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The town of Minkovitz was located between the mountains and the forests near the district town of Ushitza. The main road that ran through Minkovitz led to Ushitza's town center. The Jewish residents were merchants and craftsmen. The Jewish population grew to 5000. There were 2 rabbis, 5 synagogues, a credit union, a fire station, and a Bikur Holim Society.

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The town of Minkovitz (in the Ushitza district) was located about 12 kilometers from the town of Ushitza, between the mountains and the mouth of Ushitza River. Jews lived in the town center, where there were about 2000 apartments, each housing 5–6 residents. All together there were about 5000 Jews. According to tradition, the town was founded by a Jew by the name of Brenen who was accompanied by Hefritz from Galicia. There were rows of houses and a main street with a cattle and sow market in the center. The big, annual fair took place during the Christian holy days. During this time many came to the town to buy and sell goods.

The Jews were merchants, grocers, and craftsmen. The principal commerce was buying and selling field crops. There were also wood traders, tailors, shoemakers, carpenters, tinsmiths and furriers.

Every Sunday and Wednesday, there was a town fair. Villagers from the surrounding areas would come to town to buy goods and sell their harvest.

There was no post office in town so mail would be brought from Novo–Ushitza.

There were two rabbis in the town, and 5 synagogues. The wooden synagogue was the biggest. It was built around the time of the founding of the town. Especially noteworthy was the ark curtain decorated with 12 signs of the Zodiac. The ark was beautifully decorated. The craftsmen prayed n this synagogue. There was a special place for names to be inscribed.

The second synagogue was white and was built by my grandfather Berman. Lubavitchers were engaged in communal work and ran most of the town's affairs for many years.

The third was known as the “red” synagogue. The fourth was the Rabbi Levis Kloiz (a Yiddish word for small synagogue). The fifth was Rabbi Heimel's Beit Midrash (house of study).

Near the bath house was the “Kodesh,” a hostel for poor and homeless people. There were public institutions in the town, for example, a fire station, a Bikur Holim (care for the sick) Society, a weigh house, a society to welcome guests, and burial society. There was a credit union to help residents of the town with loans on comfortable terms.

There were 2 medics and a doctor that cared for sick residents. Among the townspeople there were Maskilim (those who adhered to the Enlightenment movement) and Hasidim, Hovevei Zion and Zionists. An event that created upheaval in the city was when the Zionists wanted to arrange a memorial service for Herzl at the Beit Midrash, and the pious Jews objected. After this there were many arguments in the town. In some of the chederim (schools) the teachers punished the children who were studying Torah by hitting them. Some of the children received a secular education in the nearby town of

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Novo Ushitza. With the end of World War I, when regiments of soldiers began to return from the front, pogroms were expected. In preparation, the young people organized to defend the town.

Some young people prepared for Aliyah and eventually went and settled in the Palestine. The rest of the Jewish Community was completed destroyed in the Holocaust. We remember them forever, in a special Kupat Holim Building (Israel's Medical Insurance) that was built with funds from Minkovitz' Jews living in America.

I will not attempt to write my memories of Jews in the Ukraine during the period of 1917–1920. The Jews lived under malicious and wicked reign that changed hands frequently. There was looting, rapes and murder. Even for the small town of Minkovitz I cannot write about it. The best way is to just say “Amen.” Instead I will describe a personal story that I will never forget.

It happened in 1919 on the eve of Shavuot as the sun was coming up. I had just started to fall asleep because at that time, as a 17 year old, I was doing guard duty, wearing clothes that hadn't been changed in weeks. Tired from lack of sleep, hungry and afraid, I closed my eyes and suddenly something awakened me. Panicked and fearful, I jumped. When I opened my eyes, before me stood “Geidemak.” He had a wild look, had an acne scarred face, reddened eyes, was fat, healthy, decorated in the uniform of the Petlyura. He wore wide trousers with red stripes, an embroidered shirt, his hair was cut in the fashion known as “herring.” He carried arms of all kinds. In short, a true “Geidemak.”

