Early Years {cont.}
Barnanovichi - New Era
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As the city grew and quickly developed, a large slaughterhouse was built at the
other end of town,
so we moved in that direction, so that father wouldn't have to walk far,
especially in winter.
Only when I visited Baranovichi on the way to Palestine in 1932 did I find
the family in their
own home at 17 Sadova St., with a barn and a nice garden. (On this visit, I
was traveling with
little Helen, my oldest daughter, and had planned to leave Mom and Helen in
Baranovichi while
I went to Palestine to build a home. But the Polish police came to the
house almost daily to
check up on me. When father protested, the policeman said, "To Nasha
Polska", meaning,
"It's our Poland, and we will come to your house whenever we feel
like it." After about
three weeks I left, with Mom and Helen.)
Neighbors – good and bad!
We didn't stay long in that first apartment, since we had a cruel neighbor who
was a blacksmith.
The outhouse was close to his fence. He had three sons who worked with him,
and their favorite
pastime was to watch when my mother went into the outhouse. Then they would
shove a red hot
iron through the wooden boards and scare the life out of her. In this
apartment my mother
gave birth to a little girl, who did not live for more than a year.
I remember a neighbor who lived across the street –
Shlome “Der Porush” Block
,
and his red-headed wife Chanah. A porush was part of an ascetic group who
devoted
his life only to Torah and not to worldly matters. His wife made the family
living
by boiling bones for making candles. They were childless, and it seems that
they
were very sad over it. They tried everything to have a child. I remember
once he
brought from the slaughterhouse the male organ of a bull, which was
cooked.
Shlome drank the broth, but it did not help. My parents were very close
to
this couple, who eventually moved to Jerusalem when the Turks still
ruled
there. They settled close to Me'ah Shearim. I visited them in 1922, and
slept there for one night. I had slept in their home (the one in
Baranovichi)
once before, when my little sister died. These people eventually
adopted
a boy in Jerusalem. In the early 1930's I visited them again. It was
a
Thursday, and I noticed people moving in and out of the kitchen,
talking
to Chanah. I finally learned that Chanah had a fund for
"matan b'sater",
giving charity that is inconspicuous. People who were embarrassed
to ask for
help would come to her and get a ticket to the grocery for a
certain amount
of food, according to the size of their family. I made it a
habit to send
a few dollars for the fund every now and then.
Each town had its own
meshugoyim
(crazy ones), and we had two. The meshugoyim
usually slept in one of the synagogues, on the benches near the stove.
Mendel der Meshugener
was a quiet man. People fed him willingly. He wore an
old hat and dilapidated clothes. Our other meshugener was Vashke. He was a
young
man, and some said very learned.
Vashke
was vicious. He could swing at you for no reason, and if someone teased him,
as happened often, he ran very fast, caught his victim, and beat the hell out
of him.
He also remembered his enemies. Many boys feared his fists and would walk on
the
opposite sidewalk to avoid meeting him. His main hangout was in the Big Shul.
Characters – Tales – Visitors
We also had all kinds of characters in Baranovichi. One claimed that he was a
great-grandson
of the Vilner Gaon, and told miracles about him. One story was that someone
tried
to desecrate the Gaon's grave, on which there was a little building. This
was the
usual practice over the grave of famous people, and was called an
"ohel" (tent).
To get back to the Gaon, as the man touched the grave, his hand became
stiff.
He could not bend his hand until he begged forgiveness from the Rabbi in
Vilna,
and pledged charity.
These kinds of stories were told by overnight guests, and would fascinate the
children.
A guest cantor or a "magid", after performing in town, had a group
of "ba'aleh batim"
go and collect money for the guest, usually from the people who belonged to
that particular
synagogue. But I remember a very famous "magid" who talked in the
big synagogue.
The place was so jammed with people that one couldn't get in or out.
People were
hanging on the windows. The collection was made on the spot and a large
sum of
money was gathered. The "magid" was not only an orator, he
hypnotized the
audience. Such speakers were very rare.
Once a cantor came to Baranovichi for Shabbat, and naturally he stayed with
us. On
Friday he asked mother to prepare a whole chicken for him, and said he would
pay for
it. It sounded strange, but mother did so, and he asked her to place it in
the "cahelke",
a special place in the oven where he could get to it by himself. He got up
early Saturday
morning before going to synagogue, and consumed the whole chicken. But he
really had
a good voice, and it paid him well for all he ate.
