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[Page 110]
by Isser Shmuel Lyotvaks
Translated by Yael Chaver
The eve of Shabbat began Thursday morning, market day. After early prayers, people rushed to the market to buy chicken, fish, and other necessities for Shabbat. This was especially noticeable if a fair was being held; people hoped to purchase fresh produce brought by the peasants and make a profit by reselling the goods. There was also a chance that a peasant might buy something.
Housewives started to ferment their dough on Thursday evening, kneading it in variously sized troughs for bread and challah. They would bake bread for the entire week. Next, they made sure to stock wood for the oven. Very early on Friday morning, before daybreak, women began to heat their ovens. Rising very early on Friday mornings was considered admirable; it also supplied the family with fresh flat cakes and rolls for breakfast. As soon as the oven was lit, the housewife began peeling and scraping potatoes for fritters (which tasted heavenly). Next, she prepared the onion flat-cakes, and set them to cook on an open flame.
When the large baking-oven was ready, the housewife made various challahs. Some were braided. The special “twelve” challah, which symbolized the twelve tribes of Israel, could be formed by braiding twelve strands of dough. Other baked products were also made with challah dough. Before forming the challah, the housewife would observe the ancient Jewish ceremony of separating a portion of dough and burning it as a symbolic sacrifice, to represent the offering given to the Temple priests. While doing this, the housewife said a special prayer to God asking that the children be provided for and taken care of. Friday mornings were different from other mornings; we ate delicious fritters and onion flat-cakes, as well as fresh-baked rolls. The children devoured the fritters, dripping with oil, as well as the flat cakes with butter, before leaving for cheyder.
The Friday cheyder was also different from the rest of the week. We studied only half the day and spent most of the time going over the weekly Torah portion and chanting the haftorah properly.[2] We came back home for the midday meal and had plenty of time to run around and play. On Fridays, the midday meal was unusual; it consisted of only a fresh roll and sorrel soup. Extremely observant Jews ate nothing after breakfast on Fridays, in order to enjoy their Shabbat Friday-night meal all the more.
[Page 111]
On Friday afternoon, the town took on a Shabbat-eve atmosphere. The large baking ovens were reheated for the pots of cholent that contained various types of kugel and meat. However, not all ovens were heated. Some housewives sent their cholent to bakeries or to a neighbor who had a large oven. Those who owned large ovens helped their neighbors by allowing them to cook their cholents. People weren't concerned about bringing the pot home on Shabbat, as the town had an eruv.[3] If the eruv had collapsed or was ripped, a Gentile brought the pots home.
Next to the kitchen oven, pots and pans contained food being cooked for Shabbat. The air outdoors was fragrant with the aroma of food coming from all the chimneys. The women were exhausted and red-faced from the time pressure before Shabbat. Noodles were being cut on the noodle board, cow intestines were being washed in preparation for making stuffed dermas; pearl barley and dried beans were being rinsed. Suddenly, people were left speechless – there was no water to wash the floor.
The food shops had their highest revenue of the week. A woman or a child messenger would suddenly appear in the shop because someone had run out of flour for baking, black pepper for the fish, or something else.
Late in the afternoon, the atmosphere changed – Shabbat was on its way. The food for the day was ready. The cholent pots had been placed in the ovens, along with water for hot drinks in bottles or earthenware jugs. These were placed on the basin holding hot coals or sand heated by the fire and wrapped in old rags so they would stay warm until Shabbat evening. Outside, people who had left the bathhouse late were running home with flushed faces, sweating. Older observant men were already in the study house, wearing their Shabbat best, and chanting the Song of Songs to welcome the holy day.
In the Jewish neighborhood, the air itself invoked Shabbat. It became obvious, once Avrom the shammes, with children in his wake, began walking the streets and rapping on shutters, shouting loudly “Jews, go home, home, for Shabbat!” People were galvanized into action before the beginning of the holy day. Everyone dropped their quotidian affairs and hurried home, so as not to desecrate it. Women were rushing to the market to purchase candles, which they had not had time to do earlier in the day; as the saying goes, “Friday is always short.” Shopkeepers were hard at work shuttering their shops, annoyed at the women who came at the last minute because they would cause the owners to transgress. Shop doors banged shut as the marketplace emptied and men hurried to their own small synagogues, where everything was ready for Shabbat prayers. Shabbat! The word echoed from every corner. In homes, the candlesticks of silver or brass with their candles were ready for the housewife to light and say the proper blessing.