“Get up, despicable Jew,” he said to me. I got up and went, because I didn't have a choice. I walked in front, and he was behind me with a rifle in my back.

My mother ran after him, howling and screaming. “Gevalt, save his life, they are going to shoot him!” I don't know where my mother had the strength to run to the Jewish elder/official and ask for help, as if he could help. Wasn't his life as worthless as all of ours? My little sisters, scared to death, kissed the hands of the murderer and begged, “Leave our brother, he is now also our father.” (My father was by then in America.) “Leave me alone, pitiful worms, before I shoot you like puppies” said the Cossack.

My aunt was in late stage pregnancy. She begged, stroked and kissed the murderer's boots. All this was for naught. He sat on his horse, with me to his right just a few steps from him, with his rifle at my head. In this way, we arrived at the road from Minkovitz to Novo Ushitza. “Why are you taking me, honored master?” “Because you are a Jew, and all the Jews are Bolsheviks and we need to shoot all of them like puppies,” he answered. “Where are you taking me?” I asked. “To the headquarters,” he replied. “Where is the headquarters?” I asked. He answered, “ in the forest, Jew.”

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In those days, Jews were expendable. A murderer did not have to account for a murder of Jew. The forest meant certain death. He was on the horse, and I was to his right. Thus we moved along to the new bridge, where we could see the forest up ahead. I spoke to him, I begged, but I did not shed a tear. I will never forget my words or my begging. Suddenly he told me, “ Go, Jew, tomorrow I will come to get you.” I thanked him and began to take a few steps away from him. He commanded me to return. The game of cat and mouse continued, “Go! Return!” It was not enough to kill but they also had to torture us. He was on his horse, I by his side. We arrived at the Jewish cemetery with the forest getting closer and closer. Again I beg, and again I ask for mercy and again he says, for the fifth or sixth time, “ Go! But I am coming back for you!” Again I thank him and I walk away very slowly. I do not run. My instinct told me to be very careful, not to run. Any minute I expected a bullet in my back, but something unbelievable happened. My mother's howling, my sisters' tears, my Aunt Sarah's fainting seemed to have done their work. The murderer allowed me to return to my loved ones.

 

Mass grave of the victims of Petlyura

Echoes of the 1905 revolution did not reach Minkovitz until 1907. Among the youth it was popular to find illegal literature. Speakers from the big cities appeared in town. They led workers demonstrations made up of about 70 people each from all of the professions. They would gather secretly in the surrounding towns, in the ravines and in the hallways of the old synagogue.

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This synagogue was the ideal place for these sorts of gatherings because there was a popular tale among both Jews and non-Jews, that the dead gathered there for prayers at night. Therefore, people avoided going there at night. The agitators and the revolutionaries demanded labor strikes in order to gain a 12 hour work day, which included 4 hours of study. The goal of the study was to create equality between the working youth and the proletariat, and between the sons and daughters of those in charge.

The laborers organized under the heading of the Bund but it was not clear if they wrote it with a “Tet” which meant “revolt or revolution” or if they wrote it with a “Dalet” which meant “connection with others.”

The demonstration organizer of the surrounding towns was a young man from Minkovitz whose name was Neska. When this became known to the Czar, arrests and imprisonments began, which were carried out by the local police. They managed to free the prisoners by offering bribes and the “prisoners” escaped to America. A few did not really understand what this game was about. Other young men tried to extract large sums of money from their mothers, or to save their coins from their lunches to spend at the Red Synagogue to hear a modern “magid” who gave Zionist sermons peppered with Biblical references that they understood, instead of the sermons of the old "magiddim" that didn't appeal to them. How excited and filled with holy awe they were when they contributed their coins to the Keren Kayemet box! And here is another picture: A young boy with tfillin wrapped under his arm, running to the Beit Midrash on the 20^th of Tammuz (a day observed by Jews- the day that the Romans breached the walls of Jerusalem), the day that Dr. Herzl died. I was so jealous of those young men who put on tfillin that was part of the redemption of Eretz Yisrael, to eliminate the diaspora and to look forward to a generation that was completely worthy. I envied them as they ran to pray for the memory of a man who would liberate his people and build the glory of Israel. If this was connected to politics, we didn't really know, not us or our parents.

