania was in that period liberated from the centuries-long Russian control and became an independent state. At first glance, it was good tidings for the people but there was a hitch: The peasants were constantly robbed during the occupation but managed to conceal a fair amount of their products such as fruit, vegetables, birds and wheat. They grew accustomed to the thriving black market and sold only tiny portions of goods at very high prices. As they heard about the impending redemption, it was clear to everyone that the exaggerated rate would eventually decrease. It looked as if there had been a secret agreement between all the peasants since one day they appeared with all their previously stored merchandise and sold it at extremely low prices.

A sack of wheat cost half or even a quarter as much as before. It was then that the deceitful father remembered he had a debt. One Sunday, he turned up at our house, threw down a sack of wheat which smelled of mold and muttered, “Here's your payment as agreed. Now you cannot say I deprived an orphan!” With those words he was off and I felt insulted and was boiling with anger.

The injustice of the treatment I received from the rude man could not allow my mind to rest. Mother tried to calm me down by saying, “He is just that sort of person, even his virtuous wife is not licking honey at his home and neither does anyone who comes into contact with him.” But I was not to be pacified so easily and decided to act. Not everyone will do whatever comes into his head!

There was no permanent rabbi in the community. Both former ones (Hassidic and Mitnagdim) had fled the town. There was only one old Jew with a teaching permit but no formal duty as a rabbi. He was voluntarily consulted by people about matters of Kashrut.

The person I searched for must be a recognized rabbi who could issue a formal verdict. I was certain that no Kupishok Jew would resist a rabbinic verdict.

Rabbi Tulov and his family lived not far from us. The Rabbi was a respectable man and the town residents felt honored by his presence. They were refugees from Vilnius and made a very positive impression. He seemed to have no particular ambitions in town, every day prayed at a different synagogue and did not claim a rabbinic salary from anyone. He and his family lived a modest lifestyle and only received some gifts from the local 'ba'alei-batim' (householders) who visited him on Saturdays to listen to his sermon.

He certainly was a sensible person and I decided to apply to him for a judgement. I asked the Rabbi to invite my opponent to a discussion and, indeed, a few days later I received a postcard notifying me that I should arrive at his house. This was one of my first experiences among many others that followed, when I fought vigorously and stubbornly for my beliefs.

The girl's father was one of the richest in the impoverished Kupishok community and was experienced to stand his ground. If I had been him, I would surely have known what to say, “We hadn't agreed on advance payment” and this was the weak point of my claim. I wasn't certain that the man would appear and, if he did, there was no certainty he would obey the verdict. Rabbi Tulov may not have been the town's official rabbi but he fulfilled all the obligations of that post.

These were the factors that I had to face in my desire to restore justice. Before I set out for the Rabbi's home, I had perused some sources including 'Shulchan Aruch', Mishna and Torah so that I arrived quite well-prepared on the day of the trial.

The Rabbi greeted me amicably and returned to the book he was reading. His wife offered me a seat and we waited for my opponent. He eventually came and apologized for being late. I saw a good sign in his apology and started my short speech, first with a slight hesitation. Gradually, my voice became stronger and stronger and I constantly felt the eyes of both listeners on me.

The Rabbi listened attentively, stopping me from time to time to inquire about details. I also noticed that my opponent's face changed as I was talking; he didn't deny my accusations, neither did he accept them. When I finished, I was amazed to see his expression; his normally sullen look had changed to a much softer and serious one. In a heavy tone, he asked the Rabbi to state his verdict and said he woud accept it. The rabbi could no longer hide his astonishment, invited us to sit near the big table in the middle of the room and left for a few minutes to ask his wife for a cup of tea for us.

In the meantime, I was stunned to notice the softened facial expression of the girl's father. “Zeit mir mochel,” he said. (Please forgive me – Yiddish.) He stretched his stiff hand towards me. My eyes covered with tears.

