[Page 89]

Leafing through old issues of the newspaper Bialystoker Shtime, my eyes were drawn to a photograph of the Jewish hospital in Bialystok. And the longer I gazed at that image, the more my thoughts carried me back to that time–when I myself completed my practical training in that very Jewish institution.

The Jewish Hospital of Bialystok is, after all, a name of renown. It is a glorious chapter in Jewish history, a fragment of a life that once shimmered in so many beautiful colors–and was so mercilessly extinguished.

This famous institution would now be celebrating its 120^th anniversary. Its archives could speak of wondrous things, not only connected to the Jewish population of Bialystok, but also of a humanitarian mission whose reputation reached far, far beyond the city–and not only among Jews.

The Jewish hospital had earned such high esteem across all segments of the population that, in cases of serious and complicated illness, even the highest government officials–and at times even bitter enemies of the Jewish people–sought help within its walls.

Its medical and surgical departments, in particular, were exceptionally well equipped. Hundreds upon hundreds of patients made use of the hospital's outpatient clinic each day, and the majority were treated entirely free of charge by physicians and outstanding specialists in every field of medical science.

This institution was more than a place of healing; for the young Jewish doctor, it was also a continuation of his university education. Here, he was given the opportunity to deepen his knowledge–both in theory and in practice.

Weekly lectures were held at the hospital, organized by the medical society. In this light, the hospital became a kind of temple of medical knowledge–a place where people studied and learned with great dedication.

Practical clinical lectures were also frequently conducted there. That is why many young doctors and medical students gathered around the hospital, seeking to deepen their understanding and take part in its vibrant intellectual life.

In the final years before the terrible catastrophe, the distinguished internist Dr. Kaplan served as the chief director of the Jewish hospital, which occupied a large area along Varshever [Warszawska] Street–formerly known as Aleksandrovske.

In the surgical department, one could still encounter the venerable and proud Dr. S. Rozental.

And as ordenator [department head] of the medical department functioned Dr. Frishman, a son-in-law of the leather manufacturer Beker.

[Page 90]

Dr. Frishman had spent several years in renowned foreign clinics and possessed extensive knowledge and experience. The medical department, incidentally, was of such a high standard that all complicated cases from across the entire voivodeship were sent there.

A remarkable figure–embodying the Jewish scholar, the cultured European, and the accomplished physician–was Dr. Lukatshevski. A true haroposhnitse [head nurse] and a loyal friend to the sick was Dr. Eynhorn.

The department for ear, throat, and eye diseases was headed by Drs. Shatski and Gavze. Dr. Shatski (the son of the midwife Manye) was a national Jew, actively involved in the broader Jewish communal life, and constantly attentive to Jewish pain and suffering.

In the surgical department, the diligent and earnest Dr. Treyvush also served–a son of the well-known Jewish community activist and lawyer Treyvush.

A group of doctors from the Jewish hospital [On the right stands the author of this chapter, Dr. Sokol; his signature also appears there.]

And now I remember a group of young doctors with whom I had the privilege to work during the years 1936–1937. They were all young people who had traveled a very difficult path before they were granted the opportunity to practice in this hospital.

For Jewish youth at that time, it was hard–very hard–to gain admission to Polish universities and continue their education. Some, who had the means, went abroad to Western Europe. But sadly, many were forced to abandon their dreams of higher learning, and some had to interrupt their studies due to financial hardship.

And even for those who had completed their university education, new obstacles awaited them. Upon arriving at the hospital, they were required to perform a year of practical work–what is known as an internship–and this was by no means an easy undertaking.

In Poland, antisemitism raged. It was nearly impossible for a Jew to gain entry into a general hospital–perhaps only for yechidei segulah [outstanding individuals]. Everyone therefore sought a place in a Jewish hospital, and only a small part of our group eventually reunited at the Jewish hospital in Bialystok.

This group included Dr. Vasilkovski, Dr. Soloveytshik, Dr. Gutman–the daughter of the well-known Zionist Dr. Gutman–Dr. Krupnik, Dr. Ayznshteyn [Eisenstein], Dr. Fisher, Dr. Kramazh (who came from Galicia), Dr. Levi, and the author of these lines. I must also mention the medical student Perlmuter, who was a very capable young man.

At the same time, we already had among us the first Bialystoker talents of the emerging generation of Jewish physicians: Dr. Klementinowski and Dr. Novogrudski, who had already begun practicing and had earned the affection of the Jewish community.

These young doctors remained at their posts, together with their older colleagues, until the very last moment–saving the lives of the exhausted and tormented martyrs of the “Jewish Kibbutz” of Bialystok.

I would also like to mention the administrative director of the “rescue facility,” Poznanski, who was well liked by all.

The hospital endured many difficult times over the past decades: the First World War, the German occupation, later the Bolshevik invasion, the new Polish government, and yet another world war - with the Nazi occupation and complete destruction.

Among the images published in the Bialystoker Shtime, the one that struck me most - left me devastated - was the photograph showing the staff of the Jewish hospital being transported to Treblinka.

