[Page 138]

If a city can earn the name “a true Jewish city,” it is the city of Lublin that has earned a premier place among the titleholders, and I am not qualified, and I am not capable of describing my dear home city. However, I will attempt to provide everything from the depths of my memory, all of the crumbs from my childhood up to the 1920s of our century, to fulfill on my part the duty my lndsleit [people from the same town] have laid out for me.

When I was three years old, my mother, a young widow of Reb Yankele Herszenhorn (a well-known personality in Lublin in the 1860-1880s, whom I did not know. He died when I was a year-and-a-half old), carried me to kheder [religious primary school]. Later, I learned that my teacher was named Netl Melamed [Netl the teacher]. This was a pious Jew with a wide and long yellow beard and blue eyes, who appeared sterner than he truly was. We children caused more mischief than we learned. Therefore, our assistant teacher was stern, but neither hit us. I cannot say this about a few of my later teachers.

One of the last ones has especially remained in my memories: Noakh Modzhitzer (from Modzhits [Dęblin]). He was just the opposite of Netl Melamed. He appeared (also with a yellow, but not as vast and beautiful a beard) completely innocent, but he was one Lublin child-beater!

I stop here at the two because all of Lublin knew them as good teachers who received their so-called “small clients” from the best middle-class circles. A third person I remember well was Avraham Zawichoster (we called him Avraham Zawichwoster). This Jew was in his forties with a greyish, wide, and long beard. He did not torment us strongly with learning. He would disappear for an entire hour because he loved a little whiskey. He left us alone to repeat the Talmudic lesson by ourselves. Understand that we children had no heartache because of this and would either help the teacher's wife a little or simply fool around.

At this time, the Lublin Rabbi, Reb Hilel Lipszic, issued an edict that the teachers must receive a kind of ordination from him. This ordination consisted of sending the children to the rabbi or to his son, Reb Layzerke, to be examined [as to what they had learned].

I met the Lublin Rabbi for the first time at such an examination. This was a tall Jew with a stately appearance: a long, wide, white beard, a beautiful, high forehead, and blue eyes. As I later learned, he was a famous scholar and polyglot.

[Page 139]

I was then seven years old and just had begun to study Gemora [commentaries on the Torah] with the traditional Hamakfid [Talmudic reasoning and language]. The Rabbi only asked me one question: to give him a case where a borrower was in a better situation than an unpaid watchman. Not thinking, I answered: [if he] died because of work [performed for the borrower]. This so pleased him that he said that I should be given 36 walnuts. My joy was unlimited because the other children at this examination had received only up to 18 nuts. By the way, it was characteristic that an opponent of studying Gemora with children before a certain age did not refrain from posing such a question to a 7-year-old.

As long as I am writing about rabbis, I will remember two more with whom I became acquainted during the later years. One was the Rabbi Kliaczkin (his son was the famous philosopher); the second was Rabbi Szapiro. I was close to the first one briefly when I was already a medical doctor. Rabbi Kliaczkin was interested in medicine and would even read my medical periodicals. Our acquaintance ended, however, at the moment when I accepted the mandate of the Bund at the Jewish kehila [organized Jewish community] in 1924. ^[1]

I met Rabbi Szapiro face to face once at a conference about the Jewish hospital. In general, Rabbi Szapiro avoided contact with me, so much so that he did not send a supervisor to the TOZ [Towarzystwo Ochrony Zdrowia Ludności żydowskiej – Society to Protect the Health of the Jews] colony, having, it seems, rusted that I was not an enemy…

The Revolution of 1905 was imminent. The teacher of secular things came to the kheder. My mother, a young widow, herself a devout woman, whose ideal was a doctor wearing Rabbeinu Tam's tefillin ^[2], brought me a teacher who would come to us (to me and my brother, Dovid, later a well-known Zionist for the group, Et Livnot [Time to Build]) and give us lessons. Among my teachers was a Russian, an exiled political activist.

After the Kishinev pogrom in 1904, he secretly gave me a proclamation from the Bund, about the Kishinev pogrom. This proclamation made an enormous impression on me, and from then on, I began to draw closer to the Bundist groups.

There was a distinguished Bundist movement in Lublin then that was led by Khanin and Sura Szweber.

The dramatic episode, in short, consisted of this: I had to leave Lublin. The episode, in short, consisted of this: being in a secret room (a small attic room on the fourth floor at Zamojska Street) and hearing that a proclamation had to be printed, but that there was no place to print, I proposed to make use of my mother's print shop.

This printing shop in Lublin was Print Shop of the widow Nekhama, wife of Reb Yakov, may his memory be blessed, Herszenhorn and Reb Moishe Sznajdmeser. The group agreed, and I helped, and as the police had begun an investigation and the watchman began to talk too much, it was believed in my mother's house that it was more sensible for me to leave Lublin. I will not stop here to explain further phases of my journey, such as my entry into a gymnazie [secondary school], later, in a university, because all this took place outside Lublin. I would only come home for a short time (on vacation), and I know very little about what took place in Lublin.

The First World War began. I was then a student at the surgical clinic in Prague and returned to Lublin (for a short time) in 1916. However, the idea arose among the so-called intelligent young people to found an organization to fight for equal Jewish rights.

As I remember, there was an incredible drive then among the young for communal and political activity, and an initiative commission for this purpose was called together that mainly consisted of all kinds of students, both concerning their political opinions and specialties:

[Page 140]

assimilated, Bundists, Zionists, doctors, jurists, philologues, and so on.

In addition to me, taking part in this commission as I remember were the following people: Lewinson, Goldberg, Cigelman (later well-known as a lawyer) the first – known specialist of the penal court (died in Osh, Kyrgyz Soviet Socialist Republic), the second – a well-known civilist [civil law specialist], living now in New York, the third – a capable lawyer in Zamość (tragically perished during the occupation), Kornblit (later Left Poalei Zionist [Marxist Zionist], living at the end in Paris).

We wrangled for a long time until we agreed on one point for our program: equal rights for the Jewish population. This remained the only point of our program.

The first convened general recruitment meeting was stormy enough (the meeting was secret, because it was challenging to receive permission from the Austrian occupation regime; later, it was easier).

The meeting elected a managing committee that included almost the same people whom I have enumerated above. The editor of the organization's publication, Myśl Zydowska [Jewish Thought], was the lawyer, Ludwik Rechtszaft. Rechtszaft was an exceptional journalist with a sharp pen, but very uncrystallized political opinions, which, with the diverse composition of the organization for a specific time, was not a disadvantage…

A so-called “rescue committee” existed in Lublin at that time. It was founded in 1915, right after the Austrians' entry. This committee consisted almost entirely of the assimilated (Moshe Rabbeinu's Poles [Moses' Poles]) and a few of their middle-class blind followers.

And I was sent to this rescue committee as a delegate from our organization, but immediately, at the first meeting, a storm began when I had the chance to speak and began speaking in Yiddish. One after another: Dr. Kaufman, from the Lodz bank, the head of the Lublin community kehila for many years, the lawyer Warman, later the chairman of the Lublin kehila council for many years, A.M. Kantor, later city alderman, the lawyer, Hilzberg and even Shaul Wohlman, a Jew, a merchant who, alas, had difficulty pronouncing Polish and used this language very rarely, all came out of the woodwork and searched for all kinds of arguments that Yiddish, if one cannot do otherwise, is permitted when speaking among themselves, but at official meetings, God forbid. Jews spoke with such fervor as if this concerned – lehavdil [word used to separate sacred matters from secular] – a desecration. After everyone was finished, I again asked Chairman Kaufman: Can I now speak? – “Nie” (No!) – was the answer I received.

I left the meeting as a protest and described the incident to the youth organization. The youth organization tolerated the language question in a sweeping and far-reaching manner. However, there were very few advocates of Yiddish there. And who could talk about beginning a fight with the rescue committee where there were such complainers, where there certainly was no enthusiasm? I resigned my mandate, and, in my place, the student Goldberg was elected, and with that, the incident ended. This incident reverberated in the Jewish neighborhood.