The Rabbi entered the room and was able to see for himself what had occurred during his short absence. The cups of tea were brought in, we sipped them slowly, and discussed worldly matters. At some stage, we felt it was time to thank the Rabbi for his efforts. My former opponent took out his wallet and placed a sum of money on the table. I, in turn, did the same.

The Rabbi tactfully turned his face away from the table at that moment.

“It's an honorable day,” he said. “We all learned something, made peace with each other and now you are free to go. There is no need for an official verdict.” He turned to me and added, “You won't be deprived of your payment.”

Later someone spread this story around and we became a topic of the town's gossips.

The 1920-21 school year was my first encounter with the Hebrew 'Gymnasium' (high school) of Kaunas. I reached the capital of the then independent Lithuania alone without any material support or background in secular studies. During the period of the German occupation, I had studied at an elementary school where I had learned some spoken and written German. The only background I had in subjects like Russian, math and geography was from Ponevitz where I had spent some months before arriving in Kaunas.

At that time, the political and economic situation around the world was stormy and Lithuania was no exception. At the age of sixteen, I found myself in a whirlpool of difficulties being alone with my dreams and the master of my decisions.

In that restless state of mind, I commenced my studies in the 6^th level of the Gymnasium and eventually managed to take an active part in all classes. It was then close to a miracle since the curriculum included four living languages: German, Russian, Hebrew and Lithuanian and one classical language – Latin. Geography, Jewish and general history, the Bible and Hebrew literature, art and sports were equally represented among the subjects studied.

I was accepted into this grade mainly because of my ability to read and explain a page of Gemara. The next day, however, it turned out that although my knowledge in Judaism was at a higher level than required, it didn't at all mean I would easily become integrated in other classes, especially exact sciences.

Luckily, my sister Peska (Pnina) worked in the Educational Department of the National Jewish Committee and arranged an exemption of school fees for me. In addition, I made a living by teaching Hebrew privately to the mutual satisfaction of my pupils and their parents. It was indeed a reasonable source of money but it distracted my attention from the great deal of homework we received at school. I must confess that I never excelled in subjects I didn't like, namely the exact sciences. Since I was a child, I invariably rebelled against the system and was not prepared to study what was compelled. In other words, I studied what I loved and tried my best to ignore the rest.

The Gymnasium did not succeed in altering my free-thinking personality.

I was not considered a brilliant student and in some subjects could hardly pass the exams. I even failed Russian completely! My friends did not contribute to my academic success; there were two idlers with a bit of money in their pockets who constantly offered me more enjoyable ways of spending the time rather than at school. And I didn't mind!

I was then about seventeen, good-looking but short, with a sharp tongue and a lively sense of humor.

One of my friends, Zevadia Levinson – the son of well-off parents – lived in a spacious, comfortable house in one of the suburbs of Kaunas on the picturesque bank of the Neiman River. That house became the center of our entertainment world when all school tasks were postponed until other times. Until today I cannot understand how I coped with the evil inclination to while away my time and remain an ordinary student. I was my own boss which meant a total lack of control or adult advice.

Nonetheless, I was quite popular among my classmates and some of the teachers even thought that I had the qualities of a leader. Whatever their opinion, I somehow overcame the obstacles at school. Not once did I punish myself for the endless wasted hours at various outings by preventing enjoyment for myself during the following days. I somehow plodded on through the first school year at the Gymnasium although it involved a great deal of mental effort and self-education.

My knowledge of Judaism, some fluency in German which was still the language of teaching in a few subjects and my ability to express myself in the pursuit of justice secured me a pretty good position among my fellow-students.

The days of summer holidays were approaching. Where would I go? I asked myself.

The prospect of returning to Kupishok for two months did not particularly appeal to me. I already felt a bit remote from the provincial atmosphere of my hometown. My lust for adventure was pushing me towards new horizons.

And there came a surprise! One of the school's headmasters – Dr. Deutschlander, a colleague of the Gymnasium's founder Dr. Carlebach, was responsible for Jewish Education in the provinces in the Jewish National Committee. One day I bumped into him in the schoolyard and was invited into his office. He asked me about my plans for the holidays and eventually offered me to venture out to a town called Neishtot-Sugint and replace the local teacher of Hebrew and Bible.

