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Translator's footnotes:
by Eliezer Eynes
Unfortunately, I lack the talent needed to describe the great disaster that overtook our Jewish town. No writer of dirges could possibly adequately lament the Shoah, the calamities and anguish of our persecuted nation. In bygone times, pagans and all Jew-haters believed that it was possible to murder the Jewish nation. The Nazis were the cruelest and the most terrible adversaries of any historical period. They succeeded in murdering six million Jews by torture and torment. We will never forget the martyrs and the sacred figures of our nearest and dearest. It is to them that we dedicate our memories, stories, and written accounts, which will serve as a memorial for all future generations.
It has been almost fifty years since I left Grabowiec. I lived in Lublin for over twelve years, and have been living in France for the past thirty-five years. I must say I am overtaken by hesitation to approach the topic and recount memories of people and events in the town where I spent my childhood. I see before me the simple, decent Jews. Even those we complained about were truly righteous, compared with the people of today.
Our sages said, “If the early generations are characterized as sons of angels, we are the sons of men. And if the early generations are characterized as the sons of men, we are akin to donkeys.”[1] We may say the same, thinking of the people of Grabowiec, fifty years ago. Even those who were immoral observed many of the commandments.
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This was true not only of people we knew to be good, observant Jews, but also of those we considered frivolous. All were raised in good Jewish homes, and martyred for their faith. All were heroes, all met their deaths. Heaven and earth mourn for them.[2]
“My soul will weep in secret.”
No matter how many years I have spent in foreign cities and countries, thousands of strands connect me to our town of Grabowiec. To this day, the air I breathe is that of Grabowiec, the air I absorbed as a child.
There were no rich men in the town, but most of the Jews in town were able to make a living. They appeared handsomer and better dressed than the Jews of other towns. The soil of our region was rich and fruitful. The local Christians, as well as the peasants of the surrounding villages, were well-to-do; this affected the livelihoods of Jewish merchants and craftsmen.
Grabowiec was part of the Hrubieszow district, but its commercial connections were mainly with Zamość, where most wares originated. Jewish merchants travelled back and forth to that town. Our young people were influenced by the cultural and social aspirations of the young people in Zamość, as well as their latest fashions.
Our Jewish population consisted of merchants, shopkeepers, and craftsmen. The merchants, who dealt in horses and domestic animals, were the wealthiest. The young people, however, were excellent craftsmen. Jews mastered every craft, naturally including tailoring and shoemaking. They were also carpenters, builders, barrel-makers, tinsmiths, shingle makers, coppersmiths, rope makers, and chimney sweeps.
If I had the talent necessary to write and describe, I would write the biographies of ordinary people, whose lives were examples of innocence and decency, along with a rich sense of Jewish identity.
Everyone in town knew my father, Feivl (David's son), as a Hasid
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who gave generously to charity. Sometimes, in times of crisis when work was scarce, a client would come in but wouldn't agree to pay the regular price, Father would let him leave. Mother would then be angry and argue that, since times were bad, he should have lowered his price. Father's response was “True, I charge a ruble more than another tailor charges. But if I lowered my price now, I would be harming the livelihood of the cheaper tailor… If God wills it, someone will pay me the higher price, and I won't have to deprive another of his livelihood.”
Grabowiec, like all the surrounding towns, had a synagogue, a study house, and five small Hasidic synagogues. There was also a minyan of Bychawa Hasids. They were mostly horse-traders – wonderful people, even though they weren't scholars.
The synagogue managers were Yechezkel Karnis and Yoelkeh Bornstein, and the cantor was Yechiel Marmelshteyn (Pesheh's son). During the High Holidays, Itshe “the White” led the afternoon prayers, and the Kol Nidrei prayer as well. Hasids from all the small synagogues would come to hear him. He would not take money for his services. He was assisted by choirboys, one of which was Menucha's son Yechezkel.
The Rabbi
The Rabbi would join prayers in the synagogue. On Rosh Hashanah, he would give a sermon before the shofar blasts. The sermon dealt with ethical concerns and sorrow for the sins that require atonement.
The Rabbi lived in the old study house, which was actually the synagogue of the Kuzmir Hasids. In fact, he prayed there on weekdays. He spent his time praying and teaching young unmarried scholars, and would accept no pay. He was frugal, and his children considered him an idler. But he was very wise, and understood human frailties. He was a member of Sanz Hasidism, but
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the Kuzmir Hasids – a majority in town – accepted him as their Rabbi; he'd occasionally travel to [visit] the Kuzmir Rabbi on a holiday or a Shabbat.[3]
The synagogue had two anterooms, where special minyans held prayers, but I do not remember who the members were. Yoel (Shiyeh's son) managed the study house at first, and was replaced by Sholem (Shmuelkeh's son). Moshe Zinger was the cantor.