When the district ruler appeared and brought Jews to vote in the Starosta elections for chief administrator, even then we did not connect this to politics. It was a game and an event in the boring life of the town. On that day they would sit with the administrator himself and then they voted for whoever promised more wine for Kiddush.

The Jews of the town were very interested in life in the royal court; weddings, births, funeral, sickness and healing. For each of these events a decree would appear that cancelled taxes or fines. There were many fines: lack of permit to sell herring, or to teach children, for dumping and splashing water in the street, for playing cards, etc.

Births, weddings and deaths in the town were reported to the registrar, the Rav Mitm. He was a merchant that spent most of his time on business trips to fairs and markets. One of his family members would be delegated to take down the registration of the births and there were many mistakes. Instead of Chaya, they wrote Haim, instead of “shlemah” (complete) they wrote “Shlomo.” And when a girl became 21 sometimes a family would receive a draft notice for the army, and when a boy died and the registrar forgot to record it, it was not unusual for a family to receive a draft notice for the deceased youth!

Many fled the country to evade military service. The parents of the draft dodger were fined 300 rubels. Of course they didn't pay, because who among the Jews of Minkovitz had that sum of money?

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Those who had resources transferred their estates to another name. There were others who tried to get the debt removed from the area registers. They would annoy the authorities non-stop. The debt could only be forgiven by the Royal Court. Perhaps this helps you understand the entanglement and interest of the Jews in the Royal Court.

 

At the grave of the holy victims of the pogroms

 

A town called Myn'kivtsi, embedded in the steppes of Ukraine, adjacent to its river, isolated in its valley, and on the horizon - obscuring forests. Around it an immovable peace, and inside it - everything is frozen in its wake. The synagogues are alternately emptying and filling. Sometimes the cantor speaks and the audience repeats after him, sometimes the opposite. At dusk there is Minchah prayer, and then - Arvit prayer. The street is crowded on market days and shut down on other days. Into the night, shaking sounds are also sprinkled from time to time. The girls are noisy, the boys argue. Night. Day and again night, and one day the calm becomes weak and goes away.

R. Mendel Falik, one of the town's elders, receives a message from the authority. Hands are shaking. The paper is coarse, the letters - foreign letters, and the glasses are not helpful either. R. Mendel slowly comes out of his house, sits down as he usually does at a time of anticipation on the large stone leaning against the back of the house and looks around him. Indeed the house is large, in the heart of the town and standing in its center, with columns on its front and multi-story, wide windows in its walls. To his right is the synagogue, to his left is the Beit Midrash, and between them is his Excellency. R. Mendel sits, his cane between his legs, dispirited, denying his future.

Who is R. Mendel Falik waiting for? His eldest son, Yudel, uprooted himself from the town and has been far away from it for a long time. The father's ways and the son's ways separated. Other life paths and a different landscape. Yudel married a woman from a pedigreed family. His home was in the city of Berdychiv, he became integrated there and didn't return. While the second son, Yehoshua, humble and weak-bodied, although his home is here, but his livelihood is in the forests. Leaving and coming, returning and moving away. Sometimes arriving early and sometimes coming late. Will he visit the members of his household today? Will he come early and decipher the secret code?

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A heart attracts a heart. And a relative comes from afar. The son gets off the cart. The father hurries to get up, but he breathes heavily. Extends the written message and says:

Take, Yehoshua, this writing and say what its nature is.