School – Teachers
When I was six, I began school. My teacher, Mr. Kusherovsky, was a tall,
bearded man
who resembled Herzl. (In later years, I joined the Tz'eirey Zion Party, a
socialist
Leninist party to the right of the Poalei Zion, of which Mr. Kusherovsky was
also
a member.) The school was a corner house near the market square. Winter
days in
that part of the world are short, and by 3:30 P.M. it was dark. The snow
would
pile up high and remain on the ground most of the winter. Paths were
shoveled
through the snow, and formed tunnels with high walls on each side. Going
home
from school one day, I walked hand in hand with a little girl my age
who lived
near us. Our parents had ordered us to go home together. Of course we
got lost,
since we couldn't see over the walls of snow. Search parties found us
wandering around.
As I grew older, I moved on to a different teacher – Mr. Misilevsky – and a
different school.
It was a modern Hebrew school, with subjects such as arithmetic, science,
poetry,
and composition, all taught in Hebrew. I was later told that it was mostly
due to
the influence of my oldest brother, Yikutiel, with the sympathy of my
father, who
decided that I should not go to Cheder, the old-fashioned school where the
emphasis
was on the study of the Talmud and the language used was Yiddish.
Misilevsky
and his daughter were excellent teachers, and I made good progress in
Hebrew.
As Baranovichi grew, a big Yeshiva was formed as well as a smaller one. The
latter
was called the "Musar" Yeshivah, and was basically concerned with teaching
good morals,
mitzvot, and proper prayer. Bachurei yeshivah (Yeshiva students) flocked to
Baranovichi.
They had to eat and sleep, so they ate "tag" – a day here and a
day there. Each housewife
felt it her duty to adopt a boy or two for one day week, or for a Shabbat.
In our house,
three boys ate one day a week. Mother wanted only boys who behaved well.
Some would
even get a few kopecks that day.
I remember a childish prank of mine. The maid used to bring me lunch,
consisting of hot cocoa,
buttered bread, a soft-boiled egg, and a piece of fruit. During summertime,
we would eat
outside and one of the girls began teasing me. I ran after her, and rubbed
the soft-boiled
egg into her hair… shame on me.
The Bailis Trial
I learned to read Yiddish in 1913, during the famous Bailis Trial (Blood Libel
Trial
which took place in Kiev.). Jews were accused of killing a Christian boy and
using
his blood in baking Passover matzot. The trial of the accused man, Bailis,
took a
long time, and his lawyers did their best to defend him while the Czarist
regime
did all it could to convict him. He was finally freed and moved to
America. This
trial stirred Jews to the highest degree. If he had been convicted, a
series of
pogroms would have spread throughout Russia. The radio did not exist
then, and
the only available information regarding the trial came from the Jewish
newspapers, which arrived by train from Warsaw. People waited anxiously
at the station to grab the newspaper, especially to read the speeches
by
the defense. When the papers came to us, my father would gather the
family
around him and read aloud, telling us each time to remember this
trial
all our lives. One day I got hold of the Yiddish newspaper, and
after
a few questions, started to read. All I had to know were a few
rules,
such as an aleph is an "a" or an "o", a yud
is an
"i", an ayin is an "e". And that's all
there was
to it. But my Hebrew from school influenced my whole family.
My parents
overheard me one night, talking in my sleep in Hebrew. Being
ardent
Zionists, my father and older brother suggested we try to
speak Hebrew
at home. I was delighted and it worked for a while, but it
was difficult
to get along with mother who could not converse in Hebrew,
and the
experiment failed.
A Big Scare
Once before WWI, I remember a big scare. Near the synagogue was situated a
"hekdesh"
and a Talmud Torah, and a shack where funeral implements were kept. Naturally
we were afraid
to pass nearby and see those implements in the shack. The
"hekdesh" served as a
public place where poor people could sleep overnight. Some sick ones
remained there until
they died. mother would often send me with a dish of soup or some meat for
a sick person.
The stench inside was terrible, but I had to go. Then one day mother
cleared a bedroom
and took an old woman in. Mom tended to her, fed her, and after a while,
the woman got
sick. Mother would clean and wash her. One day I came home from school,
opened the
door, and saw the woman on the floor with two candles burning near her
head. My shock
was great, and I screamed and fled. It later turned out that my
brother was to have
watched for me to keep me out of the house, since we were Cohanim
and as such are
not allowed to be in the presence of the dead. But my lookout
overlooked me. After
the funeral, the house was washed and cleaned and we returned the
next day. A
woman whose job it was to make the burial shrouds, came and put a
needle with
white thread left over from the dead woman's shroud, in my
lapel, saying that
it was a "segulah" (amulet) for a long life.
That particular bedroom remained empty for a long time. Finally brave Rouvke
(me) said
that he would move in there. My bed was put there, and I must have slept
there for two
or three nights, when I awoke in the middle of the night screaming and
sweating. I said
that the woman had come and choked me. And that was the end of my bravery.