Since I immediately received a post as an assistant in Brno, Moravia, and left Lublin, I do not know the future course of the youth organization or the rescue committee's activities.

Before my departure, I was assigned a mission that I needed to complete in Vienna.

[Page 141]

The trade in whatever product was almost entirely dependent on permits, which could be obtained from the commandants of the various Austrian offices.

Moving around every such commandant would be a so-called komendantikhes [female diminutive of commandant]. Most of these individuals were “middle class” and Hasidic daughters who, for reasons unknown to me, were to receive various permits, although I do not know at what price.

The corruption extended so far that in certain circles, they began to think about how to get rid of this plague. With the full effort of my brain, I cannot remember which organization, but I received the assignment to deal with this question in Vienna. I had to talk with the then-Ukrainian deputy, Krilovitch, and the Zionist (later Revisionist leader of Austria), Herman Stricker, about this issue. ^[3]

I carried out my mission perfectly, but I think nothing came of it. Krilovitch (I think that was his name) barely understood what was said to him; for the matter to be understandable, we had to devote a considerable time. Stricker, however, understood everything, and he deserved pity when he had to again and again knock the simple matter into Krilovitch's head.

The thing is, I think, it became tedious for him. I say, I think, because I could not wait for the end and traveled to my post.

1. The mandate refers to the designation of a person as a member of a political slate. Rabbi Kliaczkin probably ended his acquaintance with the author because the Bund is a secular, socialist organization. Return
2. There are two kinds of tefillin (phylacteries), Rashi's and Rabbeinu Tam's. At the end of the prayers, some worshippers don Rabbeinu Tam's tefillin after removing the Rashi tefillin. Return
3. The Stricker to whom the author referred was probably Robert Stricker, not Herman Stricker. Return

Lublin, the Jewish Lublin, is not Krakowskie Przedmieœcie [Street], not the Ogród Saski [Saxon Garden]. Lublin, our Lublin, began on the other side of the gate with the clock – with Grodzka Street and with the streets and alleys through Nadstawna, Krawiecka, Ruska, crossed and tangled themselves and came together again with Kowalska, Szerokie, Lubartowska, and finally through the so-called “graves alleys” led to the Wolya meadows until it ended … Majden-Tartarski and Majdanek…

Immediately on the right, after the gate, cut Jezuicka Street, narrow and crooked. There at the end stood the Panteon Theater that belonged to the Pole, Makuwski, and in which, from time to time tasty Jewish plays were performed: Khinke-Pinke [a comic operetta by Joseph Lateiner], Khantshe in Amerika [by Nahum Rakov] and so on. There we heard the Yiddish hits: “Meyn vayb git mir a shtikele fish, vos zi hot aleyn gernakht, und ikh gib ir in piskele a kush ayf der nakht” [“My wife gives me a piece of fish that she herself made and I give her a kiss in the mouth at night.”] There, the Jewish balcony jeered or gave bravos to artists while chewing pumpkin seeds.

A professor, Yekele Waksman, or as we called him, Direkteshi [diminutive of director], a bit of a writer of a number of plays, lived not far from Jezuicka, on Zlota Street. An old cavalier or a widower – who knows – he lived on the ground floor of a house where Polish nobility once had lived; he occupied a large room and kitchen, furnished half-German, half-Polish; a cat, parrot and a canary were the household of Direkteshi. Those who knew him will still remember the thick figure with the wide Mongolian nose…

Even personalities from Yiddish theater such as Zigmund Turkov, Ester-Ruchl Kaminska were not unknown to the Direkteshi. He

[Page 142]

was actually also a bit of an “impresario.” In addition to theater and art, Direkteshi – Yekele Waksman – also busied himself with writing “parodies.” He was a writer of official petitions, as was almost the entire Waksman family in Lublin.

During the last 10 years, the Jewish community was located a little further on. Who does not remember the fiery meetings of the organized Jewish community; it really seethed… Who does not remember the passionate hero, Leibl Lerer, who stubbornly wanted to teach the Bund Torah to the Agudah [non-Zionist Orthodox organization], or Hershl Yona Zilber, Moshele Ajzenberg, the Agudah follower, a stubborn fighter, a sharp speaker, and opponent of the Bund. Bitingly, they argued and fought and then lived together as Jews…

Perhaps not everyone knows, or they do not remember that there, in that neighborhood, about 45 years ago, a local, modern kheder, a school where Russian, arithmetic, and Hebrew were taught, was located at the Ulpana [school]. They were taught to sing Hatikvah [The Hope – an anthem adopted by the Zionist movement and now the national anthem of the State of Israel] so that the Fonyas [derogatory term for Russians] would not know they were doing so. It was called Werber's School. Further along was the Jewish orphans' home or, as it was called: Jewish Okhrana [foster home]. It always suffered from want and need as did the Jewish hospital on Lubartowska, which struggled with great financial difficulties. Money was constantly collected for them: here a sale of flowers, there a concert. Yet, the orphan home was maintained for years under the leadership of Mrs. Taubenfeld and, during the last years, by her dear aide, Hanya Kuperberg, who, with all of the infants and old people, tragically perished at the hands of the Nazis. One by one, in front of Mrs. Kuperberg, they [the Germans] slaughtered the children on the Wolya. This happened in 1941. Mrs. Kuperberg was murdered at the very end.

Arriving at Nowa Street, HaZamir [music, literature and dramatic society] was located opposite the Kulberg Bridge, and immediately behind it – the mountain, the spot for winter sports for the Jewish children who would slide down on sleds or sometimes just slide down on Jewish Kowalska [Street]. Here, on the mountain, lived Pesele the baker who would bake hot fritters with butter from buckwheat flour. This was a local Lublin food, just like the thin pletzlekh [flat rolls] rolled out with onions.

On the right from Grodzka Street, near the end on which stood Nisenbaum's bookshop, the street extended parallel to the orphans' house, was Hintern Lazar [behind Lazar]. There, it was said, underworld gangs rampaged, who raped Jewish girls. They were called the “strong (illegible word].”

On the other side of the “Jewish gate” was the poor Krawiecka Street with its small, dirty, earthen and wood houses, which actually stood on their back little feet. On the right in the back were the Wolya meadows – a green, rich landscape in sharp contrast to the dead, grey, poor city crowdedness – that extended a little further from the so-called Jewish church. At the end of Krawiecka stood Cukerman's bath, the bathhouse.

Every Friday in this “hygenic” institution, the Lublin Jews made a racket and moaned under the barbed twigs of the lashes of the burning little brooms and always shouted: “It is cold, another pail of hot water from above…”

From there, across a small, broken bridge over a brook in which there never was any water, a kind of sewer, you arrived at Ruska. From Ruska, opposite the Russian church, we had Szerokie, Kowalska and through Butcher's Street – Lubartowska. On the same Jewish Szerokie, through the famous court of the rabbi's house of prayer, we came to Nadstawna, where there was a network of Jewish khederim [religious primary schools]. A kheder and a teacher with a whip, with a group of mischievous boys was found in almost every house. All over one found boys with dunce caps on their heads as punishment for talking back to the teacher or the parents, for not knowing the subject being discussed or the Khumish [Five Books of Moses] portion. From the morning until late at night, summer and winter, one could hear the teacher expound at length to the children: Leviticus – Someone spoke, who spoke? Moses – someone – what do you mean, Moses…

[Page 143]

Coming from Ruska to Szerokie Street, you have the Maharshal Synagogue, the Maharam's Synagogue and behind the synagogue, wall to wall, the Talmud Torah [free, religious primary school for poor boys].

The students from there played in the dirt, not far from the sewer, in the sandy courtyard of the Talmud Torah. If the whistling whip and the pulling by the ears until bloody in the khederim at Gadstowna was one of the best and greatest pedagogical inventions, in the Talmud-Torah it [corporal punishment) was still greater and it reached toward sadism.

As said, the large synagogue bordered, was actually against the wall of the Talmud Torah – the large synagogue with its cantors, gabbaim [sextons], shamosim [assistants to the rabbi], with large copper and brass lamps that hung from the ceiling on rusty, iron chains. And one was astonished by the miracle that held the hundreds of pood [Russian weight equaling about 36 pounds or 16 kilograms] of brass and copper, which did not fall on one's head.

