Gostiņi, Latvia
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H. Erlich
Types and Episodes from a Shtetl [town] in Latvia
Published by the Kayor Publishing House |
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– BY H. EHRLICH – “KAYOR” PUBLISHING HOUSE 302, FOX STREET JOHANNESBURG SOUTH AFRICA, 1956 |
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| The types and episodes are from a shtetl in Latvia, 60 years ago. Until the Holocaust, the Latvian Jew was a step-child of Jewish literature. None of our Jewish writers were interested in him [the Latvian Jew]. And when they did think of him, it was a joke at the expense of the Latvian Jews. It is no wonder that they had never heard of such shtetlekh as: Naira [Jaunjelgava], Dankere [Gostiņi], Kreitzberg [Krustpils], Livemuza [possibly Lîvâni], although the shtetlekh had considerable Jewish populations. Just after the Holocaust they thought of them. However, alas, already too late. I know that I have not exhausted [the stories of] life in my shtetl at that time. But let it be a memorial and, perhaps, also a contribution to the historian who will be involved with writing the history of the Jews in Latvia in that era. |
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Dankere is a shtetl [town] in Latvia, between Riga and Dvinsk (Daugavpils). The shtetl stood on the border of three provinces: Vitebsk [Russia] on one side, Lijfland [Livonia] on the other and across the river, Courland. And thus it was said that when a rooster crows here, it can be heard in three provinces. Dankere also had three names: in Russian it was called Glazmanka, in German – Trentelberg and in Yiddish – Dankere. Because we were so close to both Courland and Lijfland, there was an inclination to Germanized Jewishness. And although the poverty in Dankere was no less than in many other villages in Lithuania, the life was different. I would refer to it as an embellished, cleaned up poverty, similar to the way they would embellish a poor dwelling when waiting for the doctor. The language, in addition to Yiddish, was Latvian, as well as a little bit of German. For us, the relationship between the Jews and non-Jews was friendly. We did not know of anti-Semitism, perhaps, also because the Latvians were not fanatically religious. Jewish country shopkeepers traveled to the villages where the peasants welcomed them with open arms, provided them with food, drink and a bed for the night.
Dankere was not known for any great scholars or with great personalities, as are some shtetlekh in Lithuania or in Poland. There was a Talmud-Torah [primary school for poor children]
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supported by the city, which was attended by the poorest children in the shtetl. In one large room, at a long table, sat a large number of children, most were tattered, hungry and barefoot, and where one melamed [teacher] taught all the children. Therefore, it is no wonder that most of them left the Talmud-Torah [as] Amei-horatzim [ignorant], with the majority barely able to read Ivre [Hebrew].
There was no yeshiva [religious secondary school] in Dankere. However, there were always yeshiva bokhirim [yeshiva students] in the synagogues, mostly from Lithuania, who hot gegesn teg [ate days – that is, meals were provided to a student for each meal by a local family or families] and studied on their own.
As everywhere, there was a “firefighting team” who in truth were not really firefighters and not really a team. At the market place near the church stood a small house that looked like a meysim shtibl [a small room in which corpses are ritually purified], in which were located several water barrels on wheels, with a few hoses and several ladders. Thanks to the fact that a fire in Dankere was a rarity, the equipment stood and dreamed. When there was a fire, everyone suddenly turned into a fireman. True, later on the situation changed and the firefighting team ostensibly became a modern institution, where they wore kokardes [a knot of ribbons worn as a badge on a hat] with brass buttons…
In Dankere, yikhus [pedigree] played a very big role. So, for example, one was never able to see the daughter of rich parents spending time with the son of an artisan or vice-versa; or that the nogid [someone well to-do] would if ever, engage in a conversation with someone who was not his equal. A full-fledged segregation ruled. It is noteworthy to mention, that in the
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early years of the Zionist movement in Dankere, there was not one workman to be found [as a member], nor a youth from the town's poor. The few Zionists consisted of children of the well to-do, who felt it below their dignity to mingle with the poor…
This Chinese wall of pedigree lasted until around the turn of the century when signs of the approaching revolution began to appear, also bringing change to the life of the Jews in Dankere.
Life in Dankere was difficult, very difficult. The well to-do man, like everywhere else, had everything good. The middle class pulled through somehow. However, the greater masses of Jews struggled for their day to-day existence; as always there was not enough for Shabbos [Sabbath] and holidays. It often seemed to me that the frumkeit [piety] of the town was the result of the poverty because the poorer the person was, the more pious he was, as if the shul [synagogue] and beit midrash [house of prayer] were some sort of ir miklat [city of refuge] for him, a place to escape, to forget at least for a while the need and poverty at home. And when I read how the shtetl is described in idyllic scenes of bright colors, it evokes from me a bitter laughter at this idyll, where people walked around half starving; an idyll where need and poverty protruded from [every] door and gate; where life was difficult and grey. To call such a life an idyll, seems to me to be no more than a bitter joke …
The rich man of the shtetl [town] was a Jew named Yonah Kahn. He was of average height, with a round, black beard and a thick mustache and a pot belly. He was particularly conspicuous during the winter time when he would put on his lambskin hat with sheepskin hat and high boots. He then the made an impression of [being] a rich landowner. He was the gabai [beadle] of the Misnagdishe [opponents of Hasidism] shul, the Khevre Kadisha [burial society], Bikur Kholim [society to help the sick], Hakhnosas Kallah [fund for poor brides], Malbish Arumim [clothing for the poor], where he controlled everything, rarely if ever giving [anyone] an account [of his work]. And who even had the audacity to demand [one]? So everything was left to him. He therefore would make the feast for the Khevre Kadisha on the 27th of Kislev. And was that ever a meal: chickens and geese, with stuffed turkey, potato kugels and various kinds of fish and herring. On that day, beer, liquor and wine flowed like water. And the crowd, understandably did not wait to be asked. They ate and drank and drank again, until they fell asleep drunk. At such a meal, Yonah Kahn found favor in the eyes of all. And he felt like the un-crowned king…
On the eve of Shmini Atseres [eighth day of Sukkous – Feast of Tabernacles], the gabai would be escorted into synagogue amidst great pomp. Children walked
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around with illuminated banners and the adults with burning candles in their hands. They danced and sang as if it were the greatest celebration. Coming from the synagogue, they went to his house where they celebrated until late into the night.
