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In writing my memories from my childhood and youth up until I made Aliyah to Eretz Israel in 5,684 [1923-4], I want to create a memorial to the many Jewish families who were scattered across the villages. Many books were published and much has been written in memory of communities in towns and cities across Poland. In contrast, there is a scarcity of material available about Jewish families who lived in villages and agricultural estates throughout Poland and Ukraine. It is this void I wish to fill to the best of my ability with the following words.

I was born in the village of Skrilov [Skryhove], near Berestechka [Berestechko] in Volyn [Volhynia], on the Russian-Austro-Hungarian Empire border that existed up until World War I. The village was like an enclave, surrounded on three sides by villages from across the border: to the east, the village of Mykolayev-Zalisky; to the west, the village of Barylov [Baryliv]; and to the south, the village of Uvyn. Only a service road used by the border patrol separated Uvyn from Skrilov. Traveling freely in our village meant heading north, a route that remained a constant from the time Poland was divided between Russia and Austria up until World War I changed the course of world history.

The house where we were born and raised stood almost isolated at the edge of the village, on an estate that my parents and my paternal grandparents had leased since the 1850s. We were the only Jewish family in the village, and only on Shabbat and holidays did we gather at the neighboring village of Pulhan [Pyl'hany] for public prayer. Peace and tranquility always prevailed in the village. All the work, both at home and in the field, was done by hand and with draft animals. My father was the first to purchase a mechanized thresher powered by horses, and only after he bought it did the other farmers follow suit. He also became an expert in crop rotation and supplied the other farmers with high-quality seeds that he sourced from advanced estates located far away. He also introduced the system of drainage ditches since the village was surrounded by swamps. The village was nestled in a forest that contained a variety of fruit trees, alongside other non-fruit-bearing trees. The quiet was always accompanied, in the evenings and nights, by the deafening croak of frogs, a sound we had grown accustomed to over the years. In the mornings, we could hear the melodious chirping of birds. Thousands of them lived in the groves surrounding the village.

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At times, this tranquility was interrupted by warning shots fired by the border patrol when they encountered people smuggling goods or individuals. A cavalry unit of the Russian border patrol was stationed in the village and was constantly moving from one location to another. A checkpoint was established at a convenient junction between the two villages for cross-border movement. In 1880, my father obtained a special permit from the central authorities in Kiev to transport wood and grain across the border from Russia to Galicia. On a certain day of the week, officials representing both administrations were positioned on each side of the border. They opened the checkpoint from morning until evening. Horse-drawn carts loaded with wood or grain bound for Uvyn and firewood for wine factories and alcohol distilleries that were in all the estates in the area–including Vigoda, Uvyn, and Mykolayev– crossed through the checkpoint.

It should be noted that most of the agricultural estates in the Radekhov District up until Shtervitz, were owned by Jews. We conducted business with the estate owners, primarily by supplying wood and lumber to the factories on the estates. The owners of these estates were: In Uvyn – Dr. Bernard Wittlin; in Mikolayuv – Borak and his son-in-law, Baran; in Menashovka – Menasche Fisch; in Vigoda – Yuzi Wittlin; in Zavitsh – Kardiman; and in Lopatyn – Suchestow.

The regular day that the border was open was filled with commotion. My father and older brothers were busy in the forest or across the border, while we, the children, helped manage and register the farmers with carts who had to pay for transport services. However, the main issue for us was identifying the people from across the border. Managers and supervisors from the estates arrived, and some of them left a lasting impression with their striking and splendid appearances.

From Vigoda, I remember Yaakov Israel Episdorf. A tall man with broad shoulders, he had a dignified and pleasant expression and a gentle soul. He would often hug me and quiz me about my studies of the weekly Torah portion. There was no end to his joy when I provided the correct answer. Episdorf corresponded with my father, and I can vividly recall the long letters he wrote, in extraordinarily beautiful handwriting, filled with expressions of respect and appreciation toward my father. He wrote in Yiddish, interspersed with Hebrew words, in a Yiddish-German dialect that was somewhat different from the one we spoke. I particularly enjoyed reading those letters and made an effort to understand every single word that went beyond matters related to business negotiations. Episdorf was fortunate that his descendants – the third and fourth generations – are living in Israel today. His grandson, Yehuda Pfeffer, passed away in Rehovot.

From Uvyn, I remember the treasurer (“Kassierer”), Yona Shraga, who used to entertain us with jokes about current events, often mocking the Russians and the Tsar's regime. At the same time, he was meticulous about order and strictly attentive to the estate's affairs and procedures.