The mission was supposed to take three months and the last month which would coincide with the school year didn't seem to bother him. Perhaps he thought one month was unimportant because of the many festivals or maybe he didn't care about my studies. He probably needed a teacher urgently and made his offer. My sister suggested not to turn it down because it could facilitate my economic situation in Kaunas.

I was supposed to get a salary in Neishtot. And so I set out to my uncertain future as a teacher who hadn't even finished his secondary education. My destination was Tavrig – the district center. Neishtot-Sugint was to be reached by no means of

transportation but by a horse cart, a common way of traveling in the then Lithuania.

A funny episode marked my arrival in that forsaken town. This Neishtot (in contrast to the larger Neishtot-Shaki) was situated right on the border with Prussia. So what should the town residents do if not smuggle goods across the border? Of course, dozens of shopowners and even simple citizens were buying and selling smuggled goods living in constant fear of the tax authorities. However, it was a very remote danger since the town was small and distant from the center. The local law officers were all bribed. Each and every policeman would receive various gifts and donations before festivals and sometimes for no special reason.

Everyone seemed to be happy with the arrangement but there remained the danger of the so-called 'aktzisnik,' a tax inspector sent from the district center or even the capital. Those were real pests! If an inspector like that appeared in town out of the blue, the local dealers could be in big trouble; there wasn't a single businessman who could not be accused of illegal trade. The local policemen, however helpful they wanted to be, could do nothing since the 'aktzisnik' was much higher than them in rank.

So how could the Jews protect themselves from the law? They watched out! The town was to be reached mainly by cart. Once in a lifetime, a car of some arrogant nobleman did get there and caused great astonishment among the adults – a cart without a horse! The kids would compete with it by running alongside. Fortunately, tax inspectors did not travel by cars and an unrecognized cart would be enough of a warning for the town's merchants.

When anyone saw an unknown vehicle approaching, a whisper was already spreading: Somebody alien at the gate. This was a sufficient hint to arouse action. In an hour's time - or less – the 'hametz' was cleared away: Cigarettes, drinks, textiles and other suspicious objects. The kosher goods occupied its temporary place on the counters until things got better.

Equipped with this short background, the reader will surely understand the anxiety caused by me, though short and skinny who was 'dressed to the nines.' I wore a black shirt with gold buttons shining in the sun and if that was not enough my cap had a glittering peak and a large silver insignia in the form of an eagle which made the outfit even more impressive.

A sharp-eyed Jew, who probably came with the same cart from Tavrig, caught sight of the individual in uniform with his official looking leather bag and was not slow to act. On arrival, he immediately forwarded the important information to those who needed it. The latter passed it on to others and the shopkeepers drew the conclusion and hurried to their stores while I got off the cart and noticed quite a few curious stares. They kept a fair distance and followed my every movement. Still no one could imagine that the shining uniform and the cap were nothing more than the formal clothes of the Kaunas Hebrew Gymnasium.

I did not come with the mission of the authorities to detect those breaking the law. On the contrary, I was full of good intentions - to teach Hebrew and instill knowledge in the sons and daughters of Israel which was the new custom in schools under the aegis of the Joint.

In short, I stood and waited with all my baggage carried from Kaunas until the forgetful local National Committee activist remembered he had received a telegram from Kaunas informing him of my arrival. As the mishap was understood, the troubled shopkeepers vented their anger on the informer. “What a fool you are! How could you think that a short Jewish boy to be the all-mighty inspector? Have you ever seen a Jewish 'aktzisnik?'

The activist appeared at last, took me to the house where I would stay and then led me to the schol. This incident marked the beginning of a new teaching experience, very different from my late father's heder in our house.