To all of them - my comrades and colleagues, the upright horepashnikes [toilers] in the field of medical care - I wish to dedicate these humble lines as a memorial to their souls.

I do not possess the necessary materials, nor am I the one destined to write a comprehensive work about the Jewish hospital in Bialystok. That task must be undertaken by a serious researcher and historian.

As for me, I only wished to pass on a few personal memories and express my reverence for a great “rescue institution”–a place of learning where I completed my training as a physician, a major medical center where such renowned doctors once served: Dr. Reygorodzki, Dr. Triling, Dr. Forshterter, Dr. Epshteyn, Dr. Iserson, Dr. Ziman, Dr. Yakobson, Dr. Kagan, Dr. Volf, Dr. Feygin, and many others.

Most of them perished together with their patients, to whom they had devoted nearly half a century of faithful service.

Honor to their memory!

Translator's notes:

1. Contents in [ ] are from the translator. Contents in ( ) are from the author. Return
2. I would like to note that a chapter with similar content–apparently by the same author–appears on page 42 of the English section of this Yizkor book, under the title “Remembering the Jewish Hospital.” However, this is a separate translation and a significant abridgement of the original text, prepared by Rabbi Lowell S. Kronick, as indicated on pages IV–V. This version also contains several deviations from the original. Return

[Page 91]

To write about the school system in Bialystok means to immerse oneself in the aspirations, hopes, and struggles of a generation endowed with revolutionary courage, enthusiasm, grand ideas, and ideals of redemption–a generation that mobilized the masses for the ideal of salvation and the ideal of socialism.

The Bialystoker school system was not only an expression of the city's dynamism, but also of the vibrant creativity within the life of Eastern European Jewry.

Bialystok–the city of the Bund, the city of weavers and tanners, the city of historical beginnings, where the wondrous dreams of a more just world for all, the hopes for human redemption, were woven together.

Bialystok was the pioneering city that led the great battle for labor rights and for equal representation–half Jewish, half Polish–within the textile industry's workforce. It was the city that transformed people–broken by despair, fear, and humility–into fighters. It was the city of the legendary zelbstshuts (Jewish self-defense) in times of pogroms, defending the streets of poverty and the houses of hardship. And it was this very city that wrote one of the most beautiful chapters in the history of Jewish culture and Jewish education.

From the very beginning, the teachers and school staff of Bialystok, with their energy and entrepreneurial spirit, inspired the shtet and shtetlekh along the rivers Biała, Bug, and Neman. Together, they led the great struggle for national and social liberation, during which the Jewish school rose to a place of prominence. [Let us think only of] Grodno, Volkovisk [Wołkowysk], Pruzhene [Prużana], Bielsk [Bielsk Podlaski], Visoke-Litovsk [Wysokie Litewskie], Svislotsh [Svislach], Vashlikove [Wasylkowo], Sokolki [Sokółka], Krynki, Zabludove [Zabłudów], Jashinovke [Jasienówka], and other shtetl and shtetlekh in the surrounding region.

With stubbornness and boundless idealism, the most dignified position for a Jewish worker was forged there.

Every stone laid in the building of the shul^[3] was washed in sanctity. Every step was a march of awakened crowds–individuals filled with idealism, carrying in their hearts love and devotion for the Jewish child, for the new generation that was to inherit the legacy of yesterday and sought to give that great heritage a new form.

Bialystok revealed, in the darkest days of the Nazi ghetto, the self-sacrifice of resistance and the heroism of a collective whose heart held so much sanctity, bound together with gvure (strength). Bialystok fought in its own way against the German beasts–longer than other cities.

For six weeks, this unequal battle raged–a struggle in which even the children of our schools stood among the martyrs and the pure. In the endless chronicle of sorrow and fury that marked the final years of the war, Bialystok wrote its own pages of heroism. The city was able to bring forth these pages in such abundance because, from the Bialystoker Ghetto, Jewish teachers, schoolchildren, and cultural activists shone forth. In the days of trial, they all became heroes.

The history of Bialystok's school system is, to a great extent, the history of its workers and its ordinary Jewish residents. In this regard, the Bialystoker school system was an exception; its torchbearers were primarily Jewish laborers, Bundists, and alongside them, a thin layer of intelligentsia from among the Jewish people.

The school movement began on the streets of hardship, in the houses of sorrow. On Khanaykes [Chanajki], where Jewish poverty lived, where once Elimeylekh's Yeshiva stood–a desolate, empty house–the first children's home was founded in 1912, bearing the name Gan-Yeledim [Kindergarten].

It was a compromise with the mefitzei-haskalah-tuer [advocates of the Haskala], who sought to anchor a Hebrew-inflected name precisely there. Yiddish was not only the language of the people from these streets–it was their most intimate connection to the world, to Jewish folk life.