Some of the influential Jews in the town were Itshe “the White,” whose last name was Shvartsenberg, and Avraham-Yitzchak, the butcher. The Kuzmir synagogue was managed by Natan Shvarts, Chayim (Shlomo's son), and Chayim Brendel. Some of the notable congregation members were Yishaya Morochnik, “Small” Yeshaya, Aryeh Vaynshtrukh and his son-in-law, Eliezer Shapiro, his sons Shlomo and Yehoshua, Efrayim and Leibtche Zinger, and Avraham-Eli the ritual slaughterer. He and the Rabbi were the only two men in town who wore a shtreimel.[4]
I remember the names of Me'ir Feivl and his son Chayim, Yoyne Glomb, and Hersh-Leyb the watchmaker. Their group also included my grandfather, my father, Hershl (Eli's son) and his son and son-in-law, Pinches and Nechemiah Merenshteyn, Eli Kutcher, and dozens of other members of that congregation, whose names escape me. I remember my melamed, Chanina, “Big” Yosef, Velveleh the melamed, Motl (Elka's son), and Moshe-Mordechai Vidler who would travel on foot to stay with the Rabbi because he was short of funds. I do not remember the names of the people who managed the Husiatyn Hasidic synagogue; some members of that congregation were Noteleh Fink, who was considered a Kabbalist because he studied the Zohar and other Kabbalist works; Nochem Glomb and his son Pinchas, Efrayim Firsht, Chayim Shtern (Chayim the candlemaker) and his son Binyomin; Baruch the melamed and Yentshe's son Eli.
Eli was nicknamed Eli Maimonides, because he had paid someone who studied Maimonides for the privilege of studying ten pages.[5] He also observed the mitzvah of bringing joy to the bride and groom, and joined all wedding celebrations, of the poor and the rich. He would show up late at night, after the wedding meal had been consumed, and dance until well after daybreak; he paid the musicians out of his own pocket. He was truly a beloved person.
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His son Hersh-Leyb and his grandchildren prayed in the same small synagogue, together with Avraham and Yisro'el, Bentsheleh's sons.
The Belz synagogue was managed by Itshe Smolazh, my kvatter.[6] He was originally from Volhynia, and had long, thick peyes. Although he was poor, he had a personal sick fund, which he supported by collecting charity. Whenever a poor person was ill, he would pay the doctor's wage as well as the pharmacist's bill. He'd write them notes in Yiddish (he didn't know Polish or Russian). When the pharmacist saw his handwriting, he would produce the medications free of charge. However, Itshe would visit the pharmacy once a month to settle the bill. If an urgent medication was needed on Shabbat, Itshe himself would go to the pharmacy to pick it up.
Among the prominent property owners who prayed at the Belz small synagogue was Eliezer, son of the Rabbi's wife. He was a member of the rabbinical court of law, and sat alongside the Rabbi during proceedings. Other members of that congregation were Avrahamtsheh Becher, Mordechai Levine, Yeshaya Mekhl and his brother Mordechai, and Shimon Shisler with his sons.
The Radzyn small synagogue congregation included Moshe Bornshteyn (Malka's son). Yasha, Shlomo, and Hersh Krashniker, Mordechai Erlich, Moshe Cohen, Yisro'el-David Goldfarb, my melamed Yoseleh (Rivke's son), who would also make rabbinical decisions; he often visited the Kuzmir small synagogue to talk with the rabbi and study.
The Bychawa Hasids held prayers in a home, but by the time I left Grabowiec they had their own small synagogue, where they prayed only on Shabbat mornings. Among the prominent Jews in town were the brothers-in-law Mekhl “the Doctor” Blank, and Shimon “the Doctor.” As for the Turisk small synagogue, I remember only Yehoshua Lerer and my Rabbi Shmuel Alter. Both were fine people, and were renowned as pious and honest.
After the great dispute concerning rabbis, which culminated in the departure of both rabbis, the Kuzmir Hasids brought over a rabbi who was a Sanz Hasid, and the town was peaceful once again. However, the peace was only on the surface, because
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many Husiatyn Hasids bore remnants of the animosity that had flared during the quarrel. They had not relinquished the idea of a rabbi of their own, until they were able to bring in the son-in-law of the Bychawa Rabbi.
That act re-ignited disputes, and the town seemed to be on fire. The sole topics of conversation on the street were the Rabbi and the ritual slaughterer. It reached the point where one rabbi would disqualify something that another rabbi had confirmed as being kosher. Opinions of great rabbis were solicited in order to forbid the new slaughterer from slaughtering; the latter, on the other hand, provided opinions from other rabbis. The town became divided into two camps. Some families refused to visit relatives and did not attend their family occasions, claiming that the food they served wasn't kosher.
I remember the Radzyn Hasid, Moshe (Malka's son), going to prayers carrying a tallis bag. I knew that he considered himself pious, but, at age eleven, I worried about him, thinking that his long peyes, white shoes and stockings, and custom of putting on two sets of tefillin were all useless. He would be going to Hell regardless, because he ate non-kosher food.
Some people in town wanted to calm the disputes, and brought in rabbis to smooth things over. However, they were unable to cool tempers.
The Conflagration
It was only when the great fire broke out and consumed the entire town that the disputes were sidelined.
The fire began in the Christian neighborhood, and spread throughout the town. Only fourteen houses were untouched. Not a single Jewish sacred site was saved. Four young children were incinerated in a cheyder.
Help began to come from the surrounding towns. Zamość sent considerable aid, but it hardly met the needs. There was no bakery in town to provide bread, and people became homeless.
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Yet, with time, the town revived. New homes were built and the disputes were forgotten. Some residents had to leave for other towns to seek a living. Yitzchak-Hersh Goldman could find no home, and went to Ziółków, where he became the rabbi. He left a few years later and went to the Holy Land, where he died at an advanced age.
The only rabbi left in our town was known as the “Black” Rabbi, after his dark beard. His only followers were the Bychawa Hasids, as his wife was the daughter of the Bychawa Rabbi.
During World War I
World War I broke out. As the front line neared our town, all the Jews were expelled. Many Jews went to Russia, including the “Black” Rabbi; nothing was ever heard from him again. When the Jews returned, the community began searching for a rabbi. There were many candidates, and the Rabbi of Krzeszow, Rabbi Gavriel Ze'ev Oselkeh, was chosen. Both of his sons were rabbis, one serving in Szczebryeszyn and the other in Krasnystaw.