Unknown to me then, I was at the start of a life-long career interrupted only by a three-year period as a lawyer in Kaunas before my aliya. In Neishtot-Sugint, for the first time I was an official teacher of the Jewish National Committee, the central institution of those times.

I was again totally independent without family or a home but with a certificate notifying that I had finished six levels of the Kaunas Hebrew Gymnasium and failed the exam in Russian literature which was to be retaken. (In fact, I never did!)

My general official appearance gave me some air of importance in the eyes of the town's residents and added to my self-confidence. However, surprising as it may sound, I remember the black-haired girl at my hostel much better than my pompous entrance in the school.

The small building housed two or three classrooms. Alongside me worked two old-fashioned 'Meladim' who taught Torah and Rashi. I was to teach Hebrew and grammar according to the new trend in Jewish education. Some of the students in the higher grades were not much younger than me.

Some days after my memorable arrival, I was transferred from my hostel to a private home where I enjoyed amenities: Accommodations, food and laundry service. All of these were my host's responsibility. He specialized in chiney-sweeping which was seasonal and offered a scarce living; in the summer, only a few people needed a 'sweep' for obvious reasons so the man was happy to add a little to his meager resources. I was lodged in a spacious room and profited from three delicious meals a day.

The young family members studied at the school and were proud to have such a respectable guest in their home. The eldest son was in the top grade and displayed some interest in studies but he still needed encouragement. There was also a daughter in the family, a good-looking seamstress who for some reason never missed the opportunity to linger in my room when serving food or making the bed.

My education assignment in Neishtot was short and relatively uneventlful. I didn't make friends among the local youth and the teaching hours were just about average. There were, nevertheless, two outstanding episodes: The tragedy of a German girl who taught me Russian and an adventure which I got myself into while trying to help a boy whose soul strived for enlightenment.

The 'Progymnasium' in Kretingen

I arrived in the city as a young teacher for an entire academic year. Kretingen was a border town situated near Kleipeda, which used to have a significant Jewish community. In 1923, I passed my final exams and received a matriculation certificate. My future remained unclear.

Being a penniless but ambitious orphan, I had to make my own decisions. Firstly, I decided to enter the University of Kaunas which meant an exemption from Lithuanian army duty which was a totally useless venture for those drafted. Secondly, I found a job as a teacher in one of the newly opened Hebrew secondary schools on the periphery of town.

There were dozens of such schools opening up throughout Lithuania. They all shared a common problem: The lack of teaching personnel. The Jewish community considered education of utmost importance especially since the Lithuanian government treated the Jewish population with great respect. As the republic did not particularly welcome the Russian influence, Hebrew was preferred as the language for teaching the Jewish citizens.

Those Hebrew speaking schools served as a perfect base for talented teaching personnel and created a number of outstanding educators and leaders. Many of the institutions were established during the years of Jewish cultural autonomy and had a high academic standard. Future generations must understand the dimensions of Jewish-Zionist education in what was then Lithuania. Subsequently, this entire cultural layer was massacred and destroyed by the Nazis.

Mr. Lippetz, head of the 'Tarbut' network in Kaunas, sent me to teach in a 'Progymnasium' in Kretingen, a city with which I was not familiar. I was employed as a teacher of Hebrew and literature as well as the Bible since these were the subjects I had already taught as a private tutor in Kaunas.

The only person I knew in town was Mr. Klommel, the schools' headmaster, originally from Rokishok, a town near Kupishok. I had previously talked with him about my work situation. On the agreed day, I arrived at the Kretingen Railway Station with my modest belongings.

Sheer luck! The moment I got off the train and stood on the platform with an embarrassed look, I saw a good-looking girl with an elegant, flowery umbrella in her hand. We smiled at each other and she asked whether I was looking for a comfortable room to rent. Amazing, I thought, for it was exactly what I needed at that moment.

It turned out that the girl, Golda Zolkov, had been sent by her aunt to find a tenant for the vacant room in their house, someone preferably single and intelligent. Needless to say, I was full of enthusiasm and followed her. She helped me to find a coach and led me to her house. We chatted pleasantly on the ride until we reached our destination. Clearly, Providence took care of me this time!