We must also not forget Furmanska Street with its Jewish porters and wagon drivers, with Avraham Hausszibu, the hero, for whom even the biggest hooligan in the city, Motika, trembled at his deadly blows. Do not forget Lubartowska, divided by a bridge over the river at Jatka Street, which led right and left to the non-Jewish streets.

Lubartowska was a long street with shops, stores, densely inhabited. It extended over a large area. The Chachmei Lublin Yeshiva Synagogue, the Jewish hospital, Szif's Square, where our young people were involved in the Haksharah [preparation for emigration to Eretz Yisroel) of Hashomer Hatzair [the Young Guard – Labor Zionists] also were located on it.

So, this was how Jewish Lublin appeared, encompassing Czechow, Czutek, the old and the new cemetery.

All of this is gone.

As I stand today at the crossroads of Nowa Swietoduska, Lubartowska and the old Kowalska, which once swarmed and teemed with 10,000 Jews, one sees a ruined, devastated, empty spot and in the middle, remaining only as a symbol of sorrow and pain, the…castle.

[Page 145]

My Early Childhood

The memory of my city of birth has become dearer to me since the last world-slaughter. I cannot speak about it without calling it “my city…”

In deep sadness for all of those who perished in my home city, in deep sadness for those closest and dearest to me, my thoughts float away to the destruction of Lublin and go back to the past of my childhood and youth, when my city blossomed, glowed, and lived…

I was born on Castle Hill. There was a synagogue there and a kheder [religious primary school] where exhausted, pale boys would study the entire day and look at me with eyes of resentment and envy because I did not go to the kheder but played freely in the small courtyard.

It was not very clean there, in our courtyard… However, I loved it – it was, with my former residence, my first childhood “world.”

And how I loved our poor residence!

A wooden balcony encircled the entire first part of the residence. I remember the balcony and the first springs that I remember from my childhood. Spring came with erev Pesakh [the eve of Passover]. The windows on the balcony were opened for the first time after the long, cold winter. It was immediately full of washed and polished household goods and dishes. And I, a child of five-six years, here at the open window, took in the first sun rays of spring and the aromas rising from the surrounding fields.

I was drawn far to the meadows where the greenery grew.

On Shabbos [Sabbath], when the Jews did not work, through the windows could be seen the meadows that were full of those strolling. The people, “the common people,” had their place to stroll here – the avenues of the great garden in my old Lublin were not accessible to the Jews…

It was hard to tear me away from the window – I looked at the people of my city and absorbed the fragrances of spring from the Lublin area with childish amazement…

I also had a grandmother and grandfather; all of the Lublin children knew them. They had a shop with various children's toys, small cardboard boxes, and also sold food for a groshn… This shop was located right where one came to the bridge. Here, sitting on the threshold, I spent large parts of my childhood days, watching everything around me with eagerness…

And there was what would interest my childish fantasy…

The arrestees, shackled in irons, were always led by [and] put in prison.

My grandmother tried in various ways to make me understand why they had put them in chains. She had to calm me because, instinctively, I would run and hide in the folds of her dress when I would hear the sound of chains…

A well-dressed lady also went to prison.

– These are teachers of the high official's daughters… My grandmother tried to quiet my childish eagerness.

Thus passed my childhood in Lublin until the eighth year of my life.

[Page 146]

Warsaw-Lublin

Suddenly, my mother began speaking to me with incomprehensible and hurtful words:

– My child, we must move to Warsaw…There is no income in Lublin…

I did not want to go…

I could not convey my words and thoughts, could not make my mother understand. However, it was difficult for me to detach myself from the magnificent streets, such as Szerake, the Jewish street, Grodzke… I did not want to leave Ochrona Place, where I could see “half a world” from the hill, as I told my mother.

A sadness grabbed me that day when my parents packed up their little bit of poverty to seek a better income in large Warsaw… I cried, not wanting to go to Warsaw – what does an eight-year-old child understand about the difficult struggle for life, for income…

The day for leaving my home city arrived. We said goodbye to our closest and dearest ones and started our long train journey. It took days until we arrived in the effervescent Warsaw.

And in Warsaw? – Again, my father suffered from earning an income, no less than in Lublin…

The children in school pointed to me with their fingers: “A provincial…” And I longed for my city, for the green meadows, the trees and fields – I lacked air in Warsaw. I became pale, became sickly.

It felt like a holiday for me when my father took me on a stroll outside the city, among the trees, into a field that reminded me of my childhood. My father also suffered greatly from the urban hullabaloo and struggle; he always longed for calm and the beautiful life in Lublin, in the city of his childhood and of his family.

It would be a true joy in our poor house when someone in the family would come to Warsaw for a few days. We would hear about our own, about the familiar alleys and houses…

Once during the summer, my mother sent me to the relatives in Lublin for a short time. It was an unforgettable experience for me. Like a summer bird, I flew around from one street to another, from one aunt to another. I inhaled [the aroma] of plants and air, became strong, and did not want to return [to Warsaw].

The children were jealous of me – a trifle, I lived in Warsaw… And I told them with childish sincerity that Lublin was prettier, that here was so much better and freer…

Children laughed at me and did not understand.

The First World War

Year after year went by, heavy as lead, full of longing and worry.

1914 came.

The outbreak of war hit us like thunder: unemployment, hunger, grave worries for every tomorrow in the unfamiliar city of Warsaw. There was no news from the relatives in Lublin because of the war.

Suddenly, on a nice day in 1915, the worst happened: my father became very sick. His entire last desire was to be with his own in Lublin. But we could not travel. The Germans were here in Warsaw, and the Austrians were in Lublin. We had to sneak across the border, smuggle ourselves [across]. I was then not yet 15, but the fate of accompanying my dearly beloved father on the difficult journey to Lublin fell to me.

It is difficult to describe the road, full of dangers and challenges, as it winds through villages and forests. However, a joy rose in me – I was travelling back to Lublin.

We arrived after a long, difficult day. My father's condition worsened. We no longer found many of our closest ones. The war passed

[Page 147]

through a severe storm, there was no longer the loving grandmother nor the kind grandfather.

However, in addition to the desperate situation, in addition to the severe pain, my heart swelled; I returned to the house of my birth, to the old house on the hill. Green surrounded me, and the birds were singing.

I again saw the shackled men led into prison… However, I now understood more; I knew about a strong fight between two worlds, between good and evil, really a fight against chains…

My father suffered for two years with his illness. He died in 1917. He lies, according to his last wishes, among his own at the Jewish cemetery in Lublin.

I was alone. Broken, spiritually unprepared for an independent life. I received my first work from Zilber at the apothecary shop on Svientoduska Street.

It was difficult for me. I began to understand more about the struggle for life and sought friends and comrades with whom to share my experiences and ideas, and in return, hoping to receive spiritual support. For the first time, I went to the Worker's Home at Nowa 25 – and I revived. I was drawn into a worker's environment, acquired an ideal and support for my difficult life. Lectures, ventures. A new world opened for me – and in my unforgettable Lublin. I experienced a few fortunate years, although in material need and hardship.

In 1922, because of the severe material situation, I had to leave Lublin again. Again, to work in Warsaw. However, I traveled to Lublin on every holiday, breathed, and became refreshed in my old alleys and hills.

It did not last long; in 1923, I left Lublin forever. I was sent from home to Paris. A greater tumult than in Warsaw, a greater race, a more difficult struggle for daily bread.

However, my heart longed for Lublin without stopping, for the city of my happy childhood home and youth.

After five years, in 1928, I came to Lublin for four months, already with a four-year-old daughter.

An unforgettable visit. I walked around the streets of Lublin for the last time. And I took leave, forever, of my closest ones, with my mother and with my dear, unforgettable, Jewish Lublin.

For years, I hoped to travel [to Lublin] for the second time, again to meet those who were so dear to me, so close…

1939 made a ruin of my city and my dream of seeing all those who lived there alive. The Hitlerist beasts destroyed everything.