A few years later, Rabbi Gavriel received a position in the larger town of Mogielnica, and Grabowiec was without a rabbi once again. The new rabbi was a Grabowiec native: Aharon Yosef Shur, the son of Eliezer, whose mother had been married to a rabbi. At the same time, the community rehired Shlomo as ritual slaughterer, though his slaughtering had earlier been banned.
When Grabowiec was occupied by Austrian soldiers, there was a feeling of political freedom in town. Young people began to read newspapers and books, and became interested in political trends. The first organization was created by the Bund sympathizer, Shlomo Tsigel; he was joined by Yisraelkeh and Nathan Licht, whose father was wealthy. They attracted sympathizers, and had meetings that called to fight for Socialism.
For a long time, there was no Zionist organization in the town,
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but conditions were favorable to Zionist ideology. At first, members of the local Bund organization attached “Zionist” as an epithet to the name of each young person who was uninterested in becoming a Bund member. Young men who studied in the small Hasidic synagogues, and were not attracted by the Bund's propaganda were termed Zionists. This was true to some extent; although they weren't Zionists in practical terms, they were certainly so in their thoughts. Those yeshiva students felt a profound connection to the Zionist ideal even before they used those terms. These thoughts gradually took on practical form, and they began collecting money for the Jewish National Fund. This was no easy matter. The older generation of pious and Hasidic Jews existed believing that only the Messiah would bring salvation, and people should not hasten this process.
It was not easy to decide to create an organization, especially one that would include young women. The young synagogue students saw this as a terrible revolution, and they feared the reaction of the Hasids.
The First Zionist Organization
Nevertheless, it came about. One Shabbat the call was heard for a meeting of young people; the participants resolved to create a Zionist organization. We found a venue that was vacant – the house of Shimen “the Doctor”, which had been abandoned when its owner fled to Russia during the war.
The anniversary of Herzl's death was the occasion for our first large gathering, which left a powerful impression. I cannot remember who the participants of this meeting were, except for Yehoshua Erlich, who gave the opening speech, and Velvish Becher and myself, who also spoke. The young people of the town were in a festive mood. The event was set for the afternoon, after the evening prayers. We awaited
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the moment with fast-beating hearts and bated breath. Unexpectedly, the evening prayers in our small synagogue began late. A messenger came to call me, saying that the group had assembled and they were waiting for me in order to start. I prepared to leave, but my father noticed, and came over, saying, “I forbid you to go!” I obeyed him. I would not yet antagonize my father or do anything against his will.
Inwardly, I was furious, but said nothing until we returned home. For the first time in my life, I argued with my father as with an equal. I was twenty-two years old, and thought that my father needed to change his relationship with me. I told him, “You shouldn't have spoken to me so strictly, but should have realized that at my age I might object to you. You could have caused me to disobey the command of honoring my father.” Our voices were louder than usual; the exchange was about to become a fight.
The next day, I found out that Yankl Hersh (Uchaner's son-in-law), from Hrubieszow, had substituted for me at the gathering. He was successful – he spoke passionately, and evoked an enthusiastic response from the audience. A board was then chosen, with Moshe Becher as chairman. The board included young women. Some older people then joined the Zionist organization, but 80% of the members were young.
The Zionist Association
The third meeting was about to take place. I gave a speech in which I expressed the passionate
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desire of the young people of our town to help rebuild the Land of Israel. Early the next day, someone told my father that boys and girls had attended my talk together. The tattletale person probably added that I would be causing great harm to Jewish life in the town. My father was dejected all day and tried to convince me by fair means or foul. He told me about his own lifelong hope that I would grow up to be pious and God-fearing, and his worry that I was embarking on a dangerous path.
But I was stubborn, and began going to the Zionist club almost every evening. Our activities expanded. We studied Hebrew, sang songs of longing for Zion, and collected money for the Jewish National Fund. Occasionally, we organized debates between Zionists and Bundists.
There were also two Folkists in town: Yehoshua, the son-in-law of Motl “the Lame”, and Gavriel Rosen, the teacher. Yehoshua shouted that collecting money for trees in Herzl Forest was nothing but a scam. He had visited Palestine and knew there was no such forest. There wasn't even one single twig in the country for a sauna whisk…
The enthusiasm of the young folks for the grand ideal of returning to the Holy Land overcame all the hurdles, both those posed by activists of other parties and those posed by our pious parents.
Our organization was named “The Zionist Association.” Its activities proliferated. There were lectures on politics and literature, evening sing-alongs, and speakers from larger cities. We were deep in intensive cultural work.
In winter, we rented a room and purchased wood, which we sawed up and sold, giving the income to the poor. Before Pesach, we rented Henech Farkiveker's bakery, and baked matzas from the flour that poor Jews brought us. We volunteered our work; no one received any wages. The girls who were members of the organization
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rolled out the matza dough, while the guys did the heavy work. They perforated the matzas with spiked rollers, and later carried the finished matza to people's homes.
A School for Hebrew and Polish
When Moshe Becher resigned from his position, I was elected chairman, or ‘president’ as the role was then termed. New problems surfaced every day. Shimon “the Doctor” returned from the distant regions of Russia, and we had to return the apartment to him. After much searching, we finally found another apartment. Our work continued to expand. We set up a Hebrew school for adults and children, and also offered Polish lessons for children. The first teacher was Ax from Galicia, who dedicated himself to his work.