It was candle-lighting time. The candlesticks shone brightly, illuminated by the flickering candles. Every street was overtaken by a festive feeling. Women with radiant faces greet each other joyfully, “Gut Shabbes!”[4]
[Page 112]
Children, rich and poor alike, were freshly washed and dressed in clean clothing. People's faces shone, free of everyday worries that were set aside. The entire town celebrated Shabbat. The Gentiles stayed away, as though not to disturb the day of rest. People dressed differently for Shabbat, some in satin kapotes and velvet caps, others in dilapidated cloth coats and caps. Everyone went to greet Shabbat in one small synagogue or another and bask in the spirit of the day while thanking God for giving Jews a free day every week.
Dubienka was religiously observant, and everyone went to prayers; people were accustomed to attending their own synagogues. It's impossible to say whether they actually prayed. The young folks were not enthusiastic about praying, but they attended anyway for the sake of their parents. Those who prayed did so fervently. The excitement peaked with the “Lechu neranena” verse.[5]
Once prayers were over, people went home. Those who could afford it brought a guest home with them. Saying “Gut Shabbes” as they came in, the arrivals saw a well-lit, spick-and-span home, presided over by the sparkling candlesticks with their candles. The table was prepared for a meal, following the blessing over the wine or challah. Hands were washed, and everyone sat down for the meal. Everyone – even the impoverished – felt like royalty, with no worries about livelihood or what the next day would bring. Shabbat songs resounded around the table. Jews sat at tables with their families and sang the songs that echoed through the town, creating an atmosphere of Shabbat pleasure.
After the meal, when parents would fall asleep at the table or in their bedrooms, the young folks went out for a walk. Some walked on the wooden sidewalks, while others met friends, boys or girls, or just rambled aimlessly. Most gathered at the marketplace, walked to the bridge, then back to the pharmacy. These back-and-forth walks sometimes lasted late into the night. Some young folks crossed the bridge and entered the forest, with the moon and the stars as their only witnesses. Echoes from the fields and forest were often heard from beyond the stream.
Before daybreak on Shabbat morning, Shoel, Dyadye's son, called people out to the house of study, to chant Psalms: “Get up, get up for prayers!” The adults would rise and go to the large study house. Some pious Jews would go to the ritual bath before prayers and immerse themselves, regardless of the extremely low water temperature.
[Page 113]
On Shabbat morning, after a warm drink, people would leave their homes for prayers in a synagogue. Those who were members of a Hassidic group went to the synagogue of their particular group. Most people, though, went to the large study house or the great synagogue. Women prayed at the great synagogue, where there was a special women's area on a lower level, separated by curtains. Shabbat was a day of utter quiet in the town. Men spent the day praying, studying, or reading the Shulchan Aruch.[6]
The morning prayers were followed by breakfast and the midday meal, consecutively. After the cholent, most people took a nap. Some went to the study houses. Young people went for rambles on the sidewalk, talking about their futures. Women picked up the Tsene-Reneh and read it diligently.[7] Women could be seen sitting outside on their doorsteps and chatting with neighbors. Most men spent the rest of the day in the study houses, until late in the afternoon, when the third Shabbat meal was held in semi-darkness, amid more singing.
The sadness of parting from Shabbat began to be felt during the final meal, and became heavier in the study house between the afternoon and evening prayers. A large, melancholy crowd gathered around the long table and chanted Psalm 119, which praises those who live according to the rules of the sacred Torah. The prayer leader and congregation chanted the verses with great intent. As it grew darker, and the time for the evening prayer approached, the atmosphere grew more oppressive; fear seemed to cloud the air. The chanting was beautiful, yet everyone sensed that Shabbat was drawing to an end. People were saying the last blessings in the semi-darkness, unable to see each other's faces. The tension broke when the shammes rapped on the Torah reader's desk, announcing that it was time for the evening prayer. The lights were lit, and some members of the congregation began the evening prayer in great haste so that they could go and open their businesses. This was especially noticeable among the shopkeepers, each of whom wanted to be the first to open for business. As lights were kindled in the study houses, women at home said the quiet, heartfelt prayer addressed to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.[8] They then lit the lamps and wished for a good, satisfying, and lucky week for all Jews. The men repeated the same wishes when they returned from the synagogue, and the Havdalah ceremony began, separating Shabbat from the rest of the week. The ceremony's leader took up the special braided candle, or two candles bound together (also known as havdalah), and asked one of the children to hold it, and filled the kiddush cup with wine. The spice box, filled with cloves and other spices, was important in the ceremony. It was passed around for everyone to inhale the aromas. Then the leader inspected his fingernails, made the blessing over the lights of fire (marking the first lighting of fire after Shabbat), poured a bit of wine on the table and extinguished the candle in it. He dipped a finger in the wine and patted it on the eyes and pockets, as a charm for good eyesight and prosperity in the coming week. Then verses promising future prosperity were chanted. Some households sang special liturgical songs to see Shabbat out. The samovar was set out and the final, post-Shabbat meal was served; it often consisted of herring and potatoes.