The son is surprised at the father's expression, pauses slightly and fixes his eyes on the message. His face shows more and more amazement, perhaps ridicule, perhaps fear:

- Strange…strange, father. This letter is not intended for you or me, but for Yudel, and not even for him, but for Avrahamele, may he rest in peace, come listen to what is written here: - “Since Avrahamke, son of Yudel Falik, has reached the age of twenty-one, he must appear before the military committee on this and this day.”

- Didn't Avrahamele die in childhood?

- It means, apparently, they forgot to send a message about it.

- God be with you, R. Mendel trembled, I delivered the message with my own hand. Yudel sent it to me from Berdychiv.

There are no words. R. Mendel slowly falls on the stone again. The day packs up and goes, swallowed up in the gloom. The town raises its lights, a pale yellow grid. Light and dark are used in a mixture. Rabbi Mendel's head tosses from side to side, sleep and no sleep, past and present, life and death. Avrahamele stands in front of him in all his figure, in full likeness of his pale, childish face. The days are far away, seemingly embroidered from the twilight of dreams and the coldness of

A group of local Jews by the old synagogue

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death. Indeed, the road is long, tiring and weary to the ancient cemetery. The ground opens wide, and a handful of dirt is thrown on a young, immature body.

Morning comes. R. Yehoshua goes to the clerk's office. It's cold in high-ceilinged rooms. On the table are volumes of books from leather, books of the living and books of the dead. The clerk bends over them, comes out and browses, says and reads:

- Indeed, yes… that's how it is… - tilting his head, a sly smile on his face… Avrahamele was indeed born, lived and died on January 3, 1889, but Avrahamke did not die, he was not deleted from the registry of the living.

- How? Aren't Avrahamke and Avrahamele one and the same? R. Yehoshua is astonished.

- Why do I need to know your names? Avrahamele is listed as dead and Avrahamke is listed as not dead.

- But Avrahamke and Avrahamele are two names that are one - R. Yehoshua modulates his voice.

- If so, why, oh why, is it sometimes written Avrahamele and sometimes Avrahamke, sometimes Yudel and sometimes Yudke?

R. Yehoshua whispers and hints:

- Perhaps it is a mistake, an unintentional mistake?

- Perhaps because of the clerk:

- It is well known that the Jews evade the army, therefore they mix and confuse the names, Avrahamke with Avrahamele, on purpose!

The son returned to his father with a simple statement in his mouth:

- We will live and see, God will help.

The days slip away and again a message: if he does not show up at the next date, he will be punished, a fine will also be imposed on him. R. Mendel immediately: He will not pay the fine! And again orders and accusations and so forth. Yudel himself is far away from here, makes light of matters, gives advice in his letters, and Yehoshua still does nothing.

And the town is in turmoil: who doesn't remember Avrahamele, a soft, pale-faced boy, not of this world, who passed away and was buried, and who doesn't understand that Avrahamke is Avrahamele, but what else? They wrote him down once like this and once like that, and what of it? Who would pay attention to such little things?

However, the matter gets more and more complicated. Ruling clerks come, inspect the house, surround it from all sides and write in notebooks. A rumor goes: a fine was imposed and not paid. The house will be sold. There is, apparently, someone eyeing the house, perhaps he covets the house itself, perhaps the post office, the horse post located in its yard. The speculations intensified, the fears increased: the ancestral inheritance will be confiscated, the inheritance of generations will be for nothing.

R. Yehoshua turns again to the authorities and again the doors are locked in his face.

It's dusk. A cool sun is setting. The frogs from the ravine are croaking. Dark is approaching. And suddenly - a magnificent carriage is in the town, the thundering of proud horses, a sharp ring, and a sudden stop. A foreigner gets down, tall and moustached. He approaches the house, wonders at it, glances around, gets back on the cart and disappears into the thick of the darkness.