At the beginning of the First World War, when the political chains that bound the Jewish worker loosened somewhat, and both independence and the creativity that came with it could begin to unfold, the hungry masses responded to the call of the Bund, the S.S. [Zionist Socialist Organization], and Poalei-Zion, together with the radical-nationalist youth, by founding vibrant institutions: the Youth Association School, the Peretz School, and the construction of the Groyse Shul [Wielka Synagogue].

From them grew an entire chain of schools and cultural buildings that filled every part of the city with their spirit. In these schools, the Jewish song was sung by an estimated two thousand Jewish children–with radiant faces and shining eyes. Children who devoured every new word in Yiddish.

Dozens of teachers learned the art of teaching in the workshop of the shul. At the schools, a short seminar for teachers was immediately established, where people immersed themselves in the work and sought new concepts and new paths to reach the soul, the heart, and the mind of the child from among the Jewish people.

[Page 92]

From the very first moment, the Bialystoker school system was carried by a wave of national awakening and political activity, led by pioneering teachers and school staff who, together with the parents, became the builders of the educational system.

One could fill pages describing the self-sacrifice of each and every one of them–how the very last coin was given for the school, how the weavers laid down their work in the middle of the day to organize a fundraising drive, just to make it possible to heat the school, and to prevent it from being “thrown out onto the street“ because of unpaid rent.

The MEDEM Circle at ‘Skif’ [Sotsyalistisher Kinder Farband], 1930. Third from the right is Tsirl (Berkovitsh) Shteyngart, now residing in New York.

Around the schools, a fierce struggle raged–for their rights, for their very existence. Tens of thousands of Jews demanded, through petitions, rights for the Idishe^[4] language and for the Idishe school. There were mass gatherings and children's marches through the streets of our city, accompanied by orchestral music. 1,200 children marched together with parents, teachers, and school staff under the slogan:

“We demand rights for our school! We demand subsidies for our schools!”

The Bialystoker school system also sought to involve Polish workers and the Jewish intelligentsia in this struggle. There were major and difficult battles within the kehile, in the city councils, where representatives of the Bund fought for the rights of the Yiddish language, for Jewish affairs, and for appropriate subsidies from the municipal budget to sustain the schools. Originally grown out of a children's home, the school system developed and reached its peak with the establishment of a Gymnasium located on Fabritshne Street. This Gymnasium was built in the same spirit as the Idishe schools.

At the beginning of its history, when the kehile largely subsidized the schools, the Bialystoker school system was proportionally the largest in the country. At that time, there were two Sholem-Aleichem Schools, one Dinezon School, one An-ski School, and a network of evening courses. Some of these schools later had to be merged in order to secure their existence.

Tellingly, each time the soul of a writer from our literature was extinguished, a building of an idishn school would immediately spring up in their name. Like a lighthouse in the dark days of the struggle for bread and labor, for justice and freedom, the Jewish school grew then as a messenger of a new, better future.

In its cultural and educational ambitions, the city of Bialystok sought to compete with Warsaw and surpass Vilnius. The school holidays were a source of joy for thousands of Jews. A performance by Jewish children was repeated three or four times in the city's largest theater. The choral singing, the literary presentations, the expressive dances, and the lectures stirred awe and love in the crowd–and the efforts [of the schools] grew even stronger afterward. Once, on the occasion of one of our school holidays, a school staff member and former weaver cried out through tears: “This is what I've waited for my whole life.”

And that is why the Bialystoker school system was able to withstand even the harshest storms. For a Jewish weaver, a Jewish tanner or tailor, it was not difficult–even in times of unemployment–to contribute school fees to support the school and secure its existence.

Thanks to this stubborn will, the Michalevitsh-School on Khanaykes was truly built through the contributions of every Jewish worker in the city–so that the building might shine forth to the Jewish people on the streets of poverty, and also signal to the Christian neighbors the readiness to continue our struggle for rights and for life.

Around fifty teachers were employed in the Jewish schools of Bialystok. Fifty teachers from various parts of the country–from Russia, Lithuania, and Poland–some were also native to Bialystok. They were people with different dialects, and through their work, they transformed the Yiddish language into harmonious perfection.

[Page 93]

They shaped a symphony out of many different sounds; they unearthed a pure spring from which our children, the parents, and the entire community drew nourishment.

The teachers from Volhynia were Aperson, Brodski, Abelman, Fisher, Nemaya, and the Floymenboyms. The Polish-language teachers of the Jewish school were the Bialystoker educators ?Mordekhay Rubinshteyn, A. Pat-Rubinshteyn, M. Zabludovski, Sh. Brotmakher, and Damaratski.

The Polish teachers, with the softness of the Polish dialect; the Volhynian teachers, with their melodious tone; the Bialystoker teachers, with their Russian-Polish style and dynamic energy–all together, inspired by the great, world - redeeming ideal of socialism, formed one large family: faithful servants in the temple of the Jewish school. Beside and around the school stood the school staff, who came from the depths of our lives and longed for a school that would carry an idea, an ideal–bound with deep humanity, freedom, compassion, and Jewishness as one.