Translator's Footnotes
[Page 114]
by Dovid Shroyt
Translated by Yael Chaver
People began leaving their home towns in the early 19th century, parting from their nearest and dearest and wandering into the wide world in search of happiness. The majority of immigrants went to America, where, according to rumor, gold could be shoveled up freely. Most of us stayed in New York, despite feeling lonely, poor, and unable to speak the language. There was no one to unburden oneself to, either. Finding work was difficult, unless you came recommended. Wages were very low, making it impossible to live decently while also sending money back to the family. Most of us slaved away, sleeping in the shops, and sometimes going to Fisher's on Rivington St., where a good supper could be had for 12 cents and seltzer would be offered. Our one consolation was that we wouldn't stay in America for long but return to our families at home as soon as we had saved enough money. We kept counting our savings: every dollar we earned would double in value at home – each dollar was equivalent to two rubles there.
[Page 115]
Immigration was high in those years. Whenever a ship came in, we members of the Society would come to greet our new fellow Dubienka natives. I was fortunate to be the boss of a shop; many newcomers found a place for the night in my shop.
As the population of Dubienka natives grew, so did our Society. We realized that we needed our own synagogue for prayers; we had temporarily been using the Libowno synagogue.
After the High Holidays, we rented a synagogue for our community, but had no Torah scroll. As a synagogue cannot exist without a Torah scroll, we obtained that as well.
The memory is still fresh of when Yisro'el Tsukerman made great efforts to do me the great honor of using my house as the starting point for the parade bearing the scroll to the synagogue. The ceremony was costly and impressive: the parade stretched from the Bowery to Cherry Street. Musicians were playing, we rode in carriages, and we thoroughly enjoyed our good fortune as we carried a Torah scroll to its new home in our new country. Now that we had the three components – a Society, a synagogue, and a Torah scroll – we were less lonely, and began to think of establishing ourselves here. Many of us were already thinking of bringing over our families. The only thing that was missing was a cemetery.
At one of our meetings, we appointed a committee to seek a plot we could purchase for that purpose. I was on that committee. We knew that the Society did not have much money, and started looking for a place in New Jersey, which was very cheap. Travelling in those days was more difficult than today. We rode in a horsecar up and down hills. When we arrived in New Jersey, we had to trudge through mud until we located the dry plot that serves as our cemetery to this day.
Our lives continued normally, until World War I broke out. Immigration from home then stopped, as did the letters; we had no news of our dear ones. In the meantime, America entered the war as well. Many of our members joined the U.S. army. Among them were Izzy Rotshtein, Berish Bieber, Ben-Tziyon Garfinkel, Joseph Cutler, Shmu'el Mandel, Hymie Strazer, and many others whom I cannot remember. Many were on their way to army camps, when the armistice was declared. I will never forget the joyful street celebrations, accompanied by music, when the war ended.
Once the war ended, people began seeking information about what had happened to their families in Europe. About three months later, letters began arriving from the wretched town of Dubienka. These letters brought no joy, because the town had been burned to the ground, and the survivors had lost all their possessions. The community in Europe turned to us for help. With the aid of the Dubienka Society, we organized a relief committee. Avrom-Itshe Strosht was the chairman and Paul Greenberg – Secretary. We called for mass
[Page 116]
meetings, and visited all the Dubienka natives whose addresses we had. Avrom-Itshe Strosht, Hymie Graf, Henich Landsberg and I went knocking from door to door, and often left broken-hearted because of the way we were sometimes received. But we didn't give up, and eventually collected several thousands of dollars, which we sent to Dubienka with Ya'akov Zalmen Goldhaber, who was then going there.