The landlady, a respectable woman who spoke Yiddish, showed me my room which was in the attic. I hadn't been spoiled by luxury before so the modest, though clean furniture suited me perfectly. In the meantime, I became acquainted with the family. The five Zolkov sisters spread some positive rumors about me in town.

I also had a conversation with Mr. Colombus, Chairman of the local parents' committee, who invited me for a Sabbath meal. The Headmaster, a tall, heavy-set man, a gifted mathematician and Hassid, introduced me to the students and teachers. I rapidly began to adapt to the school and community life of Kretingen.

This was my first job as a full-time teacher and I enthusiastically got down to work. Firstly, I tried to unite the students of my class and turn them into a learning society. We gathered in the evenings, chatting in Hebrew. My relationship with the pupils as well as with their parents was very friendly. The Headmaster wasn't too fond of these gatherings but he did not prevent my efforts.

I had some success with the local girls, especially after my lectures in front of the Hebrew-speaking audience of Kretingen. One day I made a presentation in the Zionist spirit which impressed the intelligentia of Klaipeda, the neighboring town.

Klaipeda formerly belonged to Prussia and was the regional center of Jewish culture. The Parents' Committee allowed me to organize extracurricular activities, including a youth club which proved to be an absolute success! We staged a Hebrew play with the participation of the students and their teachers, along with many other enjoyable functions.

My relationship with the other youth organizations in town was polite but not warm so I decided to leave town at the end of the school year. Also, my studies at the Faculty of Law at Kaunas University demanded greater attention than occasional trips from the provinces.

At Passover, I met Dr. Etzioni, the sponsor of the Jewish Gymnasium in Wilkomir which was a major center of Jewish life in Lithuania. With the assistance of Dov Lippetz, I signed a contract with the Wilkomir Jewish Gymnasium.

The following year I would teach Bible and Hebrew literature in this prestigious institution. It was a major step forward in my professional career.

With regret, I parted from my students and their families in Kretingen. The Headmaster unsuccessfully urged me to stay for another year. I left the town with a feeling of accomplishment.

For many years afterwards, I exchanged letters with my former students and we reminisced about our pleasant times together.

Wilkomir – Teacher, Educator and Youth Guide

Wilkomir was an important regional center, as it was a center of Jewish thought and a battleground for many ideological wars. The community was extremely diverse; there was the Zionist movement, the anti-Zionists and various religious streams. The anti-Zionists consisted of anti-religious leftist movements united in their common resistance to 'Zionist hegemony' in Jewish communities.

The Zionists suggested that the solution to the 'Jewish problem' was far away in Palestine; they were the ideological enemies of the left who considered Yiddish to be the language of the future and called Hebrew an obsolete tongue.

Regarding social issues, the leftist movement voiced opinions ranging from bourgeois to communist. Yudel Mark, a prominent educator, talented orator, and an intelligent person, chose Wilkomir as the center of the world of 'Yiddishism' in light of the cultural autonomy that Jews had received.

Already in the first years of Lithuanian independence, Mark had opened a Jewish school which taught in Yiddish. He attracted the best anti-Zionist teachers. The school soon began to fill with Wilkomir youth sharing the same political ideology. Some of the students came from small provinces. There were students who enrolled in the school because Yiddish was their primary language and the studies were now easier for them.

Political convictions were not foremost on the minds of the teachers but the students, particularly those in the higher grades, were captured by Communist ideas and struggled for the rights of the deprived. This was the only Yiddish high school in Wilkomir.

Diaspora supporters had a serious confrontation with members of the Zionist movement. The fact that they were only a minority in the Jewish community only strengthened their Marxist-Yiddish ideology.

A major religious stream in Wilkomir was the Orthodox community which consisted of a few hundred families. They sustained a yeshiva, studied Torah, and occasionally participated in the political debates, especially before the local Jewish central institutions held elections.