In the administration of the Jewish school organization–where I had the honor of serving as chairman throughout its entire existence–sat the cleaner of a textile factory, Ruven Hayot; the weavers Pinye Feygin and Zeydel Noviski, the veteran of our school system; the tanner Petakhya; the engineer Mordekhay Zabludovski; the renowned educator Lyube Kanel; the porter Zalman; the health fund accountant Ravin; A. Damoratski; and the soul of the school organization, its secretary Fishel Katsenelboygen. They formed the school leadership, around which gathered a membership of hundreds upon hundreds of ordinary Jews from among the people–the active fighters of this movement.

Around the school, there was also an active group of parents who lived with and for the school. There were parent councils and parent assemblies. The school also had a special central children's library, which was part of the largest Yiddish library–the Sholem-Aleichem Library–stocked with 60,000 books in Yiddish and other languages.

With what seriousness and loyalty the worn-down staff, together with the teachers, regarded every matter of the school! A shining chapter in the greater history was the organization of recovery colonies for frail children–where needy children had the chance to spend a few summer months under hygienic conditions and pedagogical supervision.

A characteristic feature of the Bialystoker school system was the contest among the schools, born out of the desire to secure their own buildings.

It is difficult to write about each teacher and staff member individually. They represent a line of martyrs, of saints and the pure, who in the most difficult days of the struggle against this brutal enemy showed personal and collective heroism. In the uprisings that broke out repeatedly in the Bialystoker Ghetto, the teachers stood side by side with the students–and with them, the school staff and the people from the heroic masses.

Only five teachers remained from the entire pleyade that the Bialystoker school system had been so proud of. All the others perished in the days of the massacre.

The teachers Shaul Goldman and Benyamin Floymenboym fell at the hands of the communist “liberators.”

Now they are no longer among us.

There are no words for our sorrow.

A world was torn apart.

It is difficult to come to terms with the piercing pain.

Translator's notes:

1. Contents in [ ] are from the translator. Contents in ( ) are from the author. Return
2. I would like to note that a chapter with similar content–apparently by the same author–appears on page 43 of the English section of this Yizkor book, under the title “The School and Education.” However, this is a separate translation and a significant abridgement of the original text, prepared by Rabbi Lowell S. Kronick, as indicated on pages IV–V. This version also contains several deviations from the original. Return
3. In Yiddish, the word “shul” refers to both the synagogue and the school, as the two were closely intertwined, and schools were often integrated into synagogues. Return
4. As is usually the case in Yiddish, no linguistic distinction is made here between “Yiddish” and “Jewish.” Incidentally, in the typical Bialystoker dialect, it is not pronounced and written יידיש [yidish] but אידיש [idish]. Return

[Page 93]

Once–once I would sing of eagles, swans, and nightingales, Of Jewish daughters from Vilna, Bialystok, and Kiev's vales. But now the skies are torn apart by bombers in their flight, And every day I hear worse news than Job received in darkest plight. Now all my words grow pale, with deathly fright they shake, When I call on them as witness for the life I did not make. Rebuke itself sits shiva, in torn and threadbare socks, And over all my homes, black ravens wheel in flocks. Yes, now not even prophets could have found The words to soothe, to chide, to smite, profound. Whole nations now have lost their sense and soul, And God Himself has fled the heavens' role. With Him, our elders vanished from the land, Like agunot who're sitting on Eden's bench. One says that God now wears the yellow star, And walks with us through pain and wounds that scar. One says God wants to end His wild creation's reign, And in the ruin, a new son of Genesis is lain. So soon my purified people will sing again their song, And I shall sing of eagles, swans, and nightingales ere long.

[Page 94]

Ilivitski	Genye Zabludovski	Leah Pototski
Nyuna Alperzon	Sonye Zabludovski	Peysakh Pomerants
Feygl Bzhezinski	Benyamin Zak	Perl Perlzon
B. Byalostotski	Khana Zakheym	Rivke Profitker
Yokheved Byalostotski	Betye Zakin	Fishman
Blokh	Leyb Zakin	Benyamin Flamenboym
Sholem Belagurski	Kreyndl Tabatshinski	Rokhel Flamenboym
Shimen Brotmakher	Tikotshinski	Pesye Frenkel
Khayim Broyde	M. Teykhman	Leybl Tsigan
Golde Goldman	Khana Teykhman-Levitan-Levinan	Rivke Kaplan
Shaul Goldman	Sheynke Yelin	Reyzl Kon-Rabinovitsh
Garbulska	Tsilye Liberman	Kozhinska
Khava Glazer	Dvoyre Lifshits	Tshizhe Kurlanski
Meir Glyat	Zundl Mandelbroyt	Mashke Kirpitsh-Kahanovitsh
Yosl Glezer	Dvoyre Mostalanska	Leybush Klotnitski
Gelrut	Blume Markus	Khayim Rozenblat
Dr. Grosfeld	Lea'ke Mashevitski	Rozkes
Moyshe Grinberg	Y. Moshkovitski	Motl Rubinshteyn
Tsilye Domeratski	Merlinska-Shapiro	Shloyme Reykhental
Dlugatsh	Sonye Nyemaya	Zavl Reynovitsh
Leah Halpern	Golde Segalovitsh-Kats	Khana Shturmakevitsh
Tanye Volfson	Rivke Pat	Fanye Shklover
Vargaftik	Ester Tsvia Pat-Rubinshteyn	Yitskhok Sherer
Itke Vernik	Bayle Pat-Herman
Mordekhay Zabludovski	Sheyne Pat-Livin

Graduation of the Jewish elementary schools in 1929. The fifth person in the second row from the right is Mrs. Dvoyre Mints (Zilbershteyn), now living in New York.