The Buck “Kaziony”
I recall that there were many goats in the town. A large buck was named
Kaziony,
which means "belonging to the government". He roamed the streets freely. If he
managed to get into a garden it meant ruin. He was powerful. Brave boys would
grab him by the horns and ride him. But woe to you if he caught you from
behind
without your noticing him. Your behind was a perfect target for his horns.
This buck was once maneuvered into the Big Shul, where he was driven crazy
for hours, chasing and being chased around the central Bimah.
Holidays
Erev Yom Kippur, thousands of chickens were slaughtered for "kapparot" (atonement
for sins).
At least one was needed per person. The two Shochetim of the town, sometimes
with an assistant,
became partners for the day. It was announced that all kapparot would be
slaughtered near the
two synagogues – the main and the artisan synagogues – at a large empty lot.
In order to
facilitate and expedite matters, tickets were sold in advance. A paid
ticket was given
for the number of kapparot to be slaughtered. I went to the store to buy
paper for the
tickets, and came back with two rolls of toilet paper, which I had never
seen before.
They served well, since it was perforated, and easy to tear off. All we
had to do was
number and stamp it, and with this document each customer went to the
shochet. No
forgeries were possible, since no one possessed such paper!
On the day of Yom Kippur, father sat in the first row near the Ark, facing the
worshippers. A heavy layer of hay was spread on the floor, since everyone
took his
shoes off on that holy day. At Minha (intermediate worship service), about
1:00 P.M.,
a half dozen plates for different charities were set out at the entrance to
the
synagogue. One box was covered, and called "secret donation"
where each one put
in according to his conscience. This was intended for those who were in
need,
but were ashamed to ask for help publicly. All other plates were open,
and
watchful eyes knew exactly what each one put into the plates.
The place was lit up very brightly by lux lamps – kerosene under pressure –
and
each person brought candles, and hundreds of them burned at one time. Some
candles were heavy, and a meter tall, and burned well into the next night.
Some people did not go home, but studied and said "tehillim" (psalms)
throughout
the night. But we kids had a good time. We got a supply of food and
goodies to
take with us to Shul, and running around in the hay was a lot of fun.
Sukkut
came, and with it cold rain, frost, and snow. To help build the Sukkah was
a lot of fun. The "s'chach", branches of a pine tree, gave off a good scent,
and the
farmers brought them in, wagonloads of them from the forests surrounding
Baranovichi.
But very seldom could we enjoy sitting in the Sukkah unless we wore coats.
I remember my brother Yankel preparing a nice set of holders for the lulav,
with two green twigs on either side, made from the leaves of the lulav.
It was something very special, woven together, and he was very good at
it.
On
Simchat Torah, frost covered the ground, but the cold was offset by our collecting
the "s'chach" from the Sukkot, and gathering it into one place, in
high piles, the higher
the better. Then we set fire to the piles. As the flames jumped into the
sky, the circle
around the fire had to retreat fast, very fast… and it seemed there
was no trace of
snow or cold. I remember how we celebrated Simchat Torah while father was
still in
the Artisan Shul. Everything from the aliyot to hakafot (walking a circle
holding a Torah)
were sold in auction style every Shabbat, by the Shamash, who had a
childish voice.
He would usually start low, with 5 or 10 groschen (half a kopeck) and
go up to a
gilden (15 kopecks). But important events, such as hakafot Simchat
Torah, brought
in even rubles, especially the first two or three hakafot. Father,
who led the
procession, did not have to pay. The custom on Simchat Torah was
that the Gabai
(elected officers of the synagogue) invited the congregation to
their houses.
Of course not everyone came, but a couple of dozen people, who
knew them well,
would come. It was a mitzvah to drink and eat. One year, it was
our turn as
well to be hosts, after the Gabai. Mother was known as a kugel
and stuffed
derma specialist, especially the heavy part called
"kutznitze". Naturally
mother prepared everything well, including tzimmes, cakes,
etc. And when
the whole group marched into the house, wine and vodka were
served, and
then the hot dishes. But when mother opened the oven, she
found it empty!
While we had been in synagogue, someone had played a trick.
They had
removed all the pots and put them in the neighbor's oven.
The pots were,
of course, returned and refreshments were served. The
Shamash, a poor
man, went to all the merry events, and when he got to
our house, he
was a bit drunk. But he said, L'Chayim! And wanted to
sit down.
Just then, something told me to pull the chair away
from him. He
wore a heavy "peltze", sheepskin-lined. The
poor man rolled over,
and I still feel sorry for the stupid joke I played
on him.