We continued our relief work. Avrom-Itshe and I visited the homes of our members every year to collect money for Passover provisions, with Henich as our official driver. We helped the Dubienka community to rebuild all the vital institutions: hekdesh, bath-house, and Talmud-Torah schools.[1] It was a difficult job, but God provided.
Next, some women – such as Sara Kotler, Chaya-Hinda Graf, and others, led by Izzy Rothstein, organized a Dubienka Women's Auxiliary. Obstacles were set in their path, but any project led by Izzy Rothstein was bound to succeed. The women took over the care and support of the poor in our hometown. The Auxiliary's membership constantly grew, and they introduced a spirit of activism and neighborliness in our community. They initiated balls, concerts, and other productions; all were very successful. They collected money to send to our unfortunate brethren in Dubienka and provided most of the support for the Talmud-Torahs, where poor children studied the Torah and received a daily meal, besides being supplied with clothes and shoes. The Auxiliary continued to send money abroad until the outbreak of World War II.
When the German murderers occupied our town, there was no more news about the fate of the townspeople. Though we were sure that the majority were no longer among the living, the Auxiliary continued to collect money, knowing that when the town was liberated even larger sums of money would be needed. This proved to be the case. Led by Reyzl Rubinstein, the current President, the Auxiliary collected impressive sums of money.
At the same time, the Dubienka natives knew that these sums would not suffice to help those who remained alive. We decided to organize an American Relief Committee that would reach out to all the Dubienka natives in America for help. I had the honor of being that Committee's first chairman. Now, with Peretz Bobis as Chairman and Izzy Rothstein as Secretary, the work is going very well.[2] We ask everyone to help in this worthy project – helping the survivors in Dubienka. Help the unfortunates, and God will help you!
Translator's Footnotes
[Page 117]
by Gershon Shlechter, Kibbutz Ma'oz Chayim, Israel
Translated by Yael Chaver
As in all Jewish towns, the bathhouse was in the same area as the synagogue and the large study house. They were near the stream known as the Ryczka. It was heated every Friday, in honor of Shabbat, and everyone would go to cleanse themselves.
As soon as you approached Yitzchok Arineh's, the shouts and hubbub of the bathhouse became audible. A plume of steam mixed with smoke streamed from the topmost window. Just past the door to the bathhouse, in the corridor, sat sour-faced Zisl, the attendant. You'd put a few pennies in her hand and go on in. Zisl was familiar with her customers. Some people's money went right into her pocket without a word, but she would bargain with others, claiming sullenly that wood was expensive, and the plank bed above the stove also needed repairs, and much money was needed. Where would she get it? No, that's not enough!
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You opened the large, heavy door, which was attached by string to a stone that functions as a door closer, and were immediately enveloped in a wave of steam mixed with smoke. You then started to hear the shouts and commotion, and begin to suspect you're in another world. Actually, it was a different world. The bathhouse was where you forgot about your weekday troubles, as though they'd been slapped out of you by the special bath-house whisk lying on the top bench.
Once you lay on that upper bench and were enjoying life, you were on top of the world, as though you'd never had any problems. The man next to you finished groaning and was now yelling with pleasure as he was being slapped by the whisk. “Right there! A bit lower! On the ribs! Oh, oh! Another ladleful of cold water, quick! This is so good, the best, I swear!”
[Page 118]
Similar scenes took place on all the benches, as people enjoyed themselves immensely. Those who couldn't tolerate too much heat alternated between the lowest and highest bench, especially as more water was being poured on the hot charcoal. At the foot of the oven, people scurried around in the smoky steam, hunting for a good whisk, or a ladleful of water. Some people rushed out of the steam for a dip in the cold ritual bath, then returned to the steam bath. There were constant cries of “Moteh! Hirsh! Avrom-Itshe! Leybkeh! Where are you?”
Some Jews spent the entire afternoon in the bathhouse, until it was time for prayers, and enjoyed the experience above all. Leybke the chimney-sweep, for instance, felt like a fish in the water. He was the best “beater” in town. You'd be wrong to think that “beating” could be done by just anyone. Those who had the great luck to be beaten by Leybkeh the chimney-sweep would be glad to tell you the meaning of a real “beating.” As Abish Grinberg used to say, “If you've been beaten by Leybke, you've had a taste of paradise.” It was difficult to get to him. He had his regular clients, who fortified him with a glass of brandy; Leybkeh enjoyed a bit of hard liquor. If you never saw Leybke wield his whisk in the steam, you don't know the meaning of art. He plied the whisk like Huberman plies his bow.[1]
Motl the attendant strutted around as though he was the mayor. Here, he was king, and ran the entire show. People shouted, “Oh, oh, Motl! Motele, another ladleful! Oh, Motl, one more!” Suddenly, a cry, “Motl, that's enough, enough! It's like fire!” Some would leave the top bench in a hurry, though other heroes stayed there through the highest temperatures. Motl knew his business; he'd seen it all and knew when another ladleful of water was in order. His greatest pleasure was when people told him that the bathhouse was good that day.