Images of my city, submerged in the greens of spring, the city of my childhood and youth, will always remain in my memory.

Right after the First World War, communal life in Lublin began to develop with strength. The Lubliner Togblat [Lublin Daily Newspaper], whose editor was Stupnikci, began to publish. Among the co-workers, I remember Yankl Nisenbaum, the future editor, who would write feature articles satirically dealing with a series of events.

Regarding parties, at the beginning, the Bund had a great influence on the Jewish community. After the Balfour

[Page 148]

Declaration, that influence decreased. At the election to the city council, the Poalei Zion Party was given a councilman. He was Chaim Dovid Langfus, the founder of the Poalei Zion in Lublin.

Among the councilmen from the Bund at the Lublin city council were Bela Szapiro and Dr. Herszenhorn.

The central location of the Poalei Zion was at Rynek [market], number 10, where they had created a kitchen.

Well-known Zionist leaders Nahum Sokolow, Vladimir Jabotinsky, and – long may he live – Yitzhak Grinbaum would often come to Lublin. I remember the visit of Nahum Sokolow. All of the streets in front of the railroad station were filled with people. The Lublin provincial governor sent his carriage, hitched with four white horses, accompanied by riders, to the train. The Christians said that “the Jewish king of Palestine had come…”

At Sokolow's lecture, there were many high-level guests from the Polish side, with the provincial governor at the head. Sokolow began his speech in Polish, then he went on in Hebrew and then in Yiddish.

With the other Zionist groups, we created a Tarbut [Zionist Hebrew language] school in Lublin. I will mention the names of those who took part in the creation of this school: Eliezer Nisenbaum, Yosef Wacolder, Mandelblut, and several others whose names have gone from my memory.

Every Shabbos night [Saturday night], Professor Gotesdiner of the Tarbut school would give lectures on Jewish cultural history.

A few words about several special features of commercial life in Lublin. When someone stood at the city gate and looked up at Nowa and Lubartowska [Streets] to the city gate, one saw how the entire area was occupied by Jewish shops.

Jewish wanderers came from Pulawy, Konska, Wolya, Kurow, Markuszów, Lubartów, and tens of other shtetlekh [towns]. They would bring and sell goods. Although the train traveled to most shtetlekh, the Jewish merchant still traveled mostly with wagon drivers. So, at the very least, it was like that in my time, that is, in the 1920s.

There were several large entry courtyards in Lublin where the wagons would pull up. Thus, as an example, the courtyard of Avram Layzer's wife, Faygele, Leibele Borensztajn's courtyard, and so on. There, all kinds of “assignments” were taken care of: a letter, a package. There was no day, except for Shabbos [Sabbath] and holidays, that an opportunity was not found there.

Kowalska Street was known for its leather shops and workshops. Walking through the street, one felt as if in a tannery.

On the corner of Cyrulicza-Lubartowska was a sort of exchange where everything was sold and bought. It would swarm and teem with Jews the entire week.

It would become quiet only on Shabbos. Shabbos was felt in Lublin.

At the time about which I write, there were still some assimilated [Jews] in Lublin, but their influence was very weak. I only remember Dr. Arensztajn, whose wife and children had already converted. However, when he came to a patient, he spoke nothing but Yiddish and, often, when with a poor patient, he would not only refuse payment but discreetly leave a few zlotes…

[Page 150]

The city of Lublin was not rich in gardens like other cities, and a tree, a little bit of green mainly did not exist in the Jewish streets.

However, the city of Lublin possessed one garden, a beautiful garden of which the population was very proud, and it really was something with which to be proud.

The Lublin Garden was not a garden for passing through, as in other large cities. No, our Lublin Garden stood far apart, outside the city, enclosed with high, iron, and pointy pickets, and only a narrow gate led into the beautiful boulevards.

And the garden was protected like an only child, like a well-born artisan, to whom not everyone can approach. It is protected by an older, angry man in a special holiday-like uniform. He takes the measure of everyone who enters from head to the feet, to see if he is a suitable candidate to make use of the beauty of the “princess.” And the watchman not only looks at the person, but he also pays attention to the hands. One cannot enter with a flower in one's hand. The garden has its own flowers and does not need such “gifts.” However, one may not tear out, God forbid, even one flower from the garden, even as a keepsake. Our “princess” is strict; her law is: “Look at me, but do not

[Page 151]

touch me.” And the watchman strictly followed the law, so he looked at your hands.

If you did actually have flowers in your hand, you will, excuse me, lay them on the ground, the way one lays a wreath on a grave. When you leave the garden, and if you do not forget, you can get your flowers back; they are at the same place where you laid them; no one, God forbid, touched them. Thus, the watchman is certain that you have not taken anything from the “royal treasure.”

However, the older generation of the Jewish population did not make much of the distant “haughty princess” and did not rush to admire it. Jews had their own, familiar princess to which they did not have to approach through “concessions” from something of a stiff guard. The opposite, she [the familiar princess] herself came into the house like someone homey; this was the Sabbath Queen. She came regularly every week; she was never late and was a welcome guest.

The Sabbath Queen did not demand anything, nor that we make a fuss of her, just [that we) clean the house [and] bring a little bit of order to ourselves, [then] we were ready to welcome the princess with a joyful face, and together we spent a Sabbath day joyfully.

However, the young people and the children thought differently. For them, the garden was the true joy when they had so much free time to spend there, as on Shabbos, to meet with acquaintances and benefit from the good air, too.

From early on Shabbos afternoon, dressed-up children from Jewish streets began to be drawn into the garden. They went in groups of people. Held by the hands so as not to get lost, they went in wide lines, taking up the entire sidewalks in the narrow, Jewish alleys. However, this was not noticed in the [more elegant] streets that were much wider.

The wide shop windows, full of dolls, small horses, and other toys, provided enough joy for children. The children, held by the hand, dragged from window to window, pondering everything and full of enthusiasm, had no illusions themselves or for each other.

– See, my Mommy will buy me a ball.

– My cousin, who lives in the city (meaning the large streets), has such a doll.

And thus, constantly at every window, new and different things were always seen, until one reached the garden.

However, here the real “scene” began.

They did not let [us] into the garden… The angry watchman stood at the gate and guarded it on Shabbos more than on other days. Children unaccompanied by adults were not allowed in. Children must not go alone; they should go with parents.

The gentiles did not know that the Jewish children were enough [like] adults; they were already complete people. The parents entrusted an eight-year-old girl with the two younger children.

However, there was no choice here. The watchman did not allow [them) in, and they had to devise a solution, how to get into the other side of the gate.

Jewish children found a solution: the group of children who came together now divided themselves into ones. An adult arrived, who was allowed to enter immediately. The children went to them and begged:

– Take me with you!

– Take me into the garden!

The adults took the children under the arms or by the hands. Now they had protection, and with beating hearts, they entered the garden.

They went in this way with the “mother” a little bit further because the watchman could still appear and look around and see that they had fooled him, and ask them to leave.

Now, once through the gate, one went freely through the garden; the adults went to the cool, dark boulevards, and the children went through the freer area where the arbor stood and music played.

So, the colorful pictures of the Lublin Garden

[Page 152]

always appeared before my eyes, even when I became an adult, a student, and myself went into the garden “freely” with a book under my arm.

Later, as a teacher at the Jewish public school, I tried to spare the children the hardship of waiting in front of the gate (often futilely), but I would often stroll in the garden with my students.

The garden supplied a sufficient subject for nature instruction, conversation, and pleasure. I once cared for children from the poorest strata in Lublin. They were the children of porters and wagon drivers who resided in the area that was called blotnikes [possibly indicating a swampy area – blota is the Polish word for swamp], on the way that led on the left to the new cemetery and on the right to the old cemetery and divided the city of Lublin from the suburb, Wolya.

The children would come to school in their shoes that were torn and filled with holes. Their houses, which I would often visit, also looked very poor and miserable.

Such strolls in the garden would be a real holiday for the children; it was especially nice during the autumn, in the golden Polish fall, at the time of the falling leaves. The boulevards were covered with large five-fingered horse-chestnut leaves, with wide, etched plane tree leaves, and with beautifully elaborate oak leaves. The leaves constantly fell like this, fell to the earth. The trees wanted to throw down their worn-out clothing and wait for the new style that would come in the spring.