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There is no longer any light, stars are falling, the boys in the Beit Midrash are noisy. R. Mendel sits on the stone, hunched over, collapses: who would have guessed what was expected? The authorities announced an auction of the house. They say that same gentile will win it. There is a lively fury in the town: what does this gentile have in our midst? What does he have and who does he have in the center of the town? He will turn to the right - the synagogue, to the left - the Beit Midrash, and even the heavens are already dedicated to God!

The house is sold. No Jew was found who asked to buy it, it fell into the hands of gentiles, the same gentile - Ivan Markevich - won it. Yehoshua returned and asked to pay the fine, but he was not accepted. Avrahamke was prosecuted, he is required to appear, alive and not dead.

A restrained mourning in the town, it seems that even the days have turned gray, the lines of the forests have darkened. R. Mendel sits stuck to the stone, wondering about his world and wondering about the house. A strong building and ancestral monument. It was as glorious today as it was then. But when and who built? Maybe old men will remember it and young men will not know. A mistake is in the hands of mankind, he didn't establish and he didn't strengthen it. His relative, R. Alter Shilman, designed the pattern, with the breadth of his knowledge and the strength of his intelligence, he laid its tiles on a foundation and set up thresholds. A man of miracles was R. Alter Shilman, legends encompassed him. He was infinitely rich and had no sons. No one knew where his wealth came from and no one knew where his little children had disappeared to. The “Weicher” (the storm) took them - the tradition says. It is indeed a mystery. R. Mendel, too, did not know its meaning. He also did not know when R. Alter Shilman asked to adopt his son, Yudel. R. Mendel stood before him, shaken to the point of unconsciousness. He wanted to protest, he wanted to hold his son - and he swallowed his words. A living limb was torn off and there were no objectors. R. Alter Shilman was an ancient figure, his countenance powerful. His word was law, his words were a command, say and do. Yudel grew up with the comfort of kings, he grew up and became distanced from him. And when R. Alter Shilman passed away and bequeathed his house to him, Yudel did not pay attention to his inheritance and did not return to his town.

R. Mendel Falik spread his wings over the house, placed Yehoshua and his household in it, and guarded the inheritance with all his heart and all his might.

R. Mendel awakens, transient visions, and changing experiences. The heart beats and the mind is stormy: what have years of life been spent on, on nothing but preserving the inheritance? And now will foreigners live in the house? And a cry was uprooted from his heart:

- Alter, Alter, where is your salvation?

R. Yehoshua stands and looks at his father's face in bewilderment. Old age is growing, yellowing pages and flowering letters:

- What's going on, Abba?

The old man stands up, blazing fury, strangled words:

- Yehoshua, Yehoshua, why are you silent?

The son bends and answers:

- You know, Abba, I am not a man of war, not a man of battle, my time is devoted to livelihood. With what can I save, and if the inheritance is not for Yudel, where will Yudel be?

- Forget about Yudel, you will inherit the house!

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- And suddenly R. Mendel got up, grasped his son tightly, pushing and pulling him at the same time.

- Where to, Abba?

- To your father-in-law, to my father-in-law, to Hirsch Kleiderman. If he does not stand up with you in your trouble, if he does not rescue you - and the house is lost, it will be lost to you, it will be lost to the members of your household, and it will be lost to the entire town.

The son was surprised and surrendered. R. Mendel pushes and walks slowly. They come together and walk. R. Hirsch Kleiderman stands on the threshold of his house, filling the entire opening up to the door frame. Height and size, a white beard and a wise forehead. He reaches his hand out to his in-laws and pulls them in, man touching man, each man knowing the other's secrets:

- Get up and do it! - shouts Mendel Falik - it is essential for your children.

And Yudel will inherit?

- Forget about Yudel, the house is Yehoshua's. If you save the sheep from the mouth of the wolf, he will inherit!

Around the heavy-legged table, staring at each other, the soul locked in its hiding places, lurking with pounding heart. R. Hirsch Kleiderman remains, standing fully and resolves:

- We will do and we will understand, my father-in-law!

