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The Grabowiec Jews were tailors, shoemakers, hatters, blacksmiths, fruit-growers, and shopkeepers. There were also grain merchants and people who owned warehouses stocked with food, fabrics, and notions. The main source of income was the weekly Monday fairs. During the rest of the week the shop owners joined the regular buyers and sellers of farm produce, and sold their wares to the nearby villagers. They would start their rounds on Tuesdays and travel until Fridays, selling their wares and acquiring eggs, chickens, pelts, and other country products.

The tailors and shoemakers also traveled to the surrounding villages in search of work.

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Village shoemakers were especially short of work, as a peasant could wear the same pair of boots for years. Tailors found a bit more work. A peasant would order a new overcoat for a wedding, and there were always makeovers of old clothing, paid for with farm produce.

The marketplace with its two churches turned into a mud-patch during the rainy season, and a snow bank in winter. It was surrounded by shops that sold wool and cotton products, and an ironmonger's where people could buy goods such as pots, saucepans, nails, and the like. There was also a tavern, which – like the shops – came alive on fair days.

After Pesach, the Grabowiec Jews enjoyed standing in the alleys and marketplace, warming themselves in the sun. Tailors and shoemakers stood nearby, making their plans. Now that they had filled the orders for Pesach, it was time for new orders.

Jews who had already leased orchards had a long wait before they could go out to the country and pick fresh cherries, apples, and pears. Those who hadn't leased orchards waited to see the apple, pear, and plum blossoms, in order to determine the cost of the rental. Sometimes, a tenant overpaid for the orchard, or the fruit would be wormy or too small before ripening. In that case, the poor tenant couldn't even recoup his expenses. There were also people who couldn't afford to lease an orchard, and were dependent on charity from a friend or a well-to-do relative. The community also had a charity fund that lent poor folks money so that they could regain their independence by restocking their businesses or leasing an orchard. Afternoon conversations in the synagogue's anteroom revolved around a piece of work, or other ways of making a living.

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Hasidic Synagogues

There were many Hasids in Grabowiec, who traveled to their respective leaders. My grandfather, Moshe Lerner, would travel to the Bychawa Rabbi, and return full of stories about miracles. Grandfather's house was the largest in town, with six rooms, and was passed down from one generation to the next. Conversations included tales of Grandfather's piety and Hasidism.

The town's Bychawa Hasids were very influential in town. Some of them were highly intelligent, hot-headed, and ready to trample any opponent. But I think almost all of them were kind, gentle people, warm-hearted and noble – qualities they had learned in their leader's court. I can see them now, worn out with the week's daily cares; yet after a Shabbat nap they would go to their synagogue to study a sacred book eagerly while humming a joyous tune, as people did in their leader's court.

At the concluding Shabbat meal, we could hear them singing traditional hymns of devotion in the dusk, eyes closed, drawing out their entreaties yet confident, combining sadness with joy. My grandfather, Moshe, was one of the most notable Bychawa Hasids. He would talk to us about becoming more devoted to God and studying Torah.

The Hasidic synagogue was a separate world, where the wealthy mixed with the poor. Everyone was addressed with familiarity. It served as a second home, or even a refuge where people came to escape their worries and disappointments. They supported each other with advice and actions, both materially and spiritually.

The Belz Hasids had their own synagogue, which was supported by monthly dues from the wealthier members,

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each contributing according to their ability. Sometimes the community was in default, and lacked the money for expenses.

The congregation consisted of different types of people; it was a combination of the scholarly and the less-learned, the influential and the ‘don't bother me’, the rich and the poor. However, they were united by their faith in their leader, which made them, in a way, responsible for each other. They would go to any length to join in each other's celebrations as well as in (God forbid) each other's sad occasions. It was more than a familial relationship.

Decisions on common issues followed along the lines of internal synagogue politics. The sharpest differences were evident in the debate between the followers of the “Yellow Rabbi” and the “Black Rabbi.” None of the members were very wealthy. Those who visited the leader often brought back reports of the tolerance that reigned in his court. Any Hasid who had begun his visit with a heavy heart felt immediate relief once he had greeted the Rabbi.