However, the children had great joy from the leaves. We made garlands and sashes of them, in which the children dressed up. They looked at and admired each other. The poor, torn clothing did not show. These were beautiful, dressed up little angels… Even the angry watchman at the gate would smile happily when he saw a row of children marching with song from the garden.

In the winter, too, we would often “drop in” for a stroll in our garden and, naturally, on a beautiful, frosty day.

A side and very hilly boulevard would be arranged as a [sledding area] during the winter. Winter in the garden would be quiet and bright, with few people seen there. From time to time, a child in a warm, little coat and a wool or fur hat over its ears would be seen entering. The child held the hand of its mother, and the other hand, bound with a rope like a dog, pulled a beautiful, yellow-painted sled that slid lightly over the hardened, white snow. It was lively and joyful at the sledding area. Movement by large and small, of adults and children.

I wanted to give this pleasure to the poor children from our school. I knew well that their mothers would not go with them to the garden to sled, and they would not be allowed in gan eden [Garden of Eden] alone. Our schoolchildren did not have any yellow-painted, beautifully wrought sleds. However, when I proposed taking a stroll in the garden to the sledding area, I found several boys who had nailed together a sled of boards with their own hands and even covered it underneath with iron, too. It was better than a purchased one because it was stronger and could carry several children at the same time.

We left for the ice-skating area, and thus one sled after another went down the hill. It was a true joy and delight. The children warmed up and gleamed and forgot the cold and frost completely, also forgot their dark, poor homes…

And today, I hear that the garden in Lublin stands free and open to everyone; there is no longer the angry watchman. However, there are no longer Jewish children from Lublin.

They disappeared with the smoke in neighboring Majdanek…

You will not find their works in any library; you will not encounter any of their names in an encyclopedia; yet their lives and activities were among the most sensitive and illustrious points in the spiritual and communal life in Lublin.

One of the older and strongest of his time and, based on his influence, was the Lublin Rebbe, Reb Avrahamele Eiger, of blessed memory. He was a grandson of the famous gaon [sage] Posen [Poznan] Rebbe Akiva, one of the greatest rabbinical authorities in the first half of the 18^th century, a son of Reb Leibele (the Torat Emet [Torah of Truth – it is customary to refer to a rabbinical author by the name of his most famous book], who went for a time to Izhbitza to Reb Mordekhai Yosef [Leiner]. After this, when the Hoze [Seer] of Lublin died, Reb Leibele settled in Lublin. After his death, his son, Reb Avrahamele, took over the rabbinical position with a smaller group.

He was a good and consistent learner. Found in his Sefat Emet [The Language of Truth] are attempts to give a murky, mystical answer to the eternal question: Why do the wicked prosper and the righteous suffer?

This book, Sefat Emet, was a collection of a summation of teachings recited while leading a tish [table – a meal and gathering headed by a Hasidic rabbi]. They were mostly an improvisation on a verse from a Torah portion or just a commentary of the week.

The teachings of the rabbis were never written down. One of the closest members of [the rabbi's] entourage, an old attendee at the tish, Reb Heshil Torbiner – a Jew and a learned man with a very good memory – had the task of remembering all of the teachings. He stylized them and wrote them down.

The rabbi lived on the Jewish Street (Szeroka) 10.

Walking through the narrow, vaulted corridor, one came out into a giant, large courtyard in which a beautiful and large house of prayer had been erected, which was completed somewhat more than a year before the rabbi's death. (The older and smaller house of prayer in the same courtyard was finally closed.)

On the holidays, and very particularly on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, several hundred and, sometimes, up to a thousand Hasidim came to the Rebbe.

The house of prayer was too small to take in the giant crowd. The majority had to remain in the courtyard for prayer, along with the ordinary Jews or Hasidim who remained at “home” and wanted to pray with a rebbe on Rosh Hashanah.

It was a custom that during the Days of Awe, at the Musaf prayers, [additional prayers recited after the morning prayers], the rebbe and the entire congregation went to pray in the old rabbi's house of prayer of the Seer of Lublin, which was located on the same street, number 28.

The large house of prayer, with many windows, quickly filled up and the courtyard and a bit of the alley were clogged by the worshippers.

Then, when the rabbi himself opened the ark, the Bal Musaf [the one who recites the additional prayers on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur], Menasha Szabisziner, a Jew, a 60-year-old, threw his prayer shawl over his head and with a powerful, ringing voice, cried: “Hineni ha'ani mima'as” [“Here I am, impoverished in word and deed.”].

The entire congregation shuddered and actually sensed that in the merit of the community, their prayers would surely be heard.

The praying ended around 5 o'clock at night. Because of the late time, we did not go home to eat, but went straight to recite tashlik [the symbolic tossing of something like breadcrumbs into a flowing body of water – casting away one's sins from the previous year].

This truly was a strange image that our fellow townsmen happened to see: a train of hundreds and thousands of Jews with the rabbi at the head, wrapped in long, Turkish prayer shawls with the silver band of embroidery on the top of the prayer shawl laid on their shoulders and with streimlekh [wide brimmed fur hats worn by some Hasidic men] on their heads. The flushed, festive Hasidim were interspersed with hundreds of newcomers, freshly rested after a holiday

[Page 154]

nap and everyone together flooded the entire little street up to the bridge and there stood on both sides of the river, the entire length from the Jewish butcher shops to across the bridge at Lubartowska Street.

A quiet, secret murmur was carried in the air and suddenly hundreds and thousands of hands began to turn out their pockets and mysteriously strew something in the water. The sun began to set calmly and pleasantly on the horizon and, as if a little tired from a summer of strolling around, it hurried to feel the taste of a holiday nap.

Dark bits of clouds already covered the Elul sky; they let pass white and blue stripes only here and there through which the last prayers of the day could reach up to the Divine Throne.

Slowly, so as not to cause a rush, the group dispersed.

Reb Avrahamele, of blessed memory, was one of the last of the Mohicans of the Eiger rabbinical dynasty that had “led” in Lublin.

After the rabbi's death, his two oldest sons, Reb Shlomole and Reb Ezrial-Meir, began simultaneously “to lead” and each one pretended to be the only authorized inheritor of the rabbi's “seat.”

If Reb Shlomole considered himself the natural successor, according to religious law as a first-born son, Reb Ezrial-Meir argued that because Reb Shlomole had lived all those years in Krasnik and the public therefore hardly knew him, he would not be able to take over the congregation, and as Krasnik Rebbe, he did not need to become the Lublin Rebbe overnight.

This unraveled a great quarrel with religious lawsuits and finally estranged the entire elite from Lubliner Hasidus.

They both “led” for years, but this all remained a pale substitute for the past…

The Rebbe, Reb Avrahamele, may he rest in peace, died in 1913, on a frosty Shabbos day. His death enveloped the entire city in a Yom Kippur mood. All businesses were closed until after the funeral. Tens of thousands of people flooded the Lublin streets and walked in snow up to the gartl [belt worn by Hasidic men] in order to give their last honor to the great deceased man.

At this street, on the right, going down from the city clock, between the orphans' house (okhrana) and the Jewish gate, was found the book and newspaper business of Reb Shlomo Nisenbaum.

The entrance to the business, which was found in the very front of the street, had a considerable number of steps, and several newspapers hung on the window-paned door as advertisements; one could barely look out.

Not having any windows, besides the half-window-paned door, it was dark there, and the only illumination, even by day, was the kerosene lamp that always burned turned down. He waited for a customer to come in and turn it up. There was never anyone in the shop, but when one opened the door, it disturbed an over-head bell that rang, letting one know that someone had come in.

After waiting for a while, a dark, charming girl with a curly head of hair, cut in a short “brush cut,” with a small, long face, approached. With unaffected politeness, she asked what we wanted, and as it was difficult to find the requested book, or that she did not have it, she smiled, easily a little embarrassed, and put her head in the half-open door that led to a side room [and] called her father.