[Page 95]

In the early 1920s, a Jewish association of journalists and literary figures was established in Bialystok. It began to grow rapidly soon after its inception. By the early 1930s, it flourished to such an extent (by then it already possessed a vast reading hall–one of the largest in Poland) that the writers of Bialystok boasted about it more than once. For after Warsaw and Vilna, Bialystok was the only one among the remaining cities in Poland where Jewish writers were able to carve out their own niche–one that endured for a number of years, in fact until the outbreak of the war.

The very fact that a Jewish literary collaboration could sustain itself for years in such a relatively small Jewish cultural center proves that Bialystok was home to a group of serious Jewish pen-mentshn [writers], who sought to express themselves intellectually–even within the narrow confines of the city.

Yet what enormous difficulties were bound up with this! In Bialystok itself, there were only very few literary workshops and barely one and a half daily newspapers (the “half” being the Ekspres, a supplement to a Warsaw paper), as well as a weekly publication.

There were, in fact, quite enough writers and artists of various genres in Bialystok. But often they simply could not devote themselves to their art, as the means to establish the necessary workshops for their work were lacking–spaces in which the literary figure, journalist, or artist could truly unfold.

Their most important supporter was the popular daily newspaper Unzer Leben, under the direction of Pesach Kaplan. Kaplan gave them the opportunity to experience a life shaped by literary activity. Let us, as far as possible, remember these writers and journalists here.

Moshe Visatski – a refined journalist, publicist, lecturer – a writer of considerable literary culture and, incidentally, one of the founders of the daily newspaper Dos Naye Leben (later renamed Unzer Leben). He published a series of valuable journalistic articles that stood out not only among the general readership, but also among the great connoisseurs of the literary craft.

The sensitive writer known under the name Amiel (who passed away in Israel) had something truly meaningful to say in his remarkable essays.

The delicate, subtle lyricist Mendel Goldman devoted himself not only to his poetic creations, but also engaged in journalistic work for Unzer Leben.

The profound literary talent with a fluid pen, L. Shatski, continued his path as a powerful storyteller in Unzer Leben.

Leybl Fayans (later a member of the Academy of the Hebrew Language in Israel) was one of the finest Jewish stylists.

Furye and Yehuda Lis, both gifted poets in their own way, shone at the beginning and close of each week in the literary section of Unzer Leben.

David Sapir – the singular man with his singular style – wrote novellas and sketches from time to time, each marked by a subtle literary character. He also authored a successful three-part novel titled Der Dor fun di Shvakhe [The Generation of the Weak], which was published in book form and also serialized in Unzer Leben.

Or let us think of the writer and sculptor Sh. Lampert, who lived in Korycin (a small town not far from Bialystok), and who worked diligently for years on his trilogy, eventually publishing it in book form and printing a number of chapters from it in the Bialystoker daily newspaper.

Khayim Visatski was a master of short novellas on the theme of love, and Aharon Brzezinski was the bold literary restorer of characters and situations shaped by the khmurnem [the gloom and melancholy] of the fallen Lithuanian-Polish shtetl.

Both were contributors to Pesach Kaplan's Unzer Leben and published their articles in the Forverts.

Y. G. Shteynsapir, who possessed a bubbling, witty sense of humor, was not satisfied with the daily newspaper and founded a small, independent weekly paper, which he used as a platform for his successful feuilleton genre.

Among the dozens of capable reporters in the literary group, two mischievous figures stood out in the field of reportage – Osher Tshonovitsh and Yosef Rubinlikht. The former also belonged to the collective of the Warsaw Ekspres, and the latter wrote with a nitsuts [spark] of popular humor.

And then there were the so-called amateurs or lay writers, such as Tsvi Vider and Yakov Vaks – pillars of the workers' movement in Bialystok – who found in Unzer Leben the fitting platform for their voices.

[Page 96]

Both engineer Mordekhay Zabludovski and Dr. Tsvi Lukatshevski, specialists in the fields of engineering and medicine, contributed to the special Friday edition.

As becomes evident from the foregoing, all the mentioned authors had joined the widely popular and thoroughly reputable newspaper Unzer Leben.

Under the strict supervision of editor-in-chief Pesach Kaplan, they learned not only stylistics, but also the craft of good writing in Yiddish.