After the third partition of Poland, in 1795, Kuzmir became a major Hasidic center, with a distinctive form of practice that was followed by Kuzmir Hasids in our town as well.^[1] For decades, Jews travelled from Grabowiec to visit the Kuzmir leader for consolation and support. There were tales of Rabbi Yechezkel of Kuzmir having a court jester who played the role of a “Purim Rabbi” and received requests for help.^[2] At the Purim feast one year, the jester overstepped his role and began poking fun at the real Rabbi, and said that if the latter had been a poor student he, too, could have become a Purim Rabbi. This was a nod towards the practice of Yechezkel of Kuzmir, who emphasized music more than scholarship.

For a while, Kuzmir no longer played a prominent role in Hasidism. Rabbi Yechezkel's oldest son, Shmuel Eliyahu, moved to Zwoleń. The Kuzmir rabbinic dynasty eventually transferred to Modrzyce, one of the boroughs of the town of Dęblin, and began the great tradition of Modrzyce Hasidic music.^[3]

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Turisk Hasids

In the late 19^th century, the son of the Turisk Maggid, Motl Twersky, settled in Grabowiec. This scion of the Chernobyl Hasidic dynasty led the Turisk Hasidic court in Kuzmir for less than thirty years. In the second period of Kuzmir Hasidism, during the stormy years that began in 1905, the town was overwhelmed by a wave of strikes and revolts against the Czarist regime, Rabbi Motl moved to Warsaw.

The two main Hasidic groups active in our town were Kuzmir and Turisk. The Turisk Hasids were quiet and unassuming people, although their prayers were very fervent; their entire bodies and souls swayed (as the traditional expression has it, “all my bones shall say”).^[4] They downed brandy at every public celebration – especially during Simchat Torah, when the Hasids made the rounds of their members' homes, eating and drinking anything that was offered. The Grabowiec Hasids loved to have group celebrations that involved food, drink, and merriment. They would parse the words of the Rabbi, brought by the Hasids who had visited his court during the holiday

Every visit of the Turisk Rabbi in Grabowiec was a festive occasion that engulfed the entire town in joy and elation. It affected not only the Turisk Hasids but also the regular study house crowd, scholars and artisans alike. People whose hearts were heavy visited the Rabbi and passed him a note with a personal request. The Rabbi was also consulted by people with complex halachic questions. Grabowiec was excited. The streets and homes were galvanized by the rare occurrence. The mood in town was more solemn than usual.

When the Rabbi began to speak of scholarly matters, the crowd grew silent. His words weren't grasped by everyone, but the faces were radiant. At the conclusion of his remarks, he would honor a Hasid

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who was a musician and request holiday or Shabbat melodies. Then the Rabbi personally handed out leftovers from his meal to those sitting at the table (tish).^[5] When this was completed, the manager set out a bowl on the table with all the remaining fish, triggering a dash for the scraps. The Rabbi's tish was attended not only by his Hasids, but by other Jews as well. They would eat at home earlier in order to arrive on time for the scholarly remarks and the scraps. People believed these scraps embodied certain positive qualities.

As the Rabbi was preparing to leave, people came once again with request notes for a better livelihood, good health, a match for a daughter, and the like. I cannot remember whether money was handed over along with the notes.^[6] People said that the Rabbi was very wealthy. Some of his followers in Poland were rich merchants who involved him in their businesses.

Berl, the melamed, came to visit us during the week of Pesach. My father told him that I would start studying in his cheyder right after the holiday. A day after the holiday ended, Berl's helper came over. Father led me to him, and the helper took my hand. Mother kissed me and wished me health and studiousness, and expressed the hope that I become a scholar and a rabbi.

Father accompanied us to the cheyder. The melamed took me by the hand and sat me down on the bench, patted my cheek, and said that he was sure I'd become a fine young man. I will never forget my first day in cheyder. The melamed was very impressive: tall and red-bearded. I immediately had great respect for him, and was ready to obey his instructions and do whatever he asked. The classroom, which was not large, was furnished with a

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long table and two long benches. A brick oven served for cooking and baking. I immediately made friends with the other children. I already knew most of them, from playing on the street and the marketplace. I stayed in Berl's cheyder for two terms, learning the alef-beys and eventually joining in prayers. It was time to start studying the Torah.