Thanks to the fact that Yonah Kahn had two big businesses, a fabric store and a leather store, all the craftsmen in town were in debt to him from head to the feet. And here I would like to relate something that is etched in my memory:
My father, a craftsman, a shoemaker, particularly in the wintertime when business was slow but life must go on, would take the little silver that he still had from his wedding [presents] and pawn it with the rich man Yonah Kahn. And when it would get closer to Passover and there was more work, he would take back that small amount of silver and later, understandably, would pawn it again.
It so happened one year that no matter what, he was not able to redeem the pawned articles. And Passover was almost here. My father decided to ask the rich man to “lend” him his own little bit of silver until after Passover. As he himself was ashamed to go and ask the rich man, he sent me, still a young child, on this mission. I went to Yonah Kahn and, embarrassed, said: Reb Yonah, my father has sent me to ask if you would lend him some silver goblets and the spoons until after Passover; he will return them to you immediately after yontef [the holiday].
Reb Yonah looked at me. Measuring how big I was, he then said to me:-
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Little boy, go home and tell your father that he should first pay me what he owes me, then he will receive his goblets.
I came home with tears in my eyes and repeated what Reb Yonah had said. My father was silent. My mother, however, a very gentle feeling soul broke into tears. That Passover was a disturbed one for us…
The incident has remained deep in my memory. And when I remember my shtetl, the memory of the rich man Reb Yonah and his sheepskin hat and wide sheepskin coat comes to mind, and how he said to me: Little boy, go home and tell your father …
The very name itself was enough to cast fear upon the kheder [religious primary school] children of the shtetl, for [the name] Zagerer is similar to czagerers, which we called witticisms, canes [for beating].* Not in vain were we afraid of him. He was a Jew, a tyrant. He simply beat the children. His only method for drumming the Torah into our heads was through blows. And blows were something that Leibe Zagerer did not spare. The methods he used were varied: whipping with a strap, boxing in the back, pinching pieces of flesh, stabbing with a long sharp pointer, slapping the cheeks, turning the ears until they became swollen. And when he wanted to punish someone even more, he would take the boy by both ears and lift him up and it did not matter to him whether the boy screamed in pain. He did what he wished.
It once happened that he pushed a boy who was healthy and strong, and also very stubborn and the teacher wanted to whip just this boy for something small. And a struggle of life and death was played out. The boy grabbed the teacher by the beard and threw him to the floor and the bloodied teacher remained lying on the floor. There was a tumult in the kheder,
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neighbors came running from all sides and they washed the blood off the teacher. That was the only time that we kheder boys took revenge against our teacher. But even this incident did not stop him from continuing to beat us.
However, he not only hit us, but he would also curse and berate the children, regularly, for example: you should rot, you should be burned, rowdies, prokhvostn (filth cleaners) and other “nice” names. I do not know, perhaps his sadism was the result of him being sickly. His mouth was contorted to one side. And his feet often would become swollen, so that one boy would roll up his pants, while another would dip a goose feather in kerosene and smear his feet with it.
Despite all of his inquisition methods, his kheder was always filled with students. Because the fathers (not the mothers) believed that if a teacher spanks, he probably needs to spank, because without hitting, one cannot learn anything...
I do not remember whether any great scholars emerged from his kheder, but many emerged from [his kheder] crippled, physically crippled: one with a crooked back, another whose ears stood up like a donkey's, and another with an ordinary deformity. And although so many years have passed, I still member my Rebbe, Leibe Zagerer, the angry Jew, how he walked through the kheder, pressed the children in their backs and shouted: – rowdies, filth cleaners, may you rot…
From time to time, Dankere also would be visited by Hasidic rebbes, or as they were commonly known: Gute Yidn. I could never understand of what their goodness consisted. The last of these Gute Yidn to visit us was the Tomaszower Rebbe. He looked as if he had thought very little about the Olam ha'ba (the world to come) but more about this world. He had a red face, a fat neck, fleshy hands and a big stomach.
He did not come alone, but with an entire entourage of manservants: One who wrote the kvitlekh [notes to a Hasidic rebbe asking for help], another, who accepted the kvitlekh, a third who presented the kvitlekh, and, in addition to that, he brought along his own khazan [cantor], who led the prayers on Shabbos. The weekly Torah portion was read by the rebbe himself. And I remember that it actually was Parsha Beshahalkh, where he called out: “Send My people that they may serve Me.” And shout he did as if he were decreeing that someone fulfill his demand… He stayed at the home of a childless couple and in merit of this he promised them that in a year's time they would have a child. And when the promise was not fulfilled, the man, the local butcher, became so enraged that if the rebbe were to have been present, he [the butcher] would certainly have had his revenge…
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The rebbe was visited mostly by the poorer strata of the shtetl. One came to ask for a blessing for earning a living, a second came to lament about his health. A third came to request that the rebbe send him a groom for his daughter. And on and on. And the rebbe listened to everyone and assured that all would be fulfilled.
To access the rebbe was not an inexpensive matter. The writer of the kvitl charged 25 kopikes. The sexton took 25 kopikes for permitting the writing. And the one who stood at the rebbe's door took 25 kopikes for opening and closing the door. True the rebbe himself did not take any money. Therefore, a pushke [container] stood on the table with the inscription: “On behalf of the rebbe.” And here, obviously, 25 kopikes were not enough.
During the Good Jew's stay in Dankere, the shtetl was buzzing. All one heard was: So, were you already by the rebbe? Did you see him? As if going to the Rebbe was the commandment of the hour. And if a misnagid [opponent of Hasidism], a prankster, looked askance and said that he did not believe in the rebbe and his miracles, the Hasidim looked at him as if he was a heretic. What do mean you do not believe in the rebbe?...
On Shabbos, the rebbe went to shul with an honor guard of Hasidim. The rebbe walked in the middle and the Hasidim surrounded him. And thus the rebbe would walk every now and then, and the Rebbe would groan and give a deep sigh and every groan would awaken the Hasidim and was interpreted in various ways.