I also remember the lessee of the estate in Uvyn, Shimshon Wahl. He was a proud and educated man with a sharp mind, and he was a pleasant conversationalist. The few encounters I had with him left an impression on me that has lasted to this very day. We also had some business dealings with forest merchants in Lvov, including the Schwartzwald-Tenenbaum company, among others. In those days before World War I, the Russian Tsarist regime treated the Jews harshly,

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imposing various forms of humiliating restrictions. In contrast, we encountered Jews from across the border who enjoyed complete equality of rights in all aspects of their lives. At that time, I viewed the entire Jewish population in the Austro-Hungarian empire as educated and emancipated, and I did not yet know the large number of Jewish inhabitants of the towns and villages who lived across the border in Galicia.

Dr. B. Wittlin, the owner of the Uvyn-Nuvina estate, resided in Vienna and seldom visited Uvyn. Even though Dr. Wittlin did not estrange himself from Judaism and even spoke about his involvement in the Zionist Movement in Vienna, his family assimilated through intermarriage. His brother, Yuzi Wittlin, lived in Lvov and frequently visited the estate. I recall a conversation I had with him in a meeting at the estate in Uvyn when I came to ask him to accept Jewish youths from the pioneering movement for Hachshara [training for pioneers] for immigration to Eretz Israel. At that time, he found it hard to believe that Jews would be willing to change their traditional Jewish lifestyle and engage in manual labor. However, over time, he came to realize that a shift was occurring within the nation, and a new generation of young people was willing to undertake this mission. I remember him asking how these youths would behave on Shabbat, whether they would employ a “Shabbos goy” to milk the cows, and how they would find one in Eretz Israel.

I have a vivid memory of an episode involving the Wittlin family that my father shared with me. Shmuel Wittlin, the father of Dr. Bernard and Yuzi Wittlin, was a man with a white beard who lived permanently at his estate in Uvyn. One day, he invited the gabbais from Radekhov's synagogue and instructed them to harness horses to a wagon. He opened his cabinets, which were filled with holy books, and ordered the gabbais to load them onto the wagon for the synagogue in the city. When the gabbais asked him for an explanation, Shmuel Wittlin replied in Yiddish: “Meineh kinder velen shoyn nit lernen” (“My children will no longer learn”). When my father recounted this story, it never even occurred to him that just a few decades later, he would find himself repeating the same words under similar circumstances. In 5,689 [1928-9], I left Eretz Israel for a two-month visit home and as chance would have it, on the day of my visit home, a delegation of the town's Jews arrived to ask my father for a donation for the construction of a synagogue in the town. My father opened the book cabinet which was filled with Mishnah and Poskim, and said he was donating all the books to the synagogue. Later, when I asked my father why he had donated the books, he sighed deeply and said: “Meineh kinder velen shoyn nit lernen.”

On the road between Berestechko and Radekhov, nestled between Mikolayuv and Uvyn, there was a small agricultural estate owned by Menashe Fisch, the brother of Moshe Fisch from Uvyn. Indeed, the farm was named in his honor. It was remarkably well organized with well-maintained buildings, stables, and fields that stretched across the plain. The land produced wheat, grain, and various kinds of summer crops.

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The farm's owner resided in Lvov, and all operations were handled by the vigorous and dedicated manager, Abish Halpern, who was known as a good conversationalist and a friendly person. However, during World War I, the farm was damaged due to its proximity to the Russian–Austrian front. After the war, with the disintegration of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and before the establishment of an independent Polish state, gangs of Ukrainian rioters and robbers ran rampant. One night, during one of the attacks on the farm in Menashovka, the manager, Abish Helpern, was shot and killed. His family–his wife and daughters– fled to Lvov.

I came to know Moshe Fisch during World War I when he was an old man. He was a scholar, always with a book in hand, tall of stature, and upright in posture even in old age. On Shabbat, Reb Moshe had no time for idle talk, and so he spoke very little. From the beginning to the end of Shabbat, he did not use the language of the non-Jewish neighbors. Reb Moshe had three sons: the eldest, Yekel, whose son, Fishel, lives in Israel; the second son, Shmuel David, whose son, Meir Fisch, also resides in Israel; the third son, Hirsch Leib, is in Hungary, and his son, Fishel, also lives in Israel. Reb Moshe's daughter, Mindel Ornstein who is married to Tzvi Hirsch, and their son, Zelig, live in Israel.