The side room was of medium size, with one room to the street through which every Shabbos [Sabbath] morning, they gave out the Warsaw newspaper to steady customers, naturally, not taking any money.

This room was furnished very modestly. Two iron beds were on each side of the walls.

Over one of the beds, the picture of a young, extinguished life looked down with quiet sorrow;

[Page 155]

[it was] his son, one of the first pioneers, who had left his comfortable home to become a farmer and stone-breaker in Eretz-Yisroel. After being in the country for a time, he became a guard, and his young life was exterminated while on his post as a guard.

In the middle of the room stood a tiny table with several chairs over which hung a brass, extra-bright light.

At the table, we would always find Nisenbaum sitting with a book and a very small piece of written-upon paper.

Shlomo Borukh Nisenbaum Author of Le-korot Ha-Yehudim be-Lublin [On the History of the Jews of Lublin]

He was of medium height, broad-shouldered, with a slightly round back. He had a full face surrounded by a beautiful, grey beard, trimmed like a komets [Hebrew vowel sign that looks like the letter “t”], a pair of soft and good eyes, framed with a sickly red; therefore, he wore glasses with a gold frame that gave him dignity and importance.

Nisenbaum was an authentic type of an old follower of the Enlightenment, an assiduous student in the worldly sense; he was a diligent reader and greatly versed in the literature of the Enlightenment.

For the short time that he lent books to read (until we little by little “overwhelmed” his library), every reader had a guide in him. Being a fervent Hovevei Zion [Lovers of Zion], he liked to give the reader Ahad Ha-am [“One of the People” – pen name of Asher Zvi Hirsch Ginsberg] and to interpret the beautiful but difficult Ahad Haam commentaries.

He was a researcher of character; his passion was to immerse himself in old books and manuscripts that helped him enrich and deepen his great erudition and knowledge.

His book, Le-korot ha-Yehudim be-Lublin, written in Hebrew, was the crowning of his stubborn and effortful work of many years. The book is a collection of the most important events and occurrences of Jewish Lublin, of all of its great personalities, mediators and communal workers.

Everything that is said there is supported with various historical documents and substantiated by the writing on the old, moss-covered headstones found at the oldest Jewish cemetery in Lublin. Being a man who could and knew what to write, he did not work in any editorial group as a “constant coworker.” However, an article of his was often found in the Lubliner Togblat [Lublin Daily Newspaper] about a communal-cultural question or just about restoring the headstones at the old cemetery.

The fresh grave of his tragically deceased son did not let him rest until he traveled to Eretz Yisroel. At his return, he published several articles in the Lubliner Togblat, where with much love for the land [Eretz Yisroel], he described in a beautiful, picturesque form everything and everyone that he saw and heard there.

He died in 1927. With his death, Jewish Lublin lost one of its deepest intellectuals of a characteristic local color.

[Page 156]

In Tuchman's Library

Everything is topsy-turvy today in Chohen's house of study. The tables near the ark that were usually thickly occupied with those studying at this time are now almost completely empty. Today, the group came to pray earlier to be able to grab a word about the treachery as the opponents had labeled it of what had been done last night.

The new spirit that burst into many Hasidic houses finally found itself in the half-Orthodox Lublin streets and passing Lubartowska on one side and Kowalska Street on the other, turned to the Jewish market between two tall houses where a small brick passageway led to an old building – Chohen's house of study.

After the death of Reb Zadok Hakohen, of blessed memory, who did not leave a successor, there was little engagement in Hasidus or studying.

The majority of young men who had graduated from the great teachers and wanted to continue studying entered Chohen's house of study. In time, however, too often a Tanakh [Torah, Prophets and Writings] was seen over an open Gemara [commentaries on the Torah] that ostensibly meant that one was looking for another verse. The students also began to enter the house of study late and go home earlier than usual.

The exterior form also was a little different; the peyes [side curls] were shorter and half-combed behind the ears, the collar of the shirts was stiff and pressed, bound with a dark tie and, in general, the group talked more than it studied.

This did not endure for long. On a Thursday, between Minkhah and Maariv [afternoon and evening prayers], the shamas [sexton], Reb Yehiel Leib, a Jew, an insolent person, who thought a great deal of himself – he had been the shamas with Chohen, of blessed memory – hung an announcement on which were listed a considerable number of young men who were warned that if they did not change their behavior, they would not be authorized to enter the house of study.

This made an impression on those studying.

Many of those studying were not seen in the house of study the next morning. Borukh Kocker, a strong student and good explainer who recited a page of Talmud every week and whose portion of Nederim [vows] with RaN [Nissim of Gerona] was a model of scholastic mastery, with his talis [prayer shawl] on his shoulders, ready to “wrap himself in it” – seethed and said to the group: “It is hard not to comprehend that Dovid, Kopl's son (Kenigsberg), put on complete gaiters and long pants – If the rebbe did not teach it, where does Reb Chiya get it from?” Drawing the talis over his head, he recited the blessing aloud – they say he ended quietly saying that they were studying the Tanakh [Torah, Prophets and Writings] with explanations by Reish Lakish [Shimon ben Lakish].

From then on, the nighttime students began to meet at Tuchman's in the library in order to exchange books, which until then a student or his friend's sister had done [for him]…

An alley called Oliena was found at Ribner Street. It was narrow, dark and dirty there; the alley was blocked on both sides by tall houses, so that the sun rarely looked in there. There, in one of the houses, was found Tuchman's Library.

Although this was a front shop facing the street, it was pushed deep in the house, which, with its darkness, gave the impression that one was hiding forbidden goods there. From the three shelves, arranged like the Hebrew letter khes [ח], looked down the yellowed backs of the unbound books, and when the door was closed, the dangling threads of the torn bindings swayed and began to move as if they were shaking back and forth, regretting their pitiful situation.

Only a few of the books still had good bindings of English linen that protected the clear sign of their old, important character.

It was rare when several pages were not missing in a book. When someone complained about it, the good-hearted Tuchman would console:

– Never mind, enough pages remain so you are able to read without the few pages and when you finish this, you have other books…”

Tuchman did not have a great and rich selection; one could only find a few “suspenseful” novels by Shomer [Nahum Meir Schaikewitz] and [Ozer] Bloshteyn.

[Page 157]

However, the largest number of books consisted of serious and good works. There were many Hebrew books, particularly the works of [Antoni] Słonimski, [Sergei] Bershadski, [Władysław] Bartoszewski and [Hayim Nahman] Bialik, to [Mordekhai Ze'ev] Feierberg's Le-an [“Whither?”]. These books and writers particularly attracted and had an immense instructive influence on the special reading group that was recruited from within the walls of the house of prayer…

The library understood how to serve its readers and what to give to whom.

Tuchman was a man of short stature [with] a wide, irregular face, but with a pair of dark blue eyes that always smiled and evoked trust. Himself the best reader in his library, there was almost no good book of which he did not remember the plot and the most important dialogue. While Tuchman was a modest man and one who had modest means, the payment to the library was very small. He was an interesting and pleasant talker. So, exchanging a book took hours…

After several months of going to him, we had read his entire library and when we asked him: “Mr. Tuchman, bring some fresh books; you are lacking a large number of modern Yiddish writers; you will see,” we tried to assure him, “you will get new readers and it will…” “So, yes,” he interrupted and did not let us finish – “The new readers do not need fresh books. On Szopena Street in Lektot [a book shop], there are enough books and they have the benefit that one can carry them under the arm and go dancing, shimmy with them…” He ended sadly and with resignation.

The library was not open for a long time. In 1922 a shop for old furniture opened in Tuchman's Library.

A man carries a dream within him. After many years of detachment from Lublin, in the rustle of stormy life in European capitals, always remains the longing once more to go to the old home, once again to have the feeling of being there where I was born, in the city of our youth, hope and love.

So, I see in my earliest years hundreds of Jews carrying packs of food and clothing to the Lewetower Gate. This is the contribution of those in Lublin standing in solidarity with the unfortunate Jews who in 1914 were driven out of a group of shtetlekh [towns] around Lublin by the bloody tsar. I see the hot, searing tears of our dear Lubliners, the deep, thankful looks of our unfortunate brothers and I carry in me the feeling of love for our Lubliners for this deed on my entire life's road, as a majestic eternal light.