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Most interesting of all was to watch the rebbe distribute shirayem [crumbs, leftovers], and how Jews with beards reached over the table and tried to grab even more of the shirayem…
The belief in demons, spirits and metamorphoses was not just the belief of the common people, the simple people but also of the higher strata of society. As an example, I will relate the following episode:
I studied with a teacher; he was an ardent Hasid. His belief in the rebbes was unlimited. During the winter, at twilight, before lighting the fire, the rebbe would tell us children about the tremendous wonders of the rebbes: how one made a blind man see, another healed a cripple, a third banished a transformed soul and other such miracles and wonders, which aroused great enthusiasm among us children.
Being alone – his wife remained in Lithuania – he was forced to prepare his own food. He once sent me to the bakery to buy a sweet-sour bread for him. I walked and repeated: sweet-sour bread, sweet-sour bread, and arriving at the bakery, as if in spite, I could not remember the instructions and instead of buying the sweet-sour bread, I bought a regular bread. When the rebbe saw this, he began to shout at me: I told you to bring a sweet-sour bread, go right back and exchange
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it. And as I was about to go through the door, he called me back. No, let it be, he said loudly. It is proper that in this bread is a transformed soul, and as I will make a haMotzi [blessing said over bread] and you children, will say Amen, we will be destined to remedy a wandering soul…
Upon hearing that there was a reincarnated soul in our kheder, we felt fear. Every one of us thought that this reincarnated soul was flying around us. And we all closed our mouths, squeezed our noses so that the reincarnated soul would not be able to fly in. Seeing our fear, the rebbe assured us that it would not harm any of us, because in a kheder in which children learn Torah, the reincarnated soul had no power…
This happened another time: once, when going home from kheder in the evening on a Wednesday evening toward the end of the month, it was very dark and a stormy wind blew. Several children inadvertently got lost and came home somewhat later than usual. Upon becoming aware of it the following day, the rebbe immediately interpreted what this meant and explained that on Wednesday nights, particularly toward the end of the month, the demons have dominance and, therefore one needs to make sure that the tzitzis [ritual fringe worn by Jewish men] are kosher, for if not, the demons could, heaven forbid, cause harm. And he concluded with a story of what had happened to one of the Good Jews, who once went for a walk alone on a Wednesday might and the demons surrounded him and wanted to harm him. But as soon as he pronounced God's Holy name [tetragrammaton], the demons were overcome with fear and escaped…
Marrying off a girl, or as they would say, giving out a girl, was a great burden for a poor person in the old home. Never mind when a father had four or five daughters. It really is difficult to describe what it was to have a daughter leave the home. The word dowry hung like a Damocles' sword over the parents' heads. Without a dowry a girl often could remain unmarried until her braids turned grey, unless she married for love. There were some grooms who demanded that the dowry be entrusted to the rabbi, before entering the marriage. But the greater number allowed themselves to be fooled and were satisfied with receiving only half of the dowry that had been promised to him. Not for nothing would the girl sing:
Rejoice, rejoice young girl,
You fooled a groom,
Promised a hundred,
Gave only a groshn.
In the shtetl, a wedding was like a holiday although it only affected a small number. The wedding
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was attended not only by the in-laws [family], but also by many strangers. Weddings in Dankere rarely took place at home, or even in the synagogue courtyard, but rather under the open sky. To hold one of the khupah [wedding canopy] poles was a privilege for the rascals. They were always among the first “in-laws” at a wedding and it was simply a scandal if they were somehow overlooked.
There were no klezmer [musicians] in Dankere. They needed to be brought from the nearby city of Kreitzberg [Krustpils]. The klezmer band consisted of a fiddle, trumpet, bass, and cimbalom. Today I still see before me Moshke the fiddler, a Jew as big as a yawn with a fiddle which was almost bigger than he was, as he plays the dobridzien[3] at the veiling of the bride and how the family of the bride drench themselves in boiling tears.
Binyomin the cimbalon player was a comic figure. The end of his nose pointed upward and from both sides of his nose grew some pointy hairs, like a porcupine. His mustache was like the hair of a rubbed-out brush. And when he began moving his two sticks over the cimbalom, it looked as if small mice were jumping around the cimbalom. At a later hour, when he was tired and sleepy, he kept his eyes closed and his hands played the cimbalom on their own. He was like a fifth wheel of a wagon. And yet he was always a member of the klezmer band.
As everywhere, it was our custom, too, to give droshe-geshank [wedding gift]: the closest and richest family members gave: a silver kiddush cup, another a spoon, a tray, earrings, a blanket, and other things. The more distant
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relatives sent a cake, a shtritzl (a long, braided egg bread – a challah) and the poor relatives sent a brown cake, because it cost less.
Among the rich, a wedding lasted a few days. Among the poor, however, it lasted a week and more where there was great celebration, not wanting [the celebration to end], forgetting their cares for a while.
Yoka was one of a few local poor people who went around to the houses in the shtetl itself. Everyone knew Yoka. Tall, dark, slightly hunched and with a somewhat shy face. Many even murmured: “A man as healthy as a stick and he goes about the houses [begging]; is he [too] ill to look for something to do?” But it did not bother Yoka; let people talk. Over time people became so accustomed to it that when he entered a house, they would already bring the donation to him and in many homes he actually became a desirable guest to whom the woman of the house would confide her dire situation, as if he was one of her own.
Yoka was no longer a young man, a bachelor in his late thirties. He suddenly decided that it was time to get married. He was not too concerned about earning a living. Instead of going about the houses once a week, he would go twice a week. And in addition, his wife could help. For a short while it was as if Yoka had disappeared. One bright morning he appeared with a wife at his side. True, she was not much of a character; in addition,
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[she was] blind in one eye. However, she possessed a whole 50 rubles, and that bewitched Yoka.
After the wedding, he started thinking about what to do with the fifty rubles, until he decided to buy a barrel organ (katerinke). From then on, Yoke was proud of himself. Rather than going around [begging] as usual, he now stood in the street near the shops with his barrel organ, turned the handle and it played. When done, he would go around with his hat in his hand and collect donations. The barrel organ had only one song. And as that was not enough, he would sing the song, first in a battered Russian and then he sang it again in Yiddish:
[Translated from the Yiddish transliteration of the Russian]
In vain, you are walking, boy
In vain you are wearing out your shoes
You will not get anything
You will go home a fool!
[Translated from the Yiddish]
Where are you going little boy,
Why are you beating your feet?