World War I broke out on the 9^th of Av, 5674 [August 1, 1914]. With the mobilization of the reservists, the village was completely emptied of young people. The border patrol left the area, retreated inland, burned all the bridges over the streams and rivers, and joined the battalions heading toward the border. We were entirely disconnected from the wider world, unaware of what was happening, and we waited anxiously for what was to come. Not understanding the source of the worry and fear, I asked my father for an explanation. He told me that if, in times of peace, intense hatred toward the Jews burns, the danger is all the greater in times of war. Even if the authorities wanted to maintain discipline and order, they would not be able to control the peasant soldiers, and in moments of crisis, all the civilians would join the rioters. At such a time, one could not even trust neighbors and friends.

Just a few days passed, and I began to understand the truth of these words. Late at night, we were startled by knocks on our door. A familiar border patrol soldier, who had often visited our house, appeared. He turned to my father with a stern request and, later, under threat of a weapon, demanded that my father go to the nearby village across the border to gather information about the movement of the Austrian army. With much effort, pleading, and even by offering a bribe, we finally managed to persuade our old acquaintance to leave us alone. As he departed, he declared that Jews should not be trusted in times of war. He mounted his horse, and vanished into the darkness of night. We turned out the lights at home but could not fall asleep; instead, we waited for the morning light. This was just the beginning. A series of persecutions and calamities unfolded throughout the years of World War I,

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affecting not only us but also all the Jewish inhabitants of the towns and villages near the battlefields.

There was great anticipation for the end of the war and for a change in the lives of the Jews in the Diaspora. We were alert and attentive to the echoes of the Balfour Declaration, which called for the establishment of a national home in Eretz Israel. Despite living in the villages, we participated in almost every event related to the Zionist movement in Berestechko and other towns in the area. I especially remember a gathering my older brother Yaakov organized on a Shabbat in a village near Mikolayuv. All the youth from the villages attended this gathering. My brother, Yaakov, reviewed the situation of the Jewish people in the diaspora and called for organizing the Jewish youth in the Zionist Movement to prepare for Aliyah to Eretz Israel. These were the years of 1919-1920, when the Third Aliyah was in full swing. My brother, Yaakov, was preparing to fulfill his dream of making an Aliyah. Unfortunately, he did not receive approval from the HeChalutz institutions in Warsaw, and his Aliyah did not materialize. Meanwhile, his friends were able to obtain their certificates and make Aliyah as planned. When we parted ways, he wished me success, hoping to follow me someday. My brother Yaakov, of all people, who, from his youth, repeatedly talked about emigrating in search of a life of productive labor, met a bitter fate. Holocaust survivors told me that he, along with his wife and children, were murdered by the Ukrainians, three months before the Russians returned to Volyn in 1944.

[Reflecting again on the period after World War I], various cultural activities were held in order to engage Jewish youth in the villages. I remember the show called “HaShechita” [“The Slaughtering”] directed by our teacher, Eliezer Katz, from Droshkopol [now known as Zhuravnyky], who now resides with us in Israel. In that production, my brothers Yosef and Tzvi, my sister Tzipora, and I played various roles. The performance took place on a pleasant summer evening in one of the halls made available to us at the estate in Uvyn. A large crowd from the area attended, and all proceeds benefited the Keren Kayemet L'Israel [KKL-JNF].

In the early years after World War I, a wave of pioneers from the Soviet Union passed through Poland. As they traveled in anticipation of immigration to Eretz Israel, these pioneers formed work groups in various cities and towns throughout Galicia. My brother Tzvi joined one of these work groups under a pseudonym in 1923. He made Aliyah in 1924 and joined the “HaDarom” [“The South”] group^[1] in Gedera.

The onset of a large and impressive wave of immigration began with the establishment of branches of “HeChalutz” and “HeChalutz HaTzair” in the towns of Berestechko, Horochov, Droshkopol, Poritsk [Pavlivka], and Radzivilov. It was necessary to organize the youth planning to make Aliyah into work and training groups, to prepare them for a life of labor. A 19-year-old young man, still a teenager, originally from Poritsk, named Shalom Dobromil (now known as Shalom Dovrat), headed this effort. He was joined by Eliezer Katz, Chana Goz, and Tzipora Gaiyer, all from Droshkopol. The first step involved finding

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locations for Hachshara at estates owned by Christian Poles in Volyn. However, obstacles soon emerged.

The boys and girls found it difficult to adapt to manual work in the fields, and what was even more challenging was the harsh attitude of the work supervisors, who held antisemitic views. In search of more suitable workplaces, the organizers turned to Jewish estate owners, who were located in almost every village in the Radekhov district. The negotiations conducted by my older brothers, Chaim and Yaakov Kaptzan, with the Jewish estate owners–Kardiman in Zavitsh [Zavidche], Baran in Mikolayuv, and Ecker in Volitza – were successful.