In Bialystok, there also lived and worked, among others, three truly great literary figures:

The elder Noyekh [Noah] Zabludovski, a deeply dedicated student with youthful zeal for the printed word, author of the Literary Encyclopedia of Two Generations, a distinguished writer, researcher, and thinker.

A. Sh. Hershberg and Avraham Tiktin – two scholars, publicists and thinkers who considered themselves katedre mentshn [academic elite] - and they truly were. They did not wish “to lower themselves” to the level of the local parnas [provincial authority], yet from time to time they had to appear in the columns of Unzer Leben with their articles or chapters from their published books.

It is also worth noting that the newspaper Unzer Leben contributed significantly to the development of the social relevance of the hundreds of Jewish organizations that existed in Bialystok.

Naturally, the communal activist who, before the First World War, had much to say but was forced into silence due to the lack of a publication, now had the opportunity–thanks to the newspaper–to share his views with the broader public.

This alone was already a sufficiently great cultural and historical achievement for the newspaper and its spiritual leader, Pesach Kaplan.

I was one of Pesach Kaplan's closest friends, worked continuously on Unzer Leben, and together with him published the Bialystoker Yor-Bikher (year books), the Almanakh, the Leksikon, and other works. Since I served for ten years as honorary secretary of the Literary Association under his chairmanship, and above all as a member of Kaplan's newspaper, I would like to make an effort to recount, in brief words, the origins of this publication and of its creator and editor-in-chief, Pesach Kaplan.

It was in the year 1918, when–on the ruins left behind by the recently ended First World War–a new life began to take shape, one that swept the Jewish community along with it.

In this emerging period of renewal, a group of Jewish intellectuals from Bialystok, led by the writer Pesach Kaplan, conceived the idea of a Jewish daily newspaper based in Bialystok. The obstacles that stood in the way of founding such a newspaper were, quite literally, indescribable.

It was not merely a question of the paper's intellectual profile, nor even of material resources–the greatest challenge lay in the technical side. At that time, Bialystok had never engaged in publishing work (only later, at the beginning of the 1930s, was a Jewish publishing house, Dos Bukh [The Book], founded under the direction of Benyamin Tabatshinski and the author of these lines), and the printing presses were likewise not equipped for the Jewish newspaper system. It is therefore no surprise that the various attempts to publish an original daily newspaper in Bialystok–whether Jewish or Polish–all ended in failure.

The reasons for this were manifold. Above all, it was due to the fact that there had previously been no such professionally skilled literary force as Pesach Kaplan–a man who always strove to remain independent of other publications, to publish his own newspaper, and to take full responsibility for everything that appeared in its pages.

Let us focus for a moment on the person–Pesach Kaplan, the senior among Bialystok's writers, a versatile artist blessed by God, who made a name for himself not only on Bialystok's soil, but throughout Poland and even abroad.

Pesach Kaplan was only 17 years old when he crossed the threshold into Bialystok (he came from Stawisk, his father was a cantor and ritual slaughterer). But even then, he was no newcomer–for he had already studied in two yeshivas, in Korsun (near Kyiv) and in Rozhenoy, and at the same time pursued private studies and learned languages.

He began his career in Bialystok as a teacher, later completed the teacher's seminary in Grodno, and received permission from the Tsarist government to open a concessioned [government-authorized] school for Russian and Hebrew.

It did not take long before Pesach Kaplan appeared on the literary stage with his serious articles, reviews, stories, and poems in HaMelitz, HaTzefira, HaTsofeh, and other Hebrew journals.

Shortly before the First World War, he published a chrestomathy [a pedagogically curated collection of texts], Mikra u-Limud [Reading and Study], which was later used in schools throughout Poland.

His book on the new phonetic spelling, published by the Kultur-Lige, drew the attention of many respected Jewish journalists.

The literary world responded with great enthusiasm to his extensive work Biblishe Dikhtungen [Biblical Poems], encompassing both lyric and epic forms.

He was also a first-rate translator. Among his translated works were Heinrich Mann's Di Oreme [The Poor], Korolenko's On Loshn [Without Language], and Krylov's Mesholim [Fables].

[Page 97]

These three books were, in fact, published by the aforementioned Bialystoker publishing house, Dos Bukh.

In general, he was one of the leading figures in many fields: He was a remarkable musician and published a book titled Gezang-Oytser [Treasure of Song], along with 120 children's songs, complete with musical notation written by him. He organized the first Jewish male choir in the world, right in Bialystok, and conducted his hundred-member ensemble himself.

At the end of the 1920s, Pesach Kaplan visited America, where he spent three months. He wrote extensively for American newspapers and journals, especially for the Forverts (Forward), and was close friends with its editor-in-chief, Ab. Kahan. Kahan offered him a high-ranking position at the paper, for which Kaplan and his wife were to settle in New York. He promised him a very generous salary–three times what Kaplan earned in Bialystok.

Kaplan, however, was anything but a materialist. He gave up the offer because his heart would not allow him to abandon his newspaper or bid farewell to the dozens of fellow journalists he had trained over the years with such love and loyalty–not merely as their rebbe [teacher], but quite literally as their father.