The death of Yehoshua Erlich was a tremendous loss for our organization; he was its backbone. His funeral was very impressive. However, there was a conflict around the identity of those who carried the bier with the deceased to the cemetery.[7] We had decided that they would all be members of our organization, but the town's bier carriers opposed this plan, and threatened bloodshed if they were deprived of this mitzvah. We were careful to clarify that we wanted to express our close relationship with Yehoshua by having his friends carry the bier. They apparently understood, and agreed.
Velvish Becher gave the eulogy at the graveside. It was the first time that a Zionist eulogy was given in Grabowiec, and by a young man at that. Velvish's speech made a strong impression.
The figure of my dear friend Velvish Becher remains engraved in my memory to this day, with his profound intelligence, bustling energy, strong willpower, and exceptional idealism; these were his defining characteristics. He constantly strove to move ahead, go farther, and attain the heights, and placed all his power and talents at our disposal. It is therefore very difficult to write about him as a deceased person.
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Like Velvish himself, his memory remains beloved and respected.
The club space eventually proved too small for the school. We rented two rooms from Zindl, Motl's son, and hired two teachers: Rozel taught Polish, and Shtern taught Hebrew. Besides being a fervent Zionist, Shtern was a fine speaker and sang beautifully. He became the moving spirit of our Zionist organization.
Most of our young people were religiously observant, and many spent their time sitting in the study house. Shtern, however, was a freethinker, and agitated for our members to spend Friday evenings at the club listening to lectures, singing, and dancing. This aroused a commotion in town. As chairman of the organization, I had to prevent the Friday night gatherings, and succeeded. The club was locked on Friday evenings.
Tze'irei Tziyon
The Zionist convention took place in Chelm and resolved to create a local branch of the new political party of Tze'irei Tziyon.[8] It did not go easily; the matter was discussed heatedly. The evenings were loud and argumentative. I belonged to the minority that initially opposed the creation of a new party, and resigned from my position as chairman of our organization.
The Farewell Party
The years went by. I married, and settled in Lublin. Before I left Grabowiec, our organization held a farewell party in my honor. Our comrades gave heartfelt speeches. Their warm words, glances, and hearts have been with me ever since.
I have here presented short fragments of my experiences in Grabowiec. There is so much to write and reminisce about: facts, events, and figures. But I lack the ability to describe everything.
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The Strike
I would like to mention the strike that took place in 1904. The pro-strike movement had spread throughout Poland, including our town. Actually, almost all our artisans worked by themselves and did not employ laborers. Old-clothes dealers were the only ones who employed apprentices and trainees. These went on strike, posing new demands.
The workers – in my father's shop as well – consisted mainly of girls. However, they did not want to strike, primarily because they were better paid than in other old-clothes businesses; besides, the work was not hard. When they were called before the strike committee, they said that they couldn't strike because they were owed money, and that could be lost if they went on strike. Yankl Cossack[9], the strike leader, assured them that the strike committee would force the “bourgeois” boss to pay out. My father borrowed money at high rates in order to pay the weekly wage; he never wanted his workers to go home unpaid on Fridays. In actual fact, Yankl Cossack's threats were worthless. The women who worked in our business did not strike. Sometime later, Yankl Cossack himself became an old-clothes dealer, and employed girls at a low wage; he became known as an exploiter…
I remember when Eliezer, the son of the rabbi's wife, married off his daughter Tobeh.[10] A delegation came from the strike committee and demanded a certain sum as support for the strikers. After a long negotiation, they agreed to give the money, and the wedding took place.
The strike committee was not active for long; its members were soon arrested. The trial was held in Hrubieszow, and the committee's leaders were sentenced to several months in prison.
These episodes represent unusual events in the lively atmosphere of our town; most of its residents were pious, decent Jews. I see before me the figure of Yehoshua (Feivl's son) and his son-in-law Sholem Weinryb, as well as the
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wealthy Husiatyn Hasids who were noticeable in the town thanks to their handsome bearing.
I remember people talking about Eliezer Ber, a Hasid who had a reputation as a great scholar; he was a disciple of Rabbi Bunem of Przysucha.[11] He was the subject of various Hasidic tales about the conflict between the Hasidic courts of Przysucha and Kotsk, and other rabbis and Hasidic leaders. People recounted how Eliezer Ber of Grabowiec had once jumped up on the table, unbuttoned his shirt, beat his naked chest, and shouted, “Niesuchojeze Rabbi, look into my heart – you will see who my leader is!” He was very poor, but was unaware of this fact, because he was full of spiritual riches and did not understand why people needed money – it would only coarsen them. His thoughts were always in higher realms. After the death of the Przysucha rabbi, he joined Rabbi Yitzchak Meir Alter in crowning the Rabbi of Kotsk as Rabbi Bunem's successor, and stayed in Kotsk the rest of his life. I can also still see before me the figures of the Rabbi of Grabowiec, Aharon Yosef Shur, and Refael (Leybl's son), the rabbi of a nearby town.
When war broke out in 1914, Grabowiec proved to be on the route of many military units making their way to the Austrian border. Some units stayed in our town for several days.