When you left the bathhouse, you were a new person. Your body moved more easily, as though you were rid of a heavy load. People rushed off in different directions, some holding a whisk, others with a scarf around their necks to prevent catching cold, others still with red cheeks or a red nose. Everyone was in a hurry as they heard the rapping on shutters indicating that Shabbat was near. People were relieved to have shed their weekday worries in the bathhouse.
Translator's Footnote
[Page 119]
by Rabbi Ya'akov Shroyt
The Natives of Dubienka in New York
Translated by Yael Chaver
Let me begin with a few words about our family. I am Rabbi Ya'akov Yerucham Shroyt, of Brooklyn, New York. I am the Secretary of our Dubienka Society. My father, Rabbi David Shroyt (of blessed memory) was one of the Society's founders.
My mother, Mindl (nee Veyts), had two brothers and four sisters. The oldest, Rivka, had been born in Chelm. All of our children were born in America. My dear mother came to America a few years after my father, who came in 1910. He used to tell us many stories. We lived in New York, on the lower East Side, where all the Jewish immigrants made their first homes. Seventy years have gone by like a dream, yet I can see my parents' home as though it were a scene in a movie. Small though the house was, it provided the Jewish immigrants with their first hostel. They found a place to sleep; the crowded conditions encouraged people to behave as though it was one family. It is hard to remember all the names of the Dubienka folks; time went on, and the names vanished with it.
It became necessary to organize a Dubienka synagogue.“The First Dubienka Synagogue Anshei Rodfei Tzedek” opened in 1911, the same year as the First Dubienka Society. I can see our study house now; Shabbat with the blessing over many tables bearing baked goods and herring; the High Holidays with our own cantors; Sukkot and Simchat Torah with children having fun, singing and dancing with the Torah scroll. As time passed, more and more families came from Dubienka.
The time came when we had to start thinking about the future. My father, David, and a committee began searching for a place to buy as a cemetery for the Dubienka natives. After much effort and considerable time, they purchased a plot on a hill in Fairview, New Jersey, on the border of New York. Many of our founding Dubienka families have found eternal rest there.
A Chevra Kadisha was organized, along with various committees to ensure the well-being of our townspeople in America, as well as those in our hometown.[1] The Dubienka Society met every two weeks in a rented hall, to discuss various topics related to the needs of people in our hometown in Europe, including food for the needy, trousseaus for poor brides, Talmud-Torah schools for young children, and the like.
Dovid Shroyt, Avrom Strost, Chayim Yosef Garfinkel, Asher Goldman, Issar Hotstein, Abid Grinberg, Nathan and Max Grinberg, Harry and Max Leider, the Wagenfelds, Shimon and Yisro'el Tsukerman, Peretz and Moshe Bubis (and many others whose names escape me, unfortunately) sought out our Dubienka landsman in all their neighborhoods. They climbed five- and seven-story staircases (there were no elevators then).
[Page 120]
They fulfilled their mission and collected funds, regardless of rain, frost, or heat. No one refused the Committee's request. Their hearts, feelings, and dedication were directed towards their hometown.
Sadly, that generation is gone, except for a few older members. Their children are part of this modern generation: many are distant from the organization, perhaps because of the American culture they live in. We are the last to bear the responsibility for our Dubienka landsman, wherever they are.
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the daughter of Shimon the carpenter |
[Page 121]
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| Standing, right to left: Bentziyon Gorfinkel, Dovid Shrut, Meir Perlstein, Hayim Yosef Gorfinkel, Huvman[2] Graf, Mendl Trost Second row: Shmu'el Mandil, Max Leider, Avraham Trost, Avraham Bubis, Henich Landsberg. Harry Leider Seated: Hersh Sokotsh, Avraham Lufer, Peretz Bubis, Yisro'el Tsukerman, Ya'akov Yerucham Shrut |
Translator's Footnotes
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