Chanukah
was the season of latkes, cards, and Chanukah gelt. Naturally the kids
knew all about getting, but not giving. We had a visitor from some small town
who always
brought something nice – a fat chicken, a large jar of cream. He came for
one Chanukah,
and gave me a whole ruble, a big silver thing with the face of the Czar on
it. Well,
my parents had to get it away from me, since I didn't know what to do with
such a
thing, except to play with it and keep it in my pocket. And what would I
be if I
lost it? They tried all sorts of ways to get the ruble away from me. I
held out
until after Chanukah, when I was told that the ruble would get me a new
pair of
shoes. And that was the end of my fortune.
Purim
was a joyous holiday. The biggest fun was not the "grager"
(noisemaker),
but the "shooting". And here is how it worked: You got a key
somewhere, the larger
the better. The key had to have a hole in it. You took matches, filled the
top of the key
with sulfur from the matches, and then found a nail that fit and rubbed the
point down
flat. You tied a string to the head of the nail, inserted the point end
into the key,
and swung it against the wall. The sulfur would explode with a large
sound. This was
repeated until the key blew up. It was not easy to obtain the right kind
of key, and
many locks were left keyless after each Purim. But this wasn't all.
Purim also meant
"mishloah manot" – sending gifts to one another, and sending
gifts to the
poor, as it is written in the Megilah. Kids were running around with
covered platters.
Some got paid for the job, or were given a nice hamentash (poppy seed
cake).
The platters were loaded according to the friendship, or the
prestige of the giver.
I remember a 5-ruble piece being sent to someone.
Pesach
followed Purim, and by then it was springtime. Pesach was the season in which
the children played at rolling nuts, usually the smaller ones like hazel nuts.
The older
boys played with walnuts. The same man who gave me the ruble once gave me a
large paper
bag full of walnuts. We would make a little hole in the ground and try to
roll and hit
the lined up nuts into the hole. The winner won all the nuts.
Preparations for Pesach started right after Purim, especially if the weather
warmed up
a bit. The storm windows were removed, and often some new paint or new
wallpaper set
the holiday atmosphere. But the really busy season started a week or ten
days before
Pesach. Baking matzoh was a project in itself. Although the matzot were
baked in
several places, some places were favorites. For instance, where the Rabbi
baked
his, an inspection of the place was made: oven, tools, water barrels,
cleanliness;
all was microscopically checked. Then a staff of volunteers was
organized.
Those that knew how, rolled out the dough, usually women and girls.
"Redling"
(perforation of the matzah with a special tool) - this was a favorite
job. Then
the round matzot were handed to the baker, who put three or four on
one paddle,
and with a swift movement, unloaded them in the oven. When the
matzot were ready,
they had to be removed in time, before they burned or the edges
folded under,
rendering them unkosher. Bakers were paid for their work, but all
the helpers
were volunteers. The jobs were popular since it gave the boys and
girls an
opportunity to meet and flirt.
Finally, Erev Pesach came. The house was spick and span. The matzot were
brought in a large,
white linen tablecloth and put away in a secure place. Now came the time to
prepare matzoh
meal for kneidlach, and farfel for soup. The "stupe" – a hollowed
out log of wood was
taken down from the attic. Matzoh was put into the hole, and the stupe was
banged on
with a wooden stick until flour formed in the bottom, while the small
pieces were used
as farfel. Pesadikeh cake was delicious, and chremzlach – triangular
small cakes fried
in deep oil were a favorite.
The dishes, glassware and silverware all had to be "kashered", and
that was quite a job.
After a good cleaning, some of the pots were fired, and knives were stuck
back and forth
in the earth until they shone. Some of the pots were made of copper,
soldered white on
the inside. These were re-soldered for Pesach. A small hole was dug in the
ground and
the silverware put there. The hole was filled with boiling water and red
hot stones
placed in the water. New glassware and silverware were subjected to
"t'vilah" in the
well (put into a pail an dipped several times into the well). All books
were taken
outside for airing and leafed through to make sure no bread crumbs
remained in them.
During the year, things were put into the attic instead of being
thrown away. Erev
Pesach was the time to get rid of these unnecessary things.
With Pesach over, we kids looked forward to
Lag B'Omer. We went into the woods,
shooting clumsy arrows, but we had a lot of fun. Then came Tisha B'Av, the
memorial
day for the destruction of the Temple. By then it was late July, and we
collected
sticky round balls. These were brown seed balls covered with thorns from
the castor
trees. We would pick handfuls and throw them at one another. They stick to
your clothing,
and the girls would get them in their hair and run home terrified for
help to remove them.
The really bad boys would aim for the beards of the Chasidim, who were
not favorites in
Baranovichi, the town being mostly "Mitnagdim."
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