My Melameds
I describe my childhood years, from my very first melamed to the last teacher, with trepidation. Our sages said, “Fear your teacher as you fear heaven.” I must say that my memory is incapable of remembering things and people whom I first met 73 years ago. I sincerely hope I won't make mistakes, regretting any word that might disrespect someone, or
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interpret occasional slaps from my teachers as caused by a cruel heart. In actual fact, such slaps were rare, and I never carried a grudge or felt hatred toward any of my teachers. On the contrary – I profoundly respect and thank them all, for the Torah they taught me, and the good qualities they carefully instilled in my childish heart and mind. When all is said and done, every strict word from a teacher, and even the light slap of a hand, was not the result of hatred but rather of great love and dedication to the work they considered a sacred mission. It is important to remember that the melameds of those days were burdened by problems, and suffered from poverty and hardships. This caused them to abuse the young children who did not want to study and played pranks to torment their teachers.
The melamed of those days was completely unlike the teacher of our time. He was totally devoted to the education of his students. Often exhausting his strength, he strove to inculcate learning in the minds of his young students. After an entire week of labor, he had to visit each student at home on Shabbat, to examine each student in the presence of his father. If the student didn't exhibit the expected knowledge, the melamed felt guilty, and was considered a poor teacher. In our town, the examination of students often became an examination of the teacher. The lives of melameds were hard, especially if some of his students preferred playing to studying, or were simply incapable of learning. The plight of the melamed was indeed difficult. He suffered when all his efforts proved to be in vain. He also needed to live with the expectation that the parents would take their children out of is cheyder and he'd have to find new students in the next term.
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The melamed would be blamed for the children's poor achievements, rather than the students.
True, at the time, the rod was one of the cheyder's educational tools. However, I would like to note that the melameds of our town used it rarely. It served mainly as a deterrent; its actual use was only a reaction to severe provocation on the part of a student.
I would like to emphasize that I cannot write about all the melameds in the town. I did not experience them all personally; I certainly wasn't familiar with their cheyders or the teachers themselves. I will therefore describe only those melameds with whom I studied over the course of ten years.
Moshe Melamed
When I turned three, I was wrapped in my father's tallis and carried to Moshe Melamed's cheyder. That day is forever inscribed in my memory. I can't say that I was eager to go to cheyder; it was torture. I only remember how my mother took me into the cheyder, and placed me in the melamed's hands. He sat down next to me, handed me a prayer book with words in large print, and began teaching me the alphabet. Apparently, I had no trouble learning the letters; I may have already known some of them. I spent five semesters in the first cheyder (two and a half years). At that time, melameds in our town were paid per semester; that is, from Pesach to Sukkot, and from Sukkot to Pesach.
I would like to describe my melamed of that time. I was a young child, and remember only that one of his fingers was crooked. When he slapped a child in the face, that crooked finger was especially painful. There were about forty students of various ages in the cheyder.
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The melamed had two grown sons and one young daughter, who would listen to her father teaching the boys. It seemed to us that she, too, was capable of studying. I remember the kindness of the melamed's wife more than her husband's strictness. She was quiet and good-natured, and treated the young boys with maternal warmth.
Moshe the Melamed was a member of the Belz Hasidic group, a nice, quiet man, who was devoted to his work. His face would radiate pleasure when his students were diligent and attentive in class, and would grow glum and sad whenever he realized that some students were not interested in the material.
Later, when I was older and studied on my own in the study house, I would see him on winter evenings, after he and his two helpers had brought the young students back to their homes. He would then enter the study house, which was close to the cheyder, and pray the evening prayer by himself; the communal prayers were over by then. After praying, he would sit down to study, or simply browse a sacred book.
Berl Melamed
The other melamed in town was Berl. During the great fire of 1908, four boys had died in his cheyder; they had hoped to escape the flames by hiding under a bed. Their parents thought that they had escaped from the building, but the entire structure burned down, together with the hiding children.
The townspeople could not forgive the neglect, and that he had not searched for the children. Some people believed that the parents were to blame. The parents couldn't stay there; they left Grabowiec and moved to Hrubieszow.
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Leibush Geller, the Talmud Teacher
When I had completed five terms in Moshe Melamed's class, I was handed over to a Talmud teacher, Leibush Geller, who was nicknamed “Yankel the Butcher's son.” He lived in one room with his wife's stepmother and five children, three of whom were grown. His cheyder was housed in the same crowded room.
Leibush Geller was another Belz Hasid, who was very pious, but unworldly – the type characterized as someone who had never set eyes on money. He had eight students, but not all the parents were able to pay for their children's education. Yet he depended on them. If he wanted to admit a ninth student, he was opposed by the parents of the current students, who thought that teaching a ninth student would be at the expense of the other eight.
Yet they understood that having an extra student was crucial for the teacher's livelihood. Avrahamtche Becher came to my father and proposed that each parent add one ruble to the term's tuition, freeing Leibush from the pressure to find an extra student. They succeeded, and this arrangement continued.
I studied with Leibush Geller for two years. When it was time for me to start attending a cheyder for older children, he [the new teacher] was ill. We spent another term with Leibush. As is well known, poverty leads to bad temper; our melamed's poverty affected his spirits. He lavished slaps on a student whose parents couldn't produce the full tuition, and sometimes even used the short whip on us to vent his anger. When I saw this, I felt that the boy was treated unfairly, and I decided to talk my friends into stealing the teacher's whip. I took the task on myself, brought the whip home, and hid it in the attic. The teacher searched long and hard for the whip, but
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unsuccessfully. No one at the teacher's house knew where the whip had disappeared to, and all the boys stayed silent. However, sometime later I got into a fight with one of the boys. He went to the teacher and told him that I was the thief.