And here before my eyes stand the dear Tuchman brothers in the library at the rynek [marketplace].

I see much love and seriousness that the older Tuchman gave to the young, how he won them to reading and to developing a literary taste. How hundreds of Lublin boys have Tuchman to thank that they became acquainted with the best works of world literature…

I see the younger Tuchman, how he stood and painted pictures, mainly on biblical themes, such as Daniel in the lion's den, Rachel at the well, and so on.

I see Lublin during the years of the Austrian occupation; the thousands of beggars in the streets, the hunger that looked out from the deep eye-

[Page 158]

sockets, the long lines for bread, and the radiant tremble at the outbreak of the revolution in Germany, in Austria. I still see how tens of young people ran after the escaping officers and tore off their epaulets. I also find myself with a sack in my hand in the chase after the escaping, well-dressed Austrian elegant young men. How small and pitiable the great world leaders then appeared.

I see the pulsing Lublin communal life; I see the workers' kitchen at Grodzka, under the leadership of the Bund, of the rynek under the leadership of Poalei Zion [Marxist Zionists]; I remember the energetic Comrade Maks from the Bund, a brilliant speaker to the masses, occupied with the professional movement.

A whole row of communal workers emerged from Rynek 7, that is, from the Left Poalei Zion. I remember Comrade Przepiorki, an enthusiastic speaker. His appearance at a First of May demonstration electrified and transported thousands of workers and people. Because of police persecutions, he had to leave Poland and later played a great role in the Communist Party in Argentina, where he was the editor of the Yiddish party organ. He died in 1927 in Argentina.

In 1919, a pogrom took place in Lublin under the influence of reactionary elements. Blows were thrown and Jews were robbed and then one saw the Jewish workers, the porters, butchers and members of the workers union, go out in the street and beat the pogromczikes [those participating in the pogrom] so terribly that they long remembered their defeat. The police then mixed in because they saw how the unruly hooligans were being badly beaten; then Lublin became quiet. The P.P.S. [Polska Partia Sochalistyczna – Polish Socialist Party] helped the Jewish workers a great deal in their fight against the hooligans.

The strength of the professional unions and of the workers' movement was very great in Lublin. I remember an entire series of meetings of the workers' council, as well as the Royte Gwardia [Red Guard], in which Jews also had a great role.

I also remember the struggle between the organized labor force and the Jewish Lublin thieves and underworld.

It happened in this way: a worker came to the Tailors' Professional Union, in tears, and said that thieves had taken everything out of his house. This made a strong impression on the workers and it was decided to turn to the thieves to give back everything. The thieves answer to the request from the union was that they were not afraid of the “fools” and would give nothing back. Then the union declared a war against the thieves and a bloody battle between both sides began. There were wounded on both sides. The thieves lost the battle and had to return everything and commit themselves not to steal from any worker.

Large meetings would often take place in Lublin. [Vladimir] Medem, [Beynish] Michalowicz, [Josef] Kruk, [Yakov] Zerubavel, Grinbaum and so on came to Lublin very often with speeches and lectures.

[Chaim] Zhitlowsky visited Lublin, gave a spirited lecture, as did [Nahum] Nir-Rafalkes. Of the Yiddish writers, we had [Y.L.] Peretz, [Peretz] Markish, [Yoyel] Mastbaum, [Moishe] Broderzon, [Noakh] Prylucki, [H.] Leivick, and so on. They participated in the spiritual rise of Lublin.

Under the influence of the futuristic poetry of Uri Zvi Greenberg and [Moishe] Broderzon, poets grew in Lublin like mushrooms after the rain; stars arose and were extinguished.

Thus, I still see so many years later my hometown, which I will always carry in my spirit.

[Page 159]

I do not know the history of this street or its name's origin, likely because a Russian church was once located on it; therefore, it was named Ruska.

The Lublin Jews made the name Ruska more Jewish and called it Rasha Street. The Russian church did not have many visitors. Every Sunday, the soldiers of Pravoslavna [Russian Orthodox] belief who served in the military in the 8^th Polk [regiment], which was stationed in Lublin, came and recited their prayers there. The church was almost empty for the remaining days of the week.

The small soda water shops and the two beer taverns that were on the street waited for Sunday to earn something from those who came to the church. The relationship was friendly among the followers of the Pravoslavna belief who strolled along the street after the prayers and the Jews from the same street.

Ruska Street was not a business street. Workers, artisans, and retailers lived on the street. Except for the watchmen, the street was inhabited by Jews. The people drew their livelihoods from work and retail.

Twice a year, Ruska Street was enlivened by thousands of Lublin Jews. This was erev [eve of] Yom Kippur and Tisha b'Av [9^th of Av – usually in late July or early to middle August]. The Jews then went to the old and new cemeteries. On Tisha b'Av, they mainly went to the old cemetery and on this day, the neighboring streets between them and Ruska Street had a very different appearance. Thousands of Jews filled the streets; more prosperous ones traveled by horse-drawn coaches. The greatest majority walked and, on the way, met acquaintances and had conversations about everything and everyone.

A series of institutions gave importance to the street. The yeshiva [religious secondary school] of Reb Borukh Kocker was located at Ruska no. 2, where several tens of young yeshiva students studied. At no. 18 was the Jewish public school named for B. Borochov. In the evenings, courses for adults, organized by the Evening Courses Society, took place. At number 34 were a number of the professional unions of the Jewish workers, such as: leather workers, bakers, tanners, house servants and so on. The house of prayer of the Bikur Kholim [organization to help the sick] was opposite number 34. The gabbaim and shamosim [assistants to the rabbi and synagogue caretakers] were residents of the street; there was never a lack of a minyon [10 men required for organized prayer] for Maariv [evening service], let alone for Shabbos [Sabbath] or a holiday when the house of prayer was full of worshippers who lived on Rasha Street.

The modest, quiet street had such a varied color, created by a yeshiva, a house of prayer, a Jewish public school, professional unions of Jewish workers with progressive tendencies. Together they built a comprehensive Jewish life that was felt in every house and with every step.

[Page 160]

Almost nothing has yet been written about our suburb, Zamd. And there is a great deal to write about here because wherever one touches, a bit of Jewish characteristic wells up, a bit of Jewish life that literally asks that all of this be recorded and that justice be done to its memory.

Understand, the work is colossal and demands much effort and exertion.

The writer of these lines explained to himself that he was unable to encompass all areas of the ebullient life in the suburb, Zamd; however, he did try to record everything that welled up in his own memory, and let these notes serve as a page in the history of the annihilated, great Jewish city, Lublin, and its suburbs. Among them – our dear suburb Zamd.

The name Zamd (Polish: Piaski) comes from the fact that the entire suburb was built on sand.

Zamd began to develop at a noisy tempo at the end of the 19th century, after the construction of the railroad line and the train station. Until then, the city ended at Wolski's factory.

The suburb Zamd encompassed the neighborhoods Cukrownia, Zapzhiazdem [this may be Zemborzyce], Dziesiąta, and the streets Foksolna (since 1938, First of May Street) and the Czowska (up to the bridge). Even the suburb Branowicz, which lay on the side of the Piasker Highway, also belonged to Zamd.

The population of Zamd was mixed: Jewish and Polish. From the train station to the bridge, the Jewish population formed a large majority. But in other neighborhoods, it was a small minority. Therefore, it is no wonder that all of Jewish life was concentrated in the confined area of the train station to Wolski's factory, only on Foksolna and Bichowska.

On the streets here were located the synagogue, houses of prayer, the societies: Gemiles Khesid [interest-free loans] and Bikur Khoylim [society to aid the sick] with their shtiblekh [one room synagogues usually associated with a trade or organization]; here, the teachers also lived. Beginning with the teachers of the youngest children: Chemiele and Nota. Later, also, Chaim Yehuda, to the [teachers of] Khumish-Rashi [Torah and Rashi commentaries] and Gemora [Torah commentaries], such as: Leibish Foygl, Yitzhak Koch, Yankele, Rafael Berish and Ezrial Melamed [teacher].