R. Hirsch Kleiderman travels to the regional city, to Kamyanets Podilskyy he directs his way. To Satnovsky, “the advocate,” his destination. Firm in his mind and resolute in his decision, he comes inside the house. He will not be afraid, he will not retreat. Halls and carpets greet him, statues and pictures. And in the corner a glowing candle. A nation, a nation and its faith, a man and his belief. Seemingly a Christian by birth and by heart resides here - and not. Satnovsky is a Jew from birth and nothing else. The sea is vast, open to all sides. But only those who take off their clothes can swim in it…

In essence, his heroism is the “advocate,” Satnovsky: his face is full, old age has only thrown a little at him. He glances at the person entering and marvels - a man of intelligence, comes close and listens closely. Heart to heart he will speak even if there is an abyss between them. The beam penetrates the thick shadows and the light scatters. He takes his hand and says:

- I know, “Gospodin” Kleiderman, what a town is and what an inheritance house is, I know that Avrahamke and Avrahamele are one and the same, all this is known and known to me, R. Hirsch Kleiderman. Let us therefore fight, let us fight, my brother, let us save the stolen property.

R. Hirsch stood in all his wisdom, a yarmulke on his head and a beard of faith across his chest, shaken and upset: to praise or to cry?

And in the meantime, the same gentile appears again, the same Markevich, wearing a top hat, wearing shiny leather boots, opens the door of the house forcefully and the privacy of the rooms is desecrated. R. Mendel breaks down and says with a pleading voice:

- What is there between you, Mr. Markevich, and my house, why are you harassing us? I am old, let me close my eyes between the walls of my home… I…

The gentile is dumbfounded, rolls his eyes with a generous laugh and says:

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- Forgive me, Mr. Mendel, this house is my house, with the best of my money I paid for it, and why so many words. Mr. Falik has sons, surely they will take care of him, surely they will buy him another house and everything will fall into place in peace.

R. Mendel recoils, the laughter is the evil of the heart. R. Mendel knows - his house is gone.

That day was a winter day. The town is wrapped in white robes. The sun makes its way behind gloomy, angry clouds. Ice crystals hang from the ends of roofs with polished tips. That day they appeared. They came to inherit the house. The people of the town gathered near the portico. Standing in place like people coming for a funeral. Snakes' anger in their hearts and restrained rage in their hands, one boils with anger and slams fearlessly:

- Mr. Markevich will listen, the right thing to do is. There is no God in the world, aren't we humans!

The gentile responds with a laugh:

- And that I am guilty, young Gospodin? If I hadn't bought it, someone else would have bought it.

- This is not true, no one would buy, but you!

Markevich slips away and ignores. Clouds hanging overhead, there is no limit to their size, they passed into the distance, their terror diminished. Markevich was afraid of the moment, watched him with pent up tension, but he did not move from his corner. R. Mendel Falik leaves his house, closes the door slowly as if parting with a hidden oath, comes out from the portico, and walks away and with him the Shekinah of the house.

The days were wild. Shocked, the town sank into unrelenting tension. From afar, the faces of the town followed the new neighbors. They peered into the veiled windows, raised their eyes to the columns of smoke that extended from the red chimneys, inclined an ear to the boys' chanting, marveled with pent up rage at the grown girls who, despite the intense cold, sat on the windowsills and polished the shining windowpanes.

The sky was the same sky, the glare the same glare, the stream froze like every year, but the storm of blood did not subside. R. Yehoshua, when he got into the town, wandered around it without rest. He looks as if astounded towards his house and fixes his eyes on the ground. Markevich removed the stone from the back of the house. It was no longer needed.

One did not let go. The “advocate” Satnovsky worked secretly and openly. The ant was crawling in its burrows and no one knew what it was doing. One day the citizen Markevich was called to appear before a committee of inquiry to re-examine the issue of the house. When Satnovsky saw the faces of the members of the committee, he whispered something in R. Hirsch Kleiderman's ear. After they drank the tea prepared in a Jewish house, which had cleared its lounge in their honor, and after they finished smoking their cigarettes, they approached the actual discussion. Immediately, however, when citizen Markevich claimed with hidden glee and demonstrable equanimity: “I didn't know anything, I bought the house at a public and legal auction,” Satnovsky once again whispered in Kleiderman's ear: “For every ruble we gave, he gave ten.”