You will receive nothing
Going is useless…
Yoka's wife was pregnant twice a year – that is what the women would joke among themselves – but unfortunately, they did not have any children, and therefore the sholom
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bayis [peace in the home] was disturbed. He argued she was at fault and she argued that he was at fault. They were at the point of getting divorced. However, she demanded that the 50 rubles be returned and as he did not have it, they unwillingly had to remain together and… and have children.
Before a holiday, his wife would help him out with a livelihood and would also go among the houses. Upon entering a house, she would introduce herself as the wife of Yoka, and who had the heart to turn down a local poor man?...
As many towns, Dankere was constantly besieged with unfamiliar poor people [from elsewhere]. They went from house to house with sacks over their shoulders, begging for donations. Upon entering, they would greet [the occupants] with a “God help” and say: “Give some kind of donation to a poor man.” Others would not say anything but remained standing by the door and waited until they were given something. The donations consisted of notes valued at a quarter of a groshn which the Bread for the Poor Society would give out or a rustic loaf of bread. And when the sack became filled with bread, the poor would sell it to Christian passersby or to the women-of-the-house who had cows.
They went individually. However, it also happened that a husband and wife would go together. Then they would request a double donation. And when it was not given to them, they would leave with spewing curses. Such as: “May the worms eat you.” “May you go through the houses on all fours.” “May you be ill even after you die.” And other considerable curses.
There was also a nicer type of poor people. The niceness consisted of them being better
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dressed and conducting themselves in a more refined and more respectable manner. Each of them had something to tell: one – a fire; another – ruination; a third – needed to marry off a daughter and so on. To this type of poor people, one should probably add the sharp magidim [preachers] who would walk from town to town giving sermons and the next day two of the businessmen needed to go around town with a red handkerchief to collect donations [on their behalf]. The truth is that they were glorified paupers, just under a different name…
Several times a year, a blind Jew would also show up, led by a young boy, with a fiddle in his hand. Upon entering a house, he would not wait for an invitation, but immediately began to sing and play his fiddle. The most popular song was Der Oyg [The Eye] which consisted of three stanzas. I present here the first two:
How beautiful and how completely fine you look
It is a splendor to look at you.
Your eyes shine like two diamonds
They shine by day and by night.The eye carries itself through celebration and suffering
Fortunate is the one who possesses these eyes.
– So tell me, you eye,
What is the matter with you,
That when you laugh in great joy
Tears come from you…
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By the way, speaking about the poor, it is interesting to relate the following incident: a poor man from another town had the recurring privilege to be called up to [the Torah for the reading of] the “Rebukes,” and for which he would receive 50 kopikes. Once he became stubborn and demanded a whole ruble. There was a tumult in the synagogue, but there was no choice and he had to be promised a whole ruble. Following that incident, a deaf man from the shtetl, who was satisfied with 50 kopikes, offered to do it himself.
Speaking about my shtetl, I want to note the impression the yontef [holiday] Purim made on me.
The nicest yontef for me, as a child, was Purim. First, the Hamantaschen [triangular-shaped filled pastry]. Eagerly, I would watch how my mother, wearing a white apron, pushed the poppy seeds into a mortar and every so often she would give me [some] poppy seeds to taste. And although the poppy seeds were bitter, I enjoyed the taste. Second, the new groger [noisemaker used on Purim to drown out the name of Haman] that my Uncle Tzale would make for me every year. When I would turn the groger, it seemed to me that Haman was standing next to me and laughing that I, a young boy, wanted to confuse him. Third, the Purim toys. The candy ducklings and goslings and particularly the hens, with which I was able to crow a long cock-a-doodle-doo. Then, the small watches; although I knew they were made of sugar, nevertheless, every once in a while, I looked at them to see what time it was. I was trying to mimic the adults with their real watches. Then, sending shalakh-manos [Purim gifts of foods and drink]. With amazement, I would stand and wait for a boy to come in with a plate covered with a white cloth and he would say: “Gut Purim [Good Purim]. My mother has sent you shalakh-manos!” And my mother uncovered the cloth, took out the shalakh-manos and replaced it with something else.
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The main thing, however, was the Purim shpilers. With childish excitement, I would watch how the Purim shpilers entered our house, joyous, lively, singing and dancing. At the head went Yisroel the chimney-sweeper, a tall Jew, dressed as Mordekhai, with a three-cornered hat made out of cardboard, with a long beard pasted on that looked like a broom and with a wooden sword at his side. Haman came after him with his face smeared with soot. Mordechai looked at Haman and sang:
Hey! Hey! Oats and straw
Haman saddled a fife with a flea.
Then Haman sang:
Oy, vey, Mordekhai the Jew,
Will eat Hamantaschen at the banquet.
Esther will get dressed up; Esther will adorn herself.
And the prince, Haman, will be led to the gallows.
Close by also stood Vashti, a Jew dressed in a woman's dress, with a potato tied to his forehead. Vashti did not sing; she only occasionally shook her head to show what unfortunately had grown from her forehead….
I caught on to the songs and when no one was home I would try to sing like and act like the Purim shpilers and this gave me much enjoyment.
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The first time I saw a printed Megilah with [illustrations] of the small people, of Haman and his 10 children hanging from a tree, I was overcome with pity. Oh well, I thought to myself, Haman deserved to be hanged, but how were his children guilty?...
One of the businesses in our shtetl was the trade in rags. The country traders, who traveled from village to village, purchased the rags and exchanged it for other goods. On Friday one could see the shopkeepers arriving from the villages with large sacks of rags. It was mostly the poorer shopkeepers who did this because a large amount of capital was not required for this. Each shopkeeper already had his place here to dispose of his goods. The dealers. on the other hand, had large stores where they would store the sacks of rags.
The sorting really began in the stores, wool with wool, linen with linen and so on. Those working on this were the very poorest in the shtetl. Men and women, Jews and non-Jews, and even children were occupied with this. From morning to dark, they sat in the stores with sharp knives in their hands and separated the rags. The pay was miserable. About twenty or twenty-five kopikes a day. The work was really easy, but tedious and terrible because the dust of the rags in the suffocating stores ate constantly away at the lungs and many contracted consumption.
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When the revolutionary movement arose in the shtetl, a strike was called and the owners were forced to raise the wages. But unfortunately, nothing could be done to better the hygienic conditions and because of this, the angel of death did his work and demanded more and more victims.