The larger majority of the Jewish population here consisted of artisans (mainly, shoemakers and tailors) and small merchants (mainly, small food shops).

Until the First World War, Zamd, like the majority of small shtetlekh [towns] in Poland at that time – lived, as is said, in darkness and in backwardness. The entire communal life of the Zamd Jews was concentrated in the synagogue and in the house of prayer, as well as in the later two shtiblekh of the philanthropic societies, Bikur Khoylim (where Chaim Sznitberg, Zaynvl Blumberg, Henekh Anker and others were active) and Gemiles Khesid (where Sholem Sztokfisz, Shabtai Szuster, Khilekhl Blechermacher, Moshe Stolier and others were active).

This episode can show how backward the shtetl was, that the Zamder Jews called the popular feldsher [old-time barber-surgeon], Zelik Bergaut, to his face: “the Jewish gentile” and it did not help that he wore a beard and every Shabbos [Sabbath] he went to pray with his two boys. The three offenses of wearing short clothing, speaking Polish to his children at home, and

[Page 161]

taking money from the sick on Shabbos, was enough that he was crowned with this name.

However, with the outbreak of the First World War, now under Austrian occupation, new winds began to blow.

The young threw themselves into reading books with great devotion; they began animated discussions; they began to carry dreams of a more beautiful and better tomorrow. The large synagogue courtyard, where the majority of the Jewish young people once spent their youth, ceased to serve as a meeting place. They were encouraged to go out to the street.

The entrance through the occupier's general free compulsory schools and the reformed khedorim [religious primary schools] opened a new life for the Jewish children because until then they had suffocated in the crowded, stuffy little rooms of their teachers and had then to work, or run an errand for the teacher's wife. However, when the Austrians carried out “reforms,” they studied in clean, separate rooms.

However, political and communal life began to develop after 1918.

Various parties, societies and clubs grew in Lublin. Zamd young people were carried away and began to actively take part in everything. However, everything in “the street” (that is how the other city parts of Lublin were called).

The young people of Zamd were often heard wrangling and carrying on bitter arguments about socialism and Zionism, about that this or that party and the names of Marx, Herzl, Lenin were mixed together. The notes of Hatikvah [The Hope – an anthem adopted by the Zionist movement and now the national anthem of the State of Israel] and The International, of the Bundists and Poalei Zion [Marxist Zionists] Shvue [The Oath] and other songs of hope and freedom were carried from the open windows of the crowded workshops into the streets.

In Zamd proper, however, no organization or society had yet arisen. In 1923, at the initiative of Chaim Lezman and Simkha Anier from Zapzhiazdem [this may be Zemborzyce] – both class-conscious shoemaker workers, communists – the first illegal meeting of a group of former students and young workers was called. The purpose of this encounter was to found a Jewish sports club. The first meeting took place in the attic of Doba Sztokbaum's house (Bichowska 12). Those taking part were: the brothers Yona and Shaul Ratrubin (today in France), Meir Noakh and Leibl Rubinsztajn, Yehiel Sztajnberg, Shlomo Holtsheker (the “fat Shlomo”), Malekh Fricelman, (the latter were murdered by the Nazis), Shlomo Sztokfisz, Leibl Rubin (today in Israel) and others, whose names, alas, I do not remember.

It was decided after a long discussion to found a sports club. The two above-mentioned workers undertook to cover all costs that were connected with the founding of such a club. Their idea was clear: they wanted to use the club for political work. However, the Zamd young people of this group, first of all, lay their entire culture in their feet – in playing soccer. Both initiators then withdrew from their work with the club. Later, the sports club, Nesher [eagle], developed strongly and encompassed more and more members and sympathizers, but not being legalized, it could not open its own premises and, as a result, could not satisfy all the cultural and communal needs of the young.

The club later organized at rightest Poalei Zion after playing for approximately three years with various “wild” clubs and united with a group of “street players,” who together built the Jewish sports club, Hapoel [The Worker]. This club was one of the strongest Jewish clubs in Lublin up until the Second World War.

However, they remained without their own societies or organizations in Zamd itself. Not until the years 1929-1930, through the initiative of a group of young intellectuals, was the first founding gathering of an apolitical society called under the leadership of the left Poalei Zion activist, Yitzhak Szpira. This

[Page 162]

meeting took place on a Friday night in Velvl the baker's house (1st of May Street, 41), in the residence of the Zonenszajn family. Taking part in it were: Sura Blumberg, Menasha Erlichman, Miss Wajnberg, (Yosef's daughter), Ekhaus, Shmuel Zilberszer, Chaim Morgnsztern, Kalman Szpiro, the Trachtenberg brothers, the brothers Shlomo, Yehiel and Dovid Sztokfisz, and many others whose names, alas, I do not remember. At this meeting, it was decided to turn to the county for the legalization of a society under the name Peretz Circle and, meanwhile, to collect money for a premises. Miss Zonenszajn, a student at the Jewish secular school, recited Peretz's Monish with great success.

The wait for permission for legalization took almost two years (it turned out that the impartiality frightened the village elder), but at the end of 1931, we finally received such permission and the Peretz Circle was opened in the house of Dozor [member of the synagogue council] Sakar Finklsztajn (First of May Street 26).

The Peretz Circle quickly grew and was very popular for its cultural activity, such as: readings, lectures, kestl-ovntn [literally box-evenings – several questions of current interest are written down and then selected for discussion by those present] and so on. Well-known speakers and party activists appeared at these cultural events, such as and others. Active in the Peretz Circle were: Yitzhak Szpira (chairman), Sura Blumberg, Miss Frimer, Perec and his brother Nakhl Hes from Bychawski Street and others. It was very characteristic that the circle endeavored not to take as members left-leaning workers. It wanted to be kosher [acceptable] for the regime. However, this did not help and in 1932 the club was closed by the regime.

And again, a few years passed without a public premises. In 1934, the idea of creating a sports club ripened. However, such an independent legalization was then difficult to obtain in half-fascist Poland. Therefore, we turned to the already existing legal sports clubs Morgnstern [Morningstar] (Bund) and Gwiazda – Stern [Polish and Yiddish words for star] (left Poalei Zion) about a joint conference. At this conference, which took place in Khemia Fajn's house (Pl. Bichowska 3), the premises of the former sick-fund, a large number of Bundist leaders came, such as: Dubinski, Nisenbaum and so on. The Bundist representatives declared that they were ready to found a division of Morgnstern, but on the condition that the branch be partisan (Bundist). A stormy discussion took place, in which participated: Ezrial Hochbaum, Shlomo Sztokfisz, Khil Sztokfisz, Winkler, the Horn brothers and the Garfinkel brothers. Those from Zamd demanded autonomous rights with the rationale that the club needed to serve the interests of all party interests of the Zamd young. The Bund did not agree to this and the project to create a sports club came to nothing. Sometime later, the sports club, Gwiazda – Stern (left Poalei Zion) opened a branch in Zamd, around which very diverse cultural and communal activities were carried out. But this upswing and vitality of the Zamd young people was a thorn in the eyes of the regime and, Passover 1937, the branch was closed, along with all of the leftist clubs in Lublin, such as: TOR (Polish Socialist Party) and the Jewish sports club, Wieniawa (in Czechów). The majority of active workers from the closed clubs were later arrested and received long-term punishments for Communist activities.

No new, independent societies exist anymore. In contrast, those earlier-mentioned religious and philanthropic societies continued to carry out their work with the poor Zamd population. Active here were – in addition to the previous mentioned names – the dozores: Shiele Erlichman, Elya Topel and Yosl Chalves.

Until… the Hitlerist wild beast arrived with wild ferocity against European Jewry and reduced the Jewish cities and shtetlekh [towns] to nothing, and among them, our dear suburb Zamd.

  Lublin, Poland     Yizkor Book Project     JewishGen Home Page

Copyright © 1999-2025 by JewishGen, Inc.
Updated 23 Oct 2025 by OR