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ViewMate Posting VM 114572

Submitted by Christine Lassiege

Information Picture Question
Category: Translation - Hebrew
Approval Date: 5/27/2026 4:06 PM
Family Surname:
Country: Poland
Town: Minsk Mazowiecki 		Click the picture to enlarge

 Dear All
This text is an extract from Minsk Mazowiecki's Yizkor book I would like a complete translation english or french doesn't matter.

Thank you very much

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On  Response 
5/30/2026 9:09 AM Les enfants juifs, un peu minoritaires dans la classe, et les Brisachois – nos camarades. On se souvenait de leurs noms.
Le directeur nous convoqua dans son bureau avec une mine grave. Lorsque plusieurs enfants entrèrent déjà avec lui, M. Brisach annula la sortie annuelle à Brouage, et cette annulation suscita une colère générale. Mais nous nous tûmes en raison de la gravité du moment. À Brisach, il se passa alors quelque chose que je n’ai jamais oublié.
Cependant, l’air était chargé. On commença à parler à voix basse, et les opérations continues prirent fin. Ce fut le début d’une nouvelle réalité.
À Brisach, chacun agissait différemment : certains se querellaient, certains criaient, d’autres cherchaient qui avait raison. Mais chez la plupart, c’était surtout un sentiment de confusion et de détresse. On parla de ce qui avait été lu dans les journaux, de ce qui avait été entendu à la radio. Certains disaient que la situation était dangereuse, d’autres tentaient de calmer les esprits.
Le professeur tenta de donner une explication : « La guerre » – un mot lourd, mais encore vague pour beaucoup. Pour nous, cela semblait irréel. Pourtant, même les enfants comprirent que quelque chose de terrible approchait.
On posa des questions : pourquoi ? que se passait-il exactement ? Mais il n’y avait pas de réponses claires. Les adultes eux-mêmes semblaient incertains. Les conversation devenaient plus pressantes, plus inquiétantes.
Le mot « nazis » fut mentionné. Certains élèves en avaient déjà entendu parler, mais pour la plupart, c’était encore abstrait. Peu à peu, l’ombre du danger devint plus concrète.
Un camarade dit que son père avait parlé de combats. Un autre affirma que des villes avaient déjà été attaquées. Les histoires circulaient, souvent exagérées, mais elles nourrissaient la peur.
La journée se termina dans une atmosphère lourde. Sur le chemin du retour, les groupes se formaient et discutaient encore. Personne ne riait comme d’habitude. Les jeux semblaient soudain inutiles.
Chez moi, l’inquiétude était encore plus forte. Les conversations des adultes, entendues à demi-mot, confirmaient que la situation était grave. On parlait de mobilisation, de départs imminents.
Je me souviens surtout du silence inhabituel qui s’installa ensuite. Même les bruits quotidiens semblaient étouffés. Comme si le monde retenait son souffle.
Et pourtant, à ce moment-là, personne ne savait encore jusqu’où cela irait.
6/1/2026 4:12 PM (The translation of this page is too long to fit into one response, so I have divided it into two parts).

Part 1:

a scholarly Jew, who spent his days in [studying] the Torah. And Berel-Itschye – his son. Does anyone remember them? Does a remembrance for them remain?

Berel-Itschye supported the family. Every morning, at sunrise, when most of the neighbors were still asleep, Berel-Itschye would lift the bundle of fabrics onto his back and go to the neighboring villages, to provide the farmers’ daughters with fabric for a dress and [to provide] his family members with support. I still remember Berel-Itschye as a Chassidic young man, with a Chassidic hat on his head. But Berel-Itschye had a desire to march towards “progress” and one day – I happened to have been invited at the time to their home – the young man returns and behold, woe to the eyes that see this – Berel-Itschye was wearing a Kashket on his head. Reb Pinchas-Matis, when he saw the magnitude of his break, jumped up from the Germara and yelled with a voice that was not his own: “Berel-Itschye, absolutely not! I will not allow you to convert!” And he tried with force to remove the Kashket from Berel-Itschye’s head. That one grabbed his head with both hands and yelled, “Tatte, los op” (father, stop!). And this one shouted, “No! Absolutey not!” Of course, Berel-Itschye won. Progress always wins out …

Our house was also divided. The Left on one side and Zionism on the other. And the storm of the argument: The “International” or “Hatikvah” – which is better for us, the Jews. And all of this just precisely on the Sabbath evenings, at Father’s table. Until his patience snapped and he would order: “Hershel! Nachum! Enough! Zemirot!” or: “Honored with leading the Grace after Meals” and the debate was done.
6/1/2026 4:13 PM Part 2:

I will remember the porters who sat next to the store of Laybele Rosenberg in the town square, warming themselves in the sun and waiting for a loaded wagon that needed unloading and a few coins besides, in order not to come home with empty hands to the wife waiting at home.

There was a shoemaker in Minsk, he lived in the courtyard that was in front of the House of Learning, in a small cubicle. A short Jew, with a long white beard adorning his face. I happened to go with a torn shoe to his poor room on one Friday, and I was filled with wonder: How can it be, such poverty – and with this, a cubicle that was clean and tidy and polished in preparation for the holy Sabbath, and the face of the cobbler radiant towards the Queen who is approaching and arriving. And I thought to myself: Is he only a cobbler? … Or perhaps? …

… and the courtyard of Ditenrasky, who would not remember it? It was in the center of the market. The market on one side and the stream that bisects the city on the other. He was a good Gentile to his many Jewish neighbors. I will not enumerate and will not tell about all of the inhabitants of our courtyard, only one of them, who is engraved in my memory, will I beg to mention: Reb Hershel “Koilen-Treger” (carrier of coal). The rich men of Minsk, filled their cellars with coal towards the winter, a beggar’s hall, who will warm their homes in the cold days? Reb Hershel. He would drag sacks of coal and the poor people of the town would come to buy a few kilograms of coal. He was always sooty and black, it was difficult to perceive the face of a person. Only as Shabbat approached would his face shine. Reb Hershel the Lamed-Vavnik, this was his nickname.

And Reb Eliezer the undertaker. Will you remember him? His house was in the cemetery and the dead – his neighbors. His earnings were not sufficient from the burial of the dead of his town, and therefore he was aso a water-drawer. I can still see Reb Elizer walkingin the street and two pails are hung on the pole that is on his bowed shoulders, to give drink to the houses of the many homeowners in exchange for a few groschen.

There is much that can be told about you, my city Minsk. But the hour is the hour of parting. I will depart, somehow, with “peace to your memory”. I am parting from my brother and my sisters, from my relatives and from all of the holy and pure ones whose burial place is not known.

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