And always when I read about the kind of workers who breathe in the golden dust and contract phthisis [tuberculosis], I remember the men and women of my shtetl, Dankere, sitting in the damp stores, separating the rags and coughing and coughing, until they spit out their souls…
The only thieves in Dankere were several horse traders who also occupied themselves with stealing horses. They would bring the horses to the marketplace. It often happened that a peasant arriving at the market to buy a horse recognized his own hag. Then the peasant grabbed the thief and brought him to the police and, if not, he would beat him with murderous blows and take back his horse. It happened often that the horse trader returned bruised from the market. However, that did not stop him from stealing again.
Usually, the theft took place during the darkness of night. A joke went around about how the horse trader was too lazy to get up and his wife berated her husband: Look, my husband, on such a “bright” night you are lying in bed and sleeping…
A man and wife settled in Dankere who made an impression on everyone as honest people. Where they came from, no one knew. The husband had a sympathetic appearance, with fine manners and, in addition, he had a heart of gold, doing favors for everyone, giving an interest-free loan and giving a nice donation. From time to time, he went away for a while and returned. It did not cause anyone to be suspicious
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of him. Until suddenly the police came and arrested him. Then it was learned that the fine, respectable person was not more and not less than a simple pickpocket. His work was to travel on trains and rob the passengers.
His arrest made quite a sensation in the city. No one wanted to believe that this good, kind man was a thief. They went to the police to see whether a mistake had been made and they had arrested an innocent man. But to no avail and those whom he had helped and those for whom he had done a favor, extended a loan, still tried to defend him. If only there had been more thieves like him…
This was before any of us had seen what a gramophone looked like; a Jew arrived in Dankere with a box under his arm and told us that this box plays and sings. As always in such cases, there were those who simply scoffed at this. One said that the entire thing was a lie because, how can a box sing? Another said that there must be a reincarnated soul in the box that does what it is told. Yet a third said that they had to search this Jew, because it was likely that this was a demon disguised as a man. They had to pay special attention to whether he had chicken-like feet… And thus people joked about this Jew. The Jew became aware of this and smiled…
A few days later, the Jew was invited to a home and was asked to show the wonder that lay in the box. There gathered a full house of people and with beating hearts they waited to see what would happen. The Jew placed the box on the table, put on the record, wound the spring and at the same time said that whoever wanted to listen to the playing would first need to pay 10 kopikes. At that moment, no one expressed interest. Finally, two young,
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strong butchers came forward and undertook the risky step. The Jew gave them two small pillows to place in their ears, and when they heard the first sound, they were so frightened that they threw away the pillows and ran away. Soon there were new volunteers who with trembling listened to the box play and sing. Only then was everyone convinced that the Jew was not a charlatan, nor a demon nor a swindler. The curiosity only continued to grow after the Jew left town with a nice, few rubles in his pocket.
Several years later, a Jew showed up in Dankere with a gramophone which had a big [sound] horn. He rented a house where he set up viewing boxes, where for two rubles one was able to see Moscow, Kiev, London, Paris and other great cities. But the main attraction was the gramophone that played various things. Being a friend of the owner's son, I had a chance to enter without paying a groshn. And whenever I had time, I would sit as if I were glued [to the spot] and listened to the sweet melodies of [Avrom Goldfaden's] Koldunye, Shulamis and others. When the owner allowed me to wind up the gramophone, I felt luckier than anyone else in the shtetl.
The first time I saw a performance of Jewish theater was actually in Dankere. A young man from Dvinsk named Bernshtein, worked at the apothecary. This Bernshtein was a very capable young man: he knew how to sing, to act, to dance, to mimic how others talked and, in addition, he already knew how to perform Yiddish theater. And as the Bikur Kholim [society to aid the sick] was in need for funds, Bernshtein offered to perform a theater piece whose proceeds would go toward the Bikur Kholim.
Initially, Bernshtein evoked opposition in the shtetl. First of all, he was a free bird. He never entered the synagogue and on Shabbos he often walked around with a cigarette in his mouth. Secondly, people were just afraid of him. Indeed, he was an apothecary but, after all, he was a scoundrel from Dvinsk. However, Bernshtein came up with a plan. With Purim soon approaching, he offered to do a Purim Spiel [a Purim play] and only with older people. It did not take long and the Ahasuerus play took place in the women's section [of the synagogue]. The performance brought so much laughter that people almost fainted.
This brought him trust. Right after this, he gathered boys and girls from whom
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he picked the more capable and began practicing with them the roles in [Goldfaden's] Bobe Yakhne. He, himself, played the role of Hotzmakh. After the rehearsals, we somewhat haphazardly hammered together a structure at the market place. We decorated the inside with various different colored lanterns that cast a shine on the actors. The actors were dressed in cardboard hats and colorful clothing. And wonders of wonders, the success of the performance was very great so that both young and old, religious or not, attended the performance and left with a satisfied smile.
It is interesting to note, the performance also was attended by the owner of the apothecary, a Pole who understood a little German. When it came to the scene in which the young girl was measuring the cloth, and later, when the peasant at the market was cheated, he [the apothecary] became so enraged that he shouted: Źyd Moshenik [Mosaic Jew]! and left the performance.
The few days of the performance were a true holiday in Dankere. Wherever one went, one could hear the singing of the songs from Bobe Yakhne. And the name Hotzmakh became so ingrained that whenever one wanted to tease another, he was called Hotzmakh.
Following the success, Bernshtein continued making plans for doing something different. Sadly, he was moved to a different city. Then, suddenly, people felt the absence of the Dvinsk young man, who had brought a little joy to the shtetl.
The remedy of warding off an eyn hore was approximately the same as the birth amulet [hanging] over the bed of a woman in childbirth. Both remedies were to serve the same purpose: to chase away the “bad” from the sick. The way to ward off the evil eye went as follows: when a child became ill, the mother would take a cloth to a pious observant Jew. The Jew would take the cloth in his hand while he whispered some secret words. Then he would give it back to the mother. The mother would take the cloth, wrap it around the throat of the child and say: may it be for a remedy.
But the warding off of an evil eye did not always help and one had to search for other means.
A rumor once spread in the shtetl that nearby in a village there was an old peasant who actually performed miracles: he could ward off an evil eye, ward off a tooth ache, a head ache and other pains and the main thing was that it helped. Instead of going to Jews to ward off the evil eye, they began going to the peasant. The first thing that the peasant would do was to command the patient to look deep in his eyes. Then he would begin passing his hands back and forth over the face of the patient, doing so a number of times,
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and it would not take long before the patient would begin feeling better. It should be understood that no miracles happened. The peasant apparently had a hypnotic power, of which he himself was not aware.