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After a short negotiation, the committee decides: “Citizen Ivan Markevich's purchase is kosher.” But sweetly, the chairman adds: “It is possible that there is a reason to claim adequate compensation from the government.” Markevich calmly gets up. Satnovsky stares at him with gloomy eyes and whispers: “We'll see. It's not over yet.”

Months pass. R. Mendel in his last days stands at the door of his new apartment and glances with dull eyes towards his house. Apparently the face of the house has changed. It was repainted, but its glory still stands. There was a hard tone in his heart, the tone of vanity, vanity, everything is vanity. The townspeople bow their heads and say not a word.

R. Mendel Falik passed away; dead, and his eyes are directed towards his home. The congregation marches and sings chapters of Psalms, passes near the house and pauses. Markevich stands in the shadow of the pillars of the house, exposed and hiding, even his daughters are peeping through the curtains. The two camps face each other and R. Mendel Falik's coffin is between them.

Lethargy spreads throughout the town. Now it's clear: as long as the house does not return to its owner - joy will not abide in it.

And all of a sudden fate strikes with its force. Markevich is dead, dead and he is still in full force. It was evening. The rumor spread like wildfire, accompanied also by a lively incantation - the revenge of R. Mendel. R. Yehoshua sits in the heavens. Markevich offered him a compromise, and he, too, was cut off. There is mourning in his house also. There are two who do not rest and do not remain silent: Hirsch Kleiderman and Satnovsky. Satnovsky knocks on “Madame” Markevich's door and is rejected with a snort and a fit of rage. But the hidden destiny does not let go. Again its thunder roars with a warning of revenge. The youngest daughter is also dead, actually dead today and her song is in her mouth, they dressed her in the clothes of her youth and carried her in an open coffin. The Jews of the town watched her from between the cracks, watched and whispered trembling:

- She will run away from here, the widow. R. Mendel takes care of her there…

But she did not run away. She closed the shutters of the house and, behind the portico of pillars, she closed and hung a heavy lock on the front door from the inside - To enter, they would enter from the yard.

And the days are not normal. It seems as if they are holding their breath. The decision is imminent. Satnovsky comes and goes, brightening faces and giving hope. The committee gathers again, this time things are discussed to the end. Satnovsky is fiery. Avrahamke is Avrahamele. The truth bursts forth with force. The committee recognizes the right of Yehoshua Falik's ownership of the house. The house will be returned to its owner and Avrahamele will rest in peace.

Like an ignited spark, the flame spreads. The town is crying out from all sides, big and small, old and young. Everyone is flocking to the house. Surrounding it from all sides. Besieging its windows and kicking the door. There is no sound from inside. The sea winds are stormy; the waves are rising, who will stop them?

The young men arose enthusiastically and tore the door off its two locks. A cry of terror and a threat roll like thunder. From deep within the house, Markevich's widow bursts out, blood curses in her mouth. The Jewish crowd knows its sin and retreats silently. Not an hour passed and R. Yehoshua Falik was imprisoned.

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Satnovsky had not yet finished his work. The widow Markevich wants blood, demands revenge. R. Yehoshua Falik was sentenced to one month in prison according to the law of breaking locks. Regret in “grabbing” is weighed against all the suffering. R. Yehoshua sat and the town sat with him.

But everything has an end. Day and night and day again. R. Yehoshua comes out of darkness into great light. The house is returned to him and the town brings him up to the threshold of the house. The stone is also returned to its place.

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Original Footnote:

1. From the memories of my family concerning an event that happened to it in Myn'kivtsi in the preceding century. Return

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