As a writer, he was above all a phenomenon: in a single workday, he managed to write his daily editorial, a feuilleton on current events brimming with lively, wholesome humor, and sometimes even a theater or film review.

And if he had but a spare moment, he would hastily pen an article on the history of Bialystok or, more broadly, on the history of Eastern European Jewry–his favorite subject. When people wondered how the frail, thin, constantly coughing Pesach Kaplan could accomplish all this, witty fellow writers would reply: “You shouldn't ask questions of Pesach Kaplan; with him, anything is possible–he writes his editorial with his right hand and a feuilleton with his left…”

Just as Bialystok and the entire Jewish literary family of Poland gathered to celebrate Pesach Kaplan's 70^th birthday, war suddenly broke out. During the war, he lived in the ghetto, where he passed away and was buried in a Jewish cemetery.

Jews who managed to escape from the Bialystoker ghetto recount that, one day before his death, his lips whispered: “Jews, do not forget our annihilation! Nemt nekome [let justice be done], as best you can!”

More than thirty years have passed since Pesach Kaplan breathed his last and left behind, on his desk, a ghetto song he wrote shortly before his death–one that was later sung in other ghettos and even long after liberation:

Rivkele di Shabesdike.^[2]

Translator's notes:

1. Contents in [ ] are from the translator. Contents in ( ) are from the author. Return
2. Please find this moving song here Rivkele Di Shabesdike - Rivkele the Sabbath Widow (Without Shabbath) - THE SONGS OF MY PEOPLE Return

Before the war, there were ten Jewish printing houses in Bialystok. Around one hundred printers were employed there, organized within a union that functioned as a branch of the Warsaw Printers' Guild.

It is worth noting that, for a time, we had been organized together with our Christian colleagues in a shared union. But due to frequent political tensions and the prevailing climate in Poland at the time, we were compelled to split into two separate associations.

We joined the Jewish Printers' Union as a Warsaw-affiliated branch and remained part of it until 1939.

Prior to that, the Jewish Printers' Association operated in a regular fashion, striving to improve both the economic and moral conditions of its members.

We hardly ever had to resort to strikes–thanks to the patience and sound leadership of our administration, and the discipline of our union comrades, our efforts almost always ended in success.

To raise the cultural level of our colleagues, various entertainment events and lectures were organized. There was also a youth division, to which the administration devoted great attention. It was equally concerned with the professional education of the younger workers. From time to time, continuing education courses were arranged for them.

In recent years, the primary base of employment for printing workers had become the newspaper industry. For example, two local daily newspapers were published in Bialystok: Unzer Leben and Gut Morgen, both issued by the Unzer Leben publishing house. Editor-in-chief of Unzer Leben was the well-known journalist Pesach Kaplan, while Gut Morgen was published by the same house but with various editors who changed frequently.

A Jewish daily newspaper also appeared– Der Bialystoker Ekspres, edited by Osher Trzhonavitsh. In addition, several weekly papers were published, such as the Bund's weekly Der Veker, printed in Mishondznik's press under the editorship of Khatskel Anakhavitsh. There was also a Zionist newspaper printed in Pruzhanski's press, issued by the Zionist Organization, and a weekly paper published by Y. G. Shteynsapir.

Beyond these, several workers were employed in various smaller private printing houses.

The majority of union members came from the newspaper sector, and they were also represented in all leadership bodies of the printers' association.

[Page 98]

In 1939, following the Soviet Army's occupation of Western Belarus, all private printing houses–Jewish and Polish alike–were nationalized and handed over to the government, which merged all 18 printing houses in Bialystok into one large state-run press.

For this purpose, a dedicated building was constructed on Legionove Street, where the well-known printing house Byelastok Pyetshat was established, employing 300 workers. At that time, refugee printers from Poland–those who had fled the territories occupied by Hitler, such as Warsaw and other cities–also found a place among us.

This continued until June 22, 1941, when Germany launched its attack on the Soviet Union. As soon as the Germans occupied Bialystok–on June 27, 1941–they began their murderous campaign.

The largest Jewish neighborhood was set ablaze. More than 2,000 Jews were burned alive in the shul (synagogue). Among them were also several printers. On that same day, the Germans set fire to the state printing house, Byelastok Pyetshat.

Afterward, there came more sorrowful days, known as di Donershtike and di Shabesdike.^[3] These were the days when young Jewish men were arrested, taken beyond the city limits, and executed. Their number reached 5,000. Among them was a significant number of printers, including Yosef Zeligman, Ruven Sklyut, Yisroel Bernatski, Motel Friedman, Y. Khaskel, Naftali Feldman, the Sokolski brothers, Zeydel, Portnoi, and several others.

On June 22, a portion of the colleagues left the country together with the Soviet Army's printing press. These included Isak Ribalovski, Efraim Portnoi, Yankel Zaltsman, Teyman, and others.