It caused an uproar in the shtetl when people began going to the peasant to ward off an evil eye. What! To replace a Jew with a peasant? It was a desecration of God's name! They went to the rabbi. But it seems that there was not much that the rabbi could do because when it came to someone who was sick, they were the boss. Not only did they go to the peasant's house, but they even began bringing him to their homes. Little by little the clamor quieted down.
Shortly after, the peasant died and many Jews in the shtetl attended his funeral and mourned greatly for him…
There was not always a doctor in the shtetl, not because people did not get sick; on the contrary, there were many who fell ill. So, then why? Simply, the average Jew could not afford the luxury of calling a doctor and paying 50 kopikes for a visit. Instead of a doctor, they called the feldsher, who received 10 kopikes in all. How much the feldsher knew about medicine is hard to say, but he had the air of a professor. He did not believe in bankes [the use of cupping] and [the remedy of] Spanish Fly. “This is wild and barbaric,” he would say. He therefore strongly believed in [the use of] enemas and castor oil. And when he was called to the bed of someone who was on the verge of death and he saw that there was nothing he could do, he took a good look and said: “This is up to God,” and left.
He was an assimilated Austrian Jew. How he turned up in our shtetl I do not know. He kept his distance from everyone and looked down on everyone. His wife, a half German, did the same; she did not acknowledge anyone and lived her own separate life.
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Something happened that caused a major change in his life; his father died. And from then on, he suddenly became a different person. First he began going to the synagogue three times a day to say Kaddish [prayer for the dead]. And he not only said Kaddish the first year, but continued saying it for a long time afterward.
Second he suddenly became friendly toward everyone. [He] greeted everyone with a good disposition and a nice adieu and how are you? He was no longer the same person he had been. His wife shouted at him, rebuked him and even scoffed at him: “Herman, you have become too good a Jew; you will soon become a rabbi”… But Herman did not pay any attention to his wife's words. His piety reached the point that when entering the home of a patient, he would first kiss the mezuzah [religious text containing the foundational prayer, Shema Yisroel – Hear O Israel – contained in a box placed on the door post of a home]…
There was not a Jew in town who did not know Peretz. First, he was always seen pushing a little wagon with wet pelts from the slaughter house to the tannery; second, he always stood in the street at a little table with snacks for the children, such as gingerbread cookies, poppyseed cakes, brown cookies, caramel candies, beans and other trifles. And third, Peretz would be seen at every funeral, going around with the tzedakah pushka [charity tin can] in his hand, while saying the words, “Righteousness shall walk before Him.” And there was something strange about this Peretz. He, himself, was a poor Jew, but he did not like poor people. When a poor man died; he said “Righteousness will walk before Him” so quickly it was as if as if someone was standing behind him and was rushing him: “Righteousness will walk before Him, and set his footsteps on the way…” “Righteousness will walk before Him, and set his footsteps on the way,” as if he were thinking to himself: Oh, here is a vagrant, who asked you to be born, and without you, do you think that without you, we would not have done anything?...
When a rich man died, Peretz adopted a very different tone. He walked slowly, slowly, step by step, caressing his tangled beard and with a sweet, sad voice, slowly drew out the words: “Righteousness will walk before Him, and set his footsteps on the way… Righteousness will walk before Him, and set his footsteps on the way… Righteousness will walk before Him, and set his footsteps on the way…” And this meant: it is a shame that he has died. It is true that he was a Jew, a miser, but from time to time was not a ruble pulled from him…
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Peretz lived in a small house that always seemed about to cave in. On the other side of the wall was a closet in which was the taare-bret [purifying-board], and where children were afraid to pass, lest a corpse jump out and grab them.
In spite of the fact that Peretz was constantly occupied with the dead, he possessed a great sense of humor. His witticisms were well known to all. Some of them I will actually mention here.
Once during the winter, the attendants of the khevra kadisha [burial society] drank too many whiskies and were too lazy to go to the cemetery to bury a corpse. (The cemetery was a few verst [a verst is a little over a kilometer or six-tenths of a mile] from the shtetl). When Peretz gave a shout: Lazybones! You stand around drinking whisky, and in the meantime the corpse is starting to freeze…
Another time, he said: Such vagrants; is it not enough that they become ill, do they also have to die…
He once was asked why he rushed through the “Righteousness will walk before Him” for a poor man.
He answered: A sheyne reyne kapore [good riddance]; this way he will know not to die again…
When he would come to pay a condolence call and saw how the other person was crying, he consoled him: Why are you crying; with God's help you will die too…
Of course, these were not words of consolation and yet when we heard Peretz saying them, it unwillingly brought out a hidden laughter.
Thus was this massive Jew with the red, tangled beard – Peretz the grave digger.
The difference between the poor and rich in a small shtetl was noticeable in every facet of life. In the synagogue, the poor man stood at the door. He received a less eminent aliyah [being called up to read from the Torah] and it was a rarity. When he died, he was buried at the edge of the cemetery. There was no thought of him giving his opinion. However, from time to time, a protest against the rich would unwillingly come out, almost in a very primitive manner.
The khevra kadisha was an institution to which the poor belonged as well as the rich. Yet when it came to burying a corpse, the rich did not get involved and always left it to the shoemakers and tailors, as if they were born gravediggers.
I recall a small incident. A Jew by the name of Leibe Berezin passed away here. Leibe Berezin was a simple Jew; he could barely read a chapter of Psalms. He also was not a philanthropist; but was a well-established owner of a business and with a large house in the center of town. He died on the first day of Shavuos [holiday commemorating the giving of the Torah to the Jewish people] and the burial had to be postponed until after the holiday. The next day, after the holiday,
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the khevra kadisha arrived and began preparing for the funeral. Suddenly, some of the prominent people in the shtetl came and told the sextons that they would take care of this funeral themselves. However, when it came to the preparing of the body, and after lying for several days, the body began giving out unpleasant odors; the prominent people began to hold their noses and called for the sextons to purify the body. At this point one of the sextons, a bit of an impudent man, stepped forward and in a loud voice said: Today's corpse is yours. When it is a poor man that smells, you are not here. So, at least have a sniff when it is a rich man that stinks…
The only matzeyve [headstone] engraver in Dankere was a Jew named Leyzer-Leibe Band. He would walk with a bounce, as if he had springs. His head slightly tilted. And he had eyes that seemed they would pop out of his head at any moment and would escape to anywhere.