I began studying the Torah with Moshe. He was of medium height, and had a reputation as a good melamed. Although several short whips hung on the wall, meant to frighten unruly students, he rarely touched a child. He would joke, though, that he kept his whips for milk products separate from those for meat products… After I had been in his cheyder for several weeks, he started to prepare me for the chumash-seudeh.^[7] I memorized the text under his guidance, with a special melody that served our community on these occasions. I don't remember what the Torah section was, but I do remember that one Saturday afternoon my uncles and aunts as well as [other] relatives and neighbors gathered at our home. My parents served them brandy, sponge cake, and other baked treats that Mother had prepared.

Moshe set me on top of the chair, and addressed me, chanting, “Young man, what are you studying?” I responded with the same chant, “Chumash!” “What does chumash mean?” I gave my speech, loudly and clearly, to the end. The gathering pelted me with nuts, raisins, almonds, and candy. The aunts wished me a life of learning, scholarship, and brilliance. Everyone congratulated me for having performed so well.

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Chanina the Melamed

For the new term, Father hired Chanina the Melamed. He was tall, with a gentle face and clever eyes. He remembered all the community milestones – death anniversaries as well as birthdays. He had trouble making a living for his wife and children, and augmented his income by trading in pelts of foxes and polecats. He was locally renowned as an expert on those matters.

Chanina was a good teacher. Those who were interested in studying understood him immediately. He quickly grasped where each boy's talents lay, and could foretell what he would be as an adult. The school day was ten or twelve hours long. I spent three terms with him.

Shlomo the Melamed's Cheyder resembled Chanina's class, but was more sophisticated in many respects. He applied the same teaching methods, but at a higher level. He was pleasant, well-dressed, with a neat beard, as well as being a fine scholar. He was selective about his students and preferred boys who were quick and smart; it was an honor to be studying with him. He spent time with each individual student, in addition to the general lesson. Shlomo was a good explainer, and used allegory and proverbs, especially when we studied the more difficult passages of the Mishna. His face shone with joy whenever he examined a student who knew the material well. When boys were preparing for Bar-Mitzvah, he helped them prepare a text for the sermons they held during the festive meal.

The melameds of Grabowiec were all kind-hearted, each after his own fashion, and took pains to teach their students well. They treated their job as a sacred mission, though it barely supplied a living; their wives had to work hard to augment the family's livelihood.

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Boys who completed their cheyder study went their different ways. Some had to begin working with their parents to contribute to the family's support, whether in a workshop or in commerce. Some boys went to study in a yeshiva in Chelm or Lublin; others joined the scholars in the town's study house, where young married men supported by their in-laws pored over sacred books.

I have often envied the people who could carve out a few hours each day and study Talmud, to make sure they understand a commentary. I envy those who have acute brains and clear minds, and devote themselves to study and prayer. Such were the people of Grabowiec. They were top-notch scholars and students, whose mothers considered themselves blessed to have such fine sons. The mothers of the child prodigies were the happiest in town, although they might be very poor. Mothers sang a lullaby to their babies, “Torah is the best merchandise.” There were many children of impoverished families who had astute minds and grew up to be fine young men who married well and brought joy and pride to their penniless families.

It was different for poor boys who did not have a talent for study. They couldn't assimilate the study material, and they had to suffer shame when an irritable melamed told them they would grow up to be complete boors, equal to non-Jews. Such boys often began to weep loudly and were placed in the corner, shamed by the teacher.

People undergo many experiences in life, yet I recall my childhood years clearly, as well as the friends whom I saw growing up along with me. I often thought that they had become older and larger than me, as they suddenly began to talk like adults – like my father and my uncles. Such were the voices of the prayer leaders in the synagogue. I didn't want to part with my youth, and continued to convince myself that I was young, even though I already had to support myself.

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But when I looked at my grown friends, it became clear that I, too, was no longer young, and that I needed to start being serious about my life. This was all parents' greatest worry, and young folks began to worry while still small. These concerns clouded even the most romantic of walks outside town. Often, while strolling through the fields and meadows, we would be jealous of the carefree birds, bees, and worms. The entire world was theirs, and they didn't need to worry about their futures.

I would like to say much more about our town, which I carry in my heart like a gold treasure: the dreams and ideals, the weekday hubbub and the peace of Shabbat and holidays, the impressiveness of the wealthy, the refinement of scholars, and the profound decency and kindness of ordinary people. Our quiet Grabowiec, with all its good qualities and drawbacks, is rooted in our hearts forever, to be passed on to our children and grandchildren.

Moishkeh, Efrayim Lerner's brother, who passed away young in Grabowiec, following an illness

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