The teacher was furious, and began to strike me. When I realized that the blows would keep coming because the teacher couldn't restrain himself, I slipped out of his grasp and fled. The next day, I had to bring in the whip and hand it over to the teacher; but he never raised a hand against me again. Apparently, he regretted his anger. He was, generally speaking, a good person who was extremely devoted to his students and wanted them to become good Jews and decent human beings, but he couldn't stand the pranks we played. He would be overcome by fury, and later regret it.
Hanania Viniash
My third melamed was Hanania Viniash. He had his own “house,” which consisted of two rooms: one for his own family, and another with a tenant. Hanania had two married sons, who no longer lived in Grabowiec, and a daughter who lived with him.
He was a Kuzmir Hasid. After he completed the day's classes he would sit down to study, devoting every free minute to it. He also had a marvelous store of witticisms, which were truly clever. He regaled his students with fine stories, which won our hearts. At the same time, however, he was strict about studies, often demanding more than we were capable of. He taught us Talmud with Tosefos and the commentaries of Maharsha, as well as the Bible.[12]
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Besides being a teacher, Hanania was also a businessman. He bought pelts of various animals from the villagers. Jews would come to him as a trustworthy person, to buy and sell merchandise. We students were very pleased. First of all, we stopped studying when he had these meetings. Second, we loved to see our teacher negotiating prices with other Jews.
Hanania would walk through town every Friday and collect money for different charitable purposes, such as Jews who were ashamed to ask for charity. They were often scholars of fine lineage, who trusted Hanania to keep their secrets. For his part, he considered his collecting charity for them to be a major good deed. Obviously, this was often at the expense of teaching his students, and we loved to use the time to play games. He was especially fond of this phrasing: “You thought that you'd have it easy here and not need to study hard, huh? You were fooling yourselves.” We were never beaten, but a severe look or admonition were enough to instill fear in the students.
Between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, he would go to Łódź to buy etrogs for the Jews of our town and its surroundings[13]. We really enjoyed those periods, when we had an entire month off. Students in other cheyders envied us because our teacher was also a businessman and gave charity widely… Hanania was famous for his wisdom in worldly matters, but he was clearly a religious scholar who was sometimes too strict with his students while explaining matters lucidly. He had a warm Jewish heart. The phrase “He who collects [charity for others] is greater than he who gives” suited him.[14]
Yossel (Rivtche's son)
My fourth teacher was Yossel, Rivtche's son. I think his last name was Shifman, but can't be sure. He was old when I started studying with him; he had a fine white beard, and his mild eyes radiated
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kindness. He was very learned, and held a rabbinical diploma. Indeed, people came to ask him religious questions, such as concerning the kosher status of a cut of meat. He lived in his own home, in the marketplace. The building's front contained a shop, which his wife managed together with their son, Yitzchak-Eli. The latter often traveled to Chelm to purchase goods, some of which were sold in their own shop, while the rest was resold to other Jewish merchants who had shops in the surrounding villages. They weren't wealthy, but in Grabowiec terms they were considered well off. Yossel didn't concern himself with business, but was busy teaching, and studied on his own in his free time. It could be said of him that he was engrossed in “studying day and night.”[15]
Behind the shop lay a dark, windowless room, where Yosseleh's son lived with his wife and three children. A room beyond that did have a window and a door; it served as the home of Yosseleh himself, his wife and his daughter. It was also the schoolroom. He had five or six students. We studied Talmud with various commentaries and other scholarly books, such as Yoreh De'ah.[16] By Tuesday, we were expected to know the Talmud section that we had been taught on Sunday. There was a different text every week. Yosseleh's cheyder was one of the most prestigious; his students were brilliant and serious. Naturally, there was no violence.
However, I do remember the solitary occasion when he slapped us. One winter night, as we were going home, we approached the pump; it was surrounded by ice. We began to slide around on the ice. A Jewish passer-by saw us, and told the teacher during prayers the next morning. When we came in and sat down at the table, ready to study,
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the teacher asked us what we had done on our way home the previous night. We were silent. He began telling us that the passer-by had reported seeing us sliding on the ice, and became so furious that his face became intensely red. He began slapping us, but he wasn't finished with us yet; he continued to scold us as though quoting from Rod of Discipline, talking about the serious infringement of wasting time instead of studying Torah.[17] His emotion while talking was more effective than a physical blow.
Yossel was a Radzyn Hasid and had a blue fringe on his tallit-katan.[18] Although there had long been an argument between the Radzyn and Kuzmir Hasids over the choice of a rabbi and a ritual slaughterer, Yossel sided with the Kuzmir Hasids – he had profound faith in the Kuzmir leader, who was known as “the Yellow Rabbi.” Our teacher Yossel would visit the Kuzmir synagogue for the afternoon and evening prayers, so that he could speak with the rabbi and study.
I'd also like to emphasize that he was very kind and sensitive, who suffered along with the sufferers and couldn't bear injustice. People said that when he heard of someone who had been struck by calamity or disaster, he couldn't withhold tears; he would weep and beseech God to save the unfortunate person.
Shmuel (Alter's son)
Unlike my first teachers, who were all middle-aged or even elderly, Shmuel was a young man. His name was Shmuel Furer, but everyone called him Alter's Shmuel. He didn't have his own house, but lived in a small room in his father's home. As he had been a melamed all his life, he couldn't hope to have his own place, and so he lived with his wife and three children in that tiny room. He hadn't received a large dowry; besides, he had started as a merchant after marriage, and immediately lost his small dowry. He then became a small-scale gatherer and seller of seasonal farm produce, which he purchased from
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the villagers. He bought whatever was available, whether a calf or a bit of flax. It did not supply him with a living, and he had to turn to teaching small children. He struggled against the switch for a long time, as he didn't want to derive any worldly benefit from his Torah studies.[19] But economic need drove him, and he quickly became the most important melamed in town. His students were few, but choice. People in town said that he had been ordained by heaven to be the finest melamed in Grabowiec.