Little by little, engraving the headstones, he developed a critical idea about God, about life and death, about hell and heaven and, in general, about the order of life. And although he was careful not to talk about it, it was known in the shtetl that Leyzer-Leibe had been a bit of a gekhapter [someone guilty of heretical thinking], but he was left alone.
He lived not far from us. And I remember how, still as child, I would curiously stand and observe how he was hunched over a flat stone and with a small chisel, banging and banging, until eery letters began appearing, letters that reminded one of death. And once I even dreamed that I saw Leyzer-Leibe engraving a headstone for me. I did not go there ever again. And whenever I saw him walking in the street, it still seemed to me that this was not a person walking, but a living matseyve.
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Leyzer-Leibe always was deep in thought, as if he were searching for the secrets of the world. Once it so happened that he made an error, engraving the opposite version: on the matseyve for a woman, he placed: a modest and honest man, Mr. Hinda Leah bas Reb Yokhanon, who passed away…
As was the custom, people looked for the reason for this. Some said that this was the result of his being too occupied with his philosophy. Others explained that Satan was playing with him.
The tombstone remained an orphan. From then on, Leyzer-Leibe stopped engraving headstones and began to paint signs for the shopkeepers in the shtetl…
Twice a year, Shaya the bookseller would show up in Dankere with a pack of books on his shoulder. He had a large hunched back, a red hooked nose and contorted eyes, so that from afar, he gave the impression [of being] a camel. Shaya was the one who provided the shtetl with story books. The most sought after were [Nakhum Meir Schaikewitz] Shomer's novels. Shomer's novels were read in our town by young and old. Even my old grandmother was not ashamed to sit and listen to the reading of Shomer's novels. The story books about princes and princesses were a visible break in the texture of shtetl life. Therefore, it is no wonder that his story books had such success.
In addition to Shomer, he also had story books about Hasidic rebbes who performed great wonders and healed the infirm, bringing eyesight to the blind and other miracles. A story about a yeshiva [religious secondary school] young man who allowed himself to be misled by Lilith and, after a long time, he was found somewhere in a field in a state of insanity, riding on the broomstick.
Another popular story was about a dragon and vipers – how a viper
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swallowed a person and when they killed the snake, the person was still alive. And more such wonder stories that made you gasp while reading.
The third selection consisted of musar sforim [books on an ethical life], which were mainly read by the older people, particularly women. The musar sforim described in great detail what gehenem [hell] looked like and how the wicked were frying in hot vats of tar and how Satan was standing nearby and dancing for joy. That is exactly how it was described, so that one could hear the screams of the wicked and the scent of the hot tar… Also, a story about someone who spoke lshosn hore [malicious gossip], and [how] the angels of destruction tore out his tongue and put it back, and how this was done day and night, except on Shabbos…
The story about a woman who kept her own uncovered hair and how Lilith stood and tore the hair from [the woman's] head had a very strong message. These musar sforim had such an effect that many women read them together with their tkhines [Yiddish prayers for women] and many tears were shed.
From an early age I read story books and read anything that I could obtain. And as soon as Shaya the bookseller would appear in town it was truly a yontef [holiday]. Through various tricks I had a way of getting him to allow me to read the books without having to pay a groshn. And I spent many sleepless nights reading all of the nonsense, and many of them I still remember today…
Although he had a name like all people, he was never referred to by his name, just der lerer [the teacher]. He was small and lean, with a long, hooked nose and watery eyes like a hen. Both in summer and in winter, he always had a scarf wrapped around his neck – because, he would say, as a young child he had a case of tonsilitis and from then on, the doctor warned him that he must constantly wear a scarf around his neck…
His occupation was teaching. That is, he taught boys and girls how to write and read Yiddish. He would call out: Give hours. He would walk in the street with a brivnshteler [book of letter templates] under his arm. On one of his ears was a pencil, on the other ear a handle and feather. He was particularly proud when a student called him: Herr Lerer [Mr. Teacher]! In order to gain more respect from his students, he sewed brass buttons onto his coat and a rosette on his hat so he would look just like a Russian teacher…
In addition to teaching, he also occupied himself with writing letters for a groom and bride, as well as love letters between young men and girls. He was provided with enough ideas; those were provided by the brivnshteler. During the long winter
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evenings, he would be invited to many homes to read a Shomer novel. However, the problem was that he himself was quite sentimental and emotional. When he would come to a tragic moment for the hero, he would cry and seeing him caused the listeners to cry as well.
Today it all sounds simple and naïve, but at that time, being able to read and write Yiddish was considered a great thing and the teacher, without doubt, filled a great function. When the labor movement began to appear in the Jewish neighborhood, it found an element that was already ripe to accept what it was being told.
But, with all of the sources of income, the teacher was and remained a poor man and barely able to provide a living. And when his wife, who suffered from headaches her entire life, and always walked around with a wet towel on her head, screamed at him to give up teaching and take up some other type of work, he did not want to hear it. He argued that he was proud of his profession. He was a teacher and would die a teacher. And he kept his word…
When Yudl the wagon driver had to take a passenger to the train, he would have to leave an hour earlier than all the other wagon drivers in the shtetl. The reason was that his horse no longer was able to go fast, was barely able to stand on its feet. And because Yudl was so poor, the few groshn he earned were needed for his livelihood and, in the meantime, the horse had to be hungry. That is why Yudl had a long whip and would constantly curse and whip his horse and the horse, hungry and full of wounds on its body, pulled the wagon with its last strength.
Several people in the shtetl who could no longer watch the horse's pain, went to the rabbi to complain about Yudl the wagon driver, who was bringing death to his animal.
The rabbi summoned Yudl and began to berate him: Yudl, understand, it is cruelty to a living horse. You are taking an animal and are killing it.
Rebbe, Yudl began to apologize: I have a wife and six children and my income is weak. I am a very poor man and we must live and there is not enough for me and my horse. And who, Rebbe, is more important, me or the horse?