The remaining printing colleagues ended up in the ghetto, which was established on August 8, 1941. Some comrades received summonses and certificates allowing them to leave the ghetto to work at the German printing house Sturmverlag, located at Kupietska 1, which had been merged with the Pruzhanski press.

Among those working at the printing house were union members Hershel Kozak, Khayim Matinke, Benyamin Gutman, Yitskhok Zakshevski, Nachum Zakshevski, Meir Kruglevitski, and Moyshe Kozak. On February 3, 1943, their work permits were revoked, and no Jewish worker was allowed to leave the ghetto anymore.

In the meantime, several Aktions took place, during which tens of thousands of Jews were murdered. Among them were the following printers: Avraham Bron, Shloymeo Kozak, Shloyme Daytsh, Meir Kruglevitski, Moyshe Gold, Velvel Yukhnovetski, Yerachmiel Ribalovski, Moyshe Kaplan, Herschel Noshko, Mordekhay Farber, Heshel Dlugatsh, Y. Trunkovski, Shloyme Silbershteyn, Munye Seligzon, Velvel Rayser, and many other colleagues.

A few months before the liquidation of the Bialystoker Ghetto, four Bialystok printing workers were taken from the ghetto by order of the Gestapo and sent to a concentration camp in Germany, where they were forced to work in a secret printing facility that produced counterfeit currency.

Among these printers were also several from Lodz: Tovia Rapoport, Yablontshik, Nachum Edelsburg, and a few engravers.

All other comrades perished during the final liquidation of the Bialystoker Ghetto on August 16, 1943.

We can still add a small list of the few surviving members of our Bialystoker printing family–those who endured pain and suffering under the Nazis. They are: Hershel Kozak, Moyshe Kozak, Rafael Reyzner, Yekhiel Plats, and many others, including some who returned from Soviet Russia.

That is all–the sorrowful sum that remains of the once-great Jewish printing family of Bialystok.

Translator's notes:

1. Contents in [ ] are from the translator. Contents in ( ) are from the author. Return
2. I would like to note that a chapter with similar content appears on page 43 of the English section of this Yizkor book, under the title “The School and Education” with the subtitle “Jewish Printer Association“. However, this is a separate translation and a significant abridgement of the original text, prepared by Rabbi Lowell S. Kronick, as indicated on pages IV–V. This version also contains several deviations from the original. In fact, this chapter was not written by B. Tabatshinski, as stated there, but by Isak Ribalovski and Hershel Kozak. Return
3. These were horrific actions carried out by the Germans, each taking place on a Thursday [Donershtik] and a Saturday [Shabes], during which many Jewish men were brutally murdered. The surviving widows came to be known as di Donershtike and di Shabesdike. Return

My father's table, set for Shabbat with care – Who could forget such beauty and delight? The candle's glow, my mother's fish laid there, My father's nigun, while dining, pure and bright. The white tablecloth, pure as fallen snow, The shimmer of silver vessels all around, The scent of Sabbath dishes starts to flow, And fills each room with warmth and holy sound. There comes my father, joyful from the shul, The light reflects upon his gentle face. With blessing and with grace the house feels full, And peace descends upon our sacred place. Now father chants the Kiddush, strong and clear, And mother's face is glowing, full of grace. But suddenly I see a joyful tear – And now that tear stands shining on my face. I see the table set for Shabbat once more, So rich with Torah, wisdom, and tradition. The candle's glow, my mother's fish of yore, My father's nigun sung with quiet devotion.

[Page 103]

We walk in the footsteps of our ancient fathers, With Torah framed as sacred oath and guide. Our companions are massacres, lost sons and daughters– Our blood has washed the earth from every side. We wander paths of glowing coals and pain, Pressed into night, where horrors never cease. I fear the fate of generations yet to come– Dark secrets drill my ears and steal my peace… They point at me with fingers, without cease, And spit like snakes with tongues that poison peace. I live as a branch of a city diseased, My torment is vast, my horizon squeezed. My wounds grow deeper, my pain won't depart… My cry of sorrow is walled in my heart. For a miracle we wait, both night and day; Our patience drained, our hope swept away. It calls and it tears, it steals all my sleep, That old song of faith and of hope we keep. Fed by prayers from sacred, ancient lore, It blankets the earth with Jewish graves galore. Dear Creator! Our tears have all run dry, Let other nations be the apple of Your eye. Remove Yourself – You block our way, It's time for us to sow some joy today. We've built and rebuilt, a life forged anew, Shared light and wisdom with nations we knew. Yet hatred and scorn are our bitter reward, To the world, we're a spectacle drenched in blood and sword. We stand apart from the rest of mankind, Our rights obscured, like walls that blind. Our minds united, strong and grand, Still can't break laws of hate and shame that stand. Yet from within us, brave minds still arise! Where is the Redeemer with power in His hand so wise? To lead us like Moses, with wisdom and grace, On a path where no Jewish blood leaves a trace. In dreams life feels lighter, the pain fades away, I see how they come to greet us one day– Radiant sunbeams lighting our track, And in fear, the dark clouds are driven back.

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