He was a Turisk Hasid, and a great scholar, as well as a wonderful singer. The Turisk Hasids thought highly of him, as did the townspeople. However, in spite of his knowledge, honesty, and decency, he was not especially successful financially as a melamed, and had to find an additional source of income. He therefore became a cigarette “manufacturer,” who purchased tobacco and packed it into casings. After the students had gone home, he sat down to make the cigarettes. Some people, who couldn't afford an entire pack, would come to him and buy one or two cigarettes. Others bought on account, and he had to keep records of the debts and payments.
Despite his hard work, he was unable to make a living, and became a newspaper distributor. He ordered a certain number of papers from the Moment office, and solicited subscriptions.[20] When the newspapers arrived in the mail, he gave them to his ten-year-old daughter to distribute. Eventually, he gave up all these occupations and began to be a travelling salesman of sacred books, such as prayer books and commentaries. I don't know whether he actually made a living then, as I had already left Grabowiec. I only remember that a person blessed with so many good qualities, who was so gentle, always had trouble making even a meager living, and could not succeed even in a town as small as ours.
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Yehoshua Lerer
Yehoshua Lerer was perfect. His name suited him well; he was a teacher who knew many languages and was a good musician.[21] He played the fiddle, and led the afternoon prayers at the Turisk synagogue during the High Holidays. Although he made a better living than the melameds, it was barely enough. Many young people in town had him to thank for any elementary knowledge they acquired.
When the Zionist organization founded a Yiddish school in the town, they brought teachers from other locations, and he was sidelined. As the phrase goes, “no prophet is accepted in his own country.”[22] His services were not valued in the town he had come to from Hrubieszow, with his wife and four daughters; the oldest died in Grabowiec. In later years, whenever I recalled him, my teacher and educator, I was bothered by the injustice done him in our town.
Translator's footnotes:
by Eliezer Eynes
The Jews of Grabowiec lived in the center of the town, which was surrounded by a river, meadows, and forests. Wealthy Christians lived on top of the hill; Christians also populated the two suburbs on either side of the city. The marketplace, which contained Jewish businesses exclusively, was in the Jewish neighborhood. There were also two churches, one Catholic and the other Eastern Orthodox. The market took a rest on Shabbat – all the businesses were closed and no non-Jews were to be seen.
Grabowiec was extremely muddy most of the year. People would often lose their boots in the deep mud, and walk home barefoot, holding their boots after having managed to pull them out. This happened to me when I was seven years old, as I was going
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home from the cheyder at seven in the evening. In the darkness, I sank into the mire and at first was unable to extract my feet. I barely retrieved my boots, and ran home in bare feet, boots in my hands. Just before World War I, wooden sidewalks were added to Grabowiec, but there were no streetlights. On winter nights, when the window shutters were closed, the streets were sunk deep in darkness.
No great events took place in town. At the time, there was no trace of telephones, radios, or televisions. The nights dragged on slowly, sad and boring. The town came alive only when there was a wedding, or a very special occasion, such as bringing a new Torah scroll into a synagogue. Young and old, men and women – all shared in such joyous events. However, such events were rare. The next day, the town was dormant again.
Some events made the town happier for weeks. One of these took place more than seventy years ago, when the Kuzmir Rabbi, Rabbi Motl Twersky (son of the Maggid of Turisk) came to town. It was shortly after he had returned from Galicia, after being exiled by the Tsarist government for the fabricated crime of behaving like a monarch. I was seven years old at the time, but have a vivid memory of my father – a Kuzmir Hasid – taking me to greet the Rabbi. Preparations for his arrival were felt throughout the town. When the long-awaited day arrived, the excitement was great. Tall poles bearing lanterns were set up along the streets leading from Efrayim Zinger's house to the synagogue. Many guests accompanied the Rabbi on his visit, as well as Hasids from other towns. The Grabowiec Hasidism met the Rabbi at Krasnystaw. People waited in the marketplace all day. Torches were lit at nightfall, and cries were heard: “The Rabbi is coming, the Rabbi is coming!”
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This proved to be a false alarm; there was no sign of the Rabbi that night.
Exciting Days and Nights
It was a frosty night; the cold burned everyone's ears and feet, but no one left the scene. Someone was sent out on horseback to find out why the Rabbi was late. We waited until midnight, yet the Rabbi didn't arrive. Hungry and freezing, people went home to sleep. We found out the next morning that his followers in Krasnystaw had kept him there overnight. He would arrive that day at noon.
The entire town stopped in its tracks. Artisans didn't do their work, shopkeepers didn't sell anything, and melameds sent their students home. Everyone was in the marketplace. True, it was bitingly cold, but the sky was clear. The first sign was the return of the first wagonful of local Hasids bearing the news that the Rabbi was on his way. The marketplace began to bustle loudly. Shouts of “Hurrah” were heard. They heralded the arrival of the Rabbi, in a carriage that moved very slowly so that everyone could see the guest and join in the excitement. Old and young were infected with enthusiasm. Every person considered themselves lucky to have seen the holy man from up close. I remember, as though it was yesterday, the exaltation that I felt that day. As I write now, I regret that I do not have the talent to describe the welcome extended to the Kuzmir Rabbi by the Grabowiec community. “One who did not see this celebration never saw celebration in his life.”[1] The joy on this occasion was indeed highly unusual.