One of the most influential speakers of this community was Moshe Cohen, an educated and respectable man. He represented the political party 'Agudat Israel.' I had the privilege to befriend both him and his daughter, Hadassah, who was to eventually become my wife and with whom I spent fifty-seven happy and eventful years.

Dov Lippetz decided to establish an alternative to leftist education with a Zionist-Hebrew Gymnasium. He served as Headmaster for some time and then returned to Kaunas which was the center of Tarbut acitvities.

A suitable successor was found – Dr. Joseph Etzioni – who was a vigorous Zionist, energetic educator and a mysterious character. He had a colorful personality which deserves a separate biography. I was lucky to work with him daily for two years.

I arrived at the Wilkomir Gymnasium in August 1925 in a group of five young teachers, two women and three men. We had spent long hours traveling together on the dilapidated roads. Our shared experiences made us good friends by the time we arrived at our destination.

We spent our first night in a hotel owned by Raphael Grushkin, an educated Jew and the grandfather of Yair Stern, the future leader of Lehi. After a few hours of rest, we introduced ourselves to Dr. Etzioni who in turn introduced us to his deputy, an easy-going and energetic man named Pintzuk, as well as the other teachers.

It was time to take care of worldly matters and find permanent sleeping arrangements. My fellow teacher, a handsome individual named Israel London who was born in Mariampol, was kind enough to lead me to a hotel in the town center where we rented two rooms, one near the other.

My schedule was very diverse since the school lacked teaching personnel at the secondary level. I taught Hebrew, literature, the Bible and political economics for a total of thirty-six hours each week. In addition to that, I taught general and Jewish history to the lower grades. My formal training was very modest but I had read intensively and had learned from my father. I was slightly apprehensive before my first session with the higher grades.

As I entered the room, I saw dozens of young people, some of them around my age. Many were children of Jewish refugees who were beginning to return to their abandoned homes. Before the war, they populated the border towns between Russia and Germany but were expelled when the Czar decided that the Jews betrayed Russia during the First World War.

One of the most hilarious myths was that the Jews were hiding telephones in their beards in order to keep in touch with the enemy. Having suffered in Russia during their expulsion, the Jews were now returning to Lithuania.

When the War came to an end, thousands of Jewish families flooded their hometowns in Lithuania. Some of their children had grown up in Russia where they had studied and even graduated from universities. The Lithuanian authorities, however, did not acknowledge their certificates.

The young people were forced to go back to school and pass their exams again. The schools were inundated with students who entered the higher grades in order to pass the Lithuanian matriculation examinations.

About half of my students in the eighth grade were the ones who paid the price for this new policy. Not all schools were happy to accept these students for the final year but the Wilkomir Hebrew Gymnasium gave them the opportunity.

Before I entered the classroom, I had already envisaged the discipline problems that I would have to face. My previous teaching experiences did not prepare me for these new difficulties. I realized that teaching a 14-year-old was different than dealing with 17 and 18-year-old students. The latter could not be slapped; their parents might not be interested to come for a conference. Clearly, there was need for a different approach.

I had heard various stories from teachers who, trying to cope with discipline problems in their classes, couldn't fall asleep. I tossed and turned that night but swore I would not give up. I would try to find the right approach for the students and would not ask the headmaster for assistance as he had instructed, even in the case of the most serious discipline trouble.

My father had been a teacher highly respected in our community and my short stints in Neishtot and Kretingen had never involved conflicts with students. I thought that in the worst possible scenario, I could go back to Kaunas and return to the lower grades.

The bell rang and Dr. Etzioni appeared in the teachers' room and said, “You've got an 8^th grade literature class.” “I know, Mr. Headmaster,” I answered energetically. “I'm on my way.”

“I will go in with you to introduce you to the students,” he kindly offered. But I politely refused and said that I preferred to appear alone.

When I entered the packed room, the students stood up. They were all taller than me! I asked them to sit down and felt forty pairs of eyes directed at me with great curiosity.

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