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The rebbe listened, thought and thought, put the tip of his beard into his mouth and with full compassion said: Yudl, you are correct, but you forget that a horse is also a living being and also must eat. And if the horse should, God forbid, fall from hunger, the horse could summon you to a Din Torah [ religious court case], and it is right that the horse should win.
Hearing the words of the rebbe, Yudl began to cry like a child. No, Rebbe, he said, I do not want a Din Torah with the horse. Rebbe, I promise, that from today on, I will deprive myself, my wife and children of food and will feed the horse.
But Yudl did not keep his promise. The horse fell from hunger and never stood up again. He was left without a horse, but with fear in his heart. And wherever he went, he always thought that the horse was summoning him to a Din Torah…
He was a tanner his entire life. Rising at dawn and working until late at night, dragging the raw hide to the tannery and from the tannery. He looked like a living corpse: eyes deep in his head so that all one could see were the eye sockets; the cheekbones protruding, his hands twisted, his back bent and his chest caved in. And thus he worked, day in and day out and moaned, moaned and worked until the last day of his life.
He lay around somewhere in a house near the door. All of his possessions consisted of a broken bed supported by bricks. And although he had six children, they were poor themselves and could not to help their old, sickly father with anything.
When he began feeling that he could no longer raise his hands, that his feet could no longer serve him, and that he did not have enough air to breathe, he started to think that his last hour had arrived, and he summoned the shamas [sexton] of the khevra kadisha [burial society] and asked him to bring the Maavar Yabok [a book containing prayers for the sick, the dying and the laws for mourning]. He wanted to recite his confession.
With a trembling voice he began repeating word by word: Ashamnu… Bogadnu… Gozalnu… [Yom Kippur confession of sins: …we have trespassed…we have dealt treacherously…we have robbed…]. Suddenly, Leizer paused and a sickly smile
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appeared on his pain-filled face. No, he moaned. He had not stolen from anyone… Did not take anything belonging to others… He worked hard all his life… No, he did not want to say any confession…
Upon hearing such talk, the sexton was overcome with fear. He thought Leyzer the tanner had suddenly lost his mind. He had been saying the confession with the sick for a long time but never had he heard such talk. He grabbed the Maavar Yabok book and ran away.
A short time later, Leyzer the tanner died. And he did not die in his bed, but rather in a corner of the tannery, without a confession…
He walked around with large tufts of hair and a beard filled with tangles. His waist-coat, which he wore only on yontef [holiday], bore on it signs of: mead, wine, whiskey, preserves, tzimmes [Sabbath stew], matzo balls, beets and other foods. He did not think highly of washing himself. What use is washing to me, he would say, when I will soon get dirty again. He did not work in the shtetl itself, rather in a courtyard in Liepland, 15 verst from the shtetl. He would leave early on Sunday, returning Friday evening. He was not a very skilled craftsman; therefore, he had an instinct for such higher things as sewing on patches. So, for example, Avrom Leibe the shoemaker could suddenly become a watchmaker. He took a wall clock apart and put it back together and the clock worked as if new.
It happened that in the courtyard where he worked, a German riding a bike arrived. And this fascinated Avrom Leibe. He lay aside the worthless thing [he was working on] and, entranced, he stood and watched and thought about how the bicycle was made. Yes, he thought, if he had such a bicycle, he would not have to travel such distances on foot. And then he got the idea that he himself would try and build such a bicycle. But out of what? Yes, he would make it out of wood, a wooden bicycle. And Avrom
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Leibe began to work, and was transformed from a shoemaker into an engineer. After a long time of thinking and studying, he built a bicycle. Except for the wheels that had iron spokes, everything else was made of wood. And, out of curiosity, when he came riding into the shtetl, everyone ran to see Avrom Leibe sitting on his bicycle and riding…
In general, he was a strange person. He liked to play with toys like a child. When Purim arrived, Avrom Leibe made a huge groger [noisemaker used on Purim to drown out the name of Haman] that could deafen 10 Hamans. The members of the synagogue would berate him: ah, Avrom Leibe, how does such foolishness come to you, you are no longer a child… However, he would just do what he wanted; every year with a new groger, one bigger than the other.
On Tisha bAv [the 9th of Av – the fast day commemorating the destructions of the first and second Temples in Jerusalem], when Jews sat on the floor in the synagogue with candles in their hand reciting Kinos [Lamentations], Avrom Leibe would come with a pocket full of pine cones and toss them in men's beards.
In the synagogue on Simkhas Torah [holiday commemorating the giving of the Torah], he felt it was right for him to carry a specially decorated flag, its head made of carrots, attired in lit candles like a menorah and placed on a long stick, which could be seen throughout the synagogue.
Such a type was Avrom Leibe the shoemaker. A man already old and yet he liked to play like a child…
Mikhal the tailor; he also was called Mikhal the slowpoke. He dutifully earned this nickname. This was a man who walked slowly, spoke slowly, worked and even slept slowly… In addition, he had the habit of falling asleep while working. His wife had the most hardship from him; she had to keep waking him. Mikhal, are you sleeping again? And Mikhal woke up, raised his head, looked at his wife and fell back asleep. He had the reputation as an able craftsman. When Mikhal sewed on a button, the garment might fall apart but the button did not fall off.
In addition to being a tailor, Mikhal also occupied himself with being a barber and shteln bankes [cupping] on Friday at the bathhouse. And just as he was slow at being a tailor, so too was he slow at being a barber. It happened that Mikhal went to give a haircut to the rabbi of the shtetl. And as was his way, he cut the hair and fell asleep, woke up and cut again and it appears that the rabbi thus sitting, also fell asleep. All of a sudden, the rabbi realized: Aye, a problem, he was missing a peyes [sidelock]. Mikhal! He shouted trembling, what have you done! You have cut off my peyes!
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Mikhal just stood there confused and not knowing what to do. If he could have taken off one of his peyes and put it on the rabbi, of course he would have done it. Rebbe! He said desperately, perhaps we should glue the peyes back on until another peyes grows?…
For a long time, the rabbi went around with only one peyes. And there was pity for the rabbi. There was even greater pity for Mikhal. He almost went insane from remorse. From then on, Mikhal ceased giving haircuts to adults and began to give haircuts to children. Until it happened again that, falling asleep, he immediately snipped a child's ear. Then he decided to give up being a barber and remained as a tailor and hot geshtelt bankes [applied cups] …
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