The Rabbi went to the home of his follower, Efrayim Zinger (known as Frishe's son Efrayim), where celebrations began again. All the Hasids from nearby
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towns came in singing and dancing, and listened to the Rabbi's remarks with great eagerness.
The Kuzmir Rabbi spent just about two weeks in Grabowiec. The weekdays, and especially the two Shabbats, were like an extended holiday. New Hasids came to town daily, and the town came alive. The Rabbi would pray until noon. The Shemoneh Esrei prayer seemed to last forever.[2] The Rabbi prayed in the main synagogue of the town, which was packed, as were the study house and the Hasidic small synagogues.
The congregation members ate a quick meal after Shabbat prayers, and returned to the synagogue to wish the Rabbi ‘Gut Shabbes’. They then went to the large study house, where the Rabbi sat at the head of a large table with his followers and shared his food with them.[3] Father did not take me to this event, as it was extremely crowded. Every day, as the Rabbi went back and forth to the synagogue, the streets along his way were packed with women hoping for the merit of setting eyes on him.
Presenting requests to the Rabbi was a special occasion. People handed him notes with specific requests for God, sure that their wishes would be granted thanks to the Rabbi's prayers and blessings. They sometimes waited for hours before actually coming into the Rabbi's room, and the crowds increased with every passing day.
Before the Rabbi left town, the managers of the synagogue and study house presented the Rabbi with an official “Maggid appointment” letter from the Grabowiec community.[4] At that time, it was an honorary title that had also been bestowed on the father and grandfather of the Kuzmir Rabbi. His father had been known as the Maggid of Turisk, and his grandfather was termed the Maggid of Chernobyl.
The Rabbi's departure was accompanied by great pomp. The momentous visit was the subject of conversation in town for many years.
But gloomy days came once again, and life in town soon resumed its character of previous days and years. Occasionally the grandsons of Hasidic leaders from Belz or Turisk would visit. Each had his own qualities and lineage, and were always received enthusiastically;
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but none of these occasions were as significant as the visit of the Kuzmir Rabbi.
The Rabbi of the Bychawa Hasidim would also come to visit. This was Chayim, the grandson of the “Holy Jew.”[5] He had about fifty followers in our town, mostly ordinary Jews, who did not have a synagogue of their own. They held their communal prayers in the home of Feivl, one of the Bychawa followers. They prayed in the large synagogue and the study house during the High Holidays. The Bychawa Rabbi visited almost every summer, and was greeted by his followers, who came out of town with their own horses and wagons. He was succeeded by his son, who was received in the same way.
A year or two before World War I, the Kuzmir Rabbi lived in Chelm. A group of his followers in Grabowiec traveled to stay with him for the holiday of Shavuot. My father and I were part of that group. The day after the holiday, the Rabbi gathered all his Grabowiec followers and told them that his nephew, Leybl of Kielce, was making his first visits as Hasidic Rabbi, and had decided that Grabowiec would be his first stop. The Kuzmir Rabbi requested that Leybl be graciously welcomed and honored.
It was decided that the young Rabbi would stay with my parents. He actually came to town very soon, for the first Shabbat after Shavuot, accompanied by two managers. Our local Hasids hired two carts, and went out to meet them at eleven a.m. on Friday. Many people were waiting in the marketplace to greet them.
When preparations for Shabbat were complete, everyone went to the large study house for prayers (the town synagogue had been burned down during the great fire). The Rabbi's Tishes were also held in the study house. That Friday night after prayers, people from all the Hasidic congregations came to greet the visitor. The next morning, accompanied by all the Kuzmir Hasids, he went to pray in the study house. This rabbi had an impressive appearance that evoked respect. During the Tish, everyone marveled at his scholarly remarks. On Shabbat evening, during the Havdalah ceremony, he held the goblet
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and sang the Yiddish Got fun Avrohom.[6] It was one of Grabowiec's most festive Shabbat observances in memory.
He stayed in town the entire week, and the celebrations took place in our house. The house was full of people from morning until night. People handed the Rabbi notes with requests, and he responded to each one personally, giving his blessing. In several cases, he gave charity generously; in general, he was lavish with his charity. After midnight, when all the guests had left, he went out for a walk in town, for some fresh air. I accompanied him on these walks, and learned from his scholarly remarks. One evening, he asked me whether I remembered any of the remarks he had made at the Tish the previous Friday, while we were drinking wine. I was very surprised: could the Rabbi have forgotten what he himself had said? It was very cheeky on my part, yet I did ask, “Rabbi, how are you able to recite scholarly remarks? Do they come to you from heaven, or do you prepare them ahead of time?”
He answered me simply. “Usually, I think ahead of time about what to say and how to say it. But while I'm speaking, I often think of something that isn't always relevant. I don't write down the things I say. But some people have complimented me on my remarks this past Friday evening. That is why I asked you whether you remembered them.” I did remind him of several remarks, and he went off, quite satisfied.
After the death of the Kuzmir Rabbi, Rabbi Leybl of Kielce took over as leader of most Kuzmir Hasids. Later, he became the rabbi of Zamość, where he served until the Shoah.
I was lucky to have visited him, once in Kielce and then once in Zamość. Before I left for France, I went to Zamość again, but did not meet him. Unfortunately, I never saw him again. He remains a bright memory, as the inspiring figure of a Hasidic leader.
Translator's footnotes:
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