To the credit of the Jewish estate owners, it should be remembered that they opened the gates of their estates to the Hachshara training groups, consisting of youth from all the towns in the area. We accepted all the conditions, however poor they were, that were customary at the time for farm work in Poland. We received our wages in the form of agricultural produce, such as flour, legumes, and potatoes. We were housed in two-story houses that were initially built for farm workers. Given the crowded conditions, maintaining order and cleanliness was not easy. The girls slept in the houses, and the boys stayed in the barn. We worked in all field jobs and also in construction.

Our father, Reb Benzion, was born in 1864 in the village of Skrilov (Volyn, Ludmir area) to his mother, Freida, and his father, Tzvi Kaptzan (Fuchs). Grandmother Freida was born in the town of Berestechko, Volyn. Before World War I, most of her family who lived in Volyn, left the town and relocated to Zhitomir, the capital of the Volyn region at that time. Tragically, all of those people were eventually murdered by nationalist Ukrainians–Petliura's troops, who rioted in Ukraine and Russia during the years 1918-1920. Grandmother Freida's sister, Golda, married Michael Weinstein in the town of Demidovka [Demydivka], where he served as a shochet [ritual slaughterer]. Today, all the Weinsteins, who are natives of Demidovka and now live in Israel, are descendants of Golda Weinstein. The oldest among them is Yaakov Weinstein, who resides in Haifa.

Grandmother Freida passed away in 1917 in the village of Rozhishche, where her family was deported by the Austro-Hungarian armed forces in 1916. This occurred when the Russian and German-Austrian forces withdrew from the front lines near Skrilov. The news of her passing reached me late, when I returned home following years of wandering in prisoner-of-war labor camps, as a civilian captive of the Austro-Hungarian forces. Family members, who witnessed her death, reported that Grandmother remained fully aware and conscious until her last moment. She asked

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My [the author's] father, Reb Benzion, and my mother, Breindel, of blessed memory

Grandfather Hirsch Leib Tzvi Arye Kaptzan (formerly Fuchs) was born in the town of Droshkopol, in the province of Volyn. I did not know him well because I was just a child when he passed away at the young age of 56. Our mother shared some impressions and a few memories of him with us. The one thing about him I remember from her stories is that Grandfather Hirsch Leib had a deep connection to books and that he found it difficult to live in the village among the gentiles. Grandmother Freida was the one who actually managed the estate, while Grandfather handled the bookkeeping and payments. He spent most of his time reading and studying the Torah. Our mother described him as a good-hearted man with a good sense of humor.

Grandfather Hirsch Leib had three younger brothers. The first to come after him was Yaakov Meir Fuchs, and his wife's name was Sheindel Dvora, whom I knew well. They and their descendants lived in Pulhan [Pyl'hany], a village near our village. Unfortunately, no one from that family survived the Holocaust.

The next brother was Yekutiel Kiefer, a resident of Droshkopol. I knew two families of his descendants who lived in that town. The head of one of those large families was Yehuda Hirsch Kiefer and he had many children. The sole survivor of that family is Manya Kiefer, who lives in Los Angeles, California today. The head of the other family branch was Shmuel Kiefer. Among his children, three live in Israel:

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Tzipora Salee and Rivkale Dayagi, who live in Haifa with their families, and his son Moshe Kiefer, who lives in Safed with his family. Moshe works at the Jewish Agency and is well respected in the city. I do not remember the name of the third brother. I only know that he and his family used to reside in the town of Chelm in Poland.

Our father was born in the village of Skrilov, located between the towns of Droshkopol and Berestechko. A large contiguous forest stretched for 40 kilometers between the two towns. The following villages, from west to east, are scattered in the forest: Bran [Brany], Boroskovitz [Boryskovychi], Borochich [Borochyche], Zbroshov [Novyi Zboryshiv], the small town of Lobitshovka [Lobachivka], and, as you approach Berestechko, the village of Smoliv [Smolyava]. The following villages were located south of the forest, listed from west to east: Rezhishtchev [Rzhyshchiv], Buzshan [Buzhany], Pulhan [Pyl'hany], Skrilov, Dykovyny,, Burkatshyn,^[2] and Mirva [Merva].

Three or four Jewish families, whom I knew well, lived in each of the villages mentioned, along with 100 or more Ukrainian families. Most of these Jews worked in trade, while some worked in agriculture, and others engaged in various crafts. The latest Tsarist regime forbade the Jews from settling outside designated Jewish towns, except for those who received special rights to reside, trade, and work in other villages by virtue of their birth (or their parents' birth) before 1880.

The village of Skrilov, where we were born and raised, was located on the border with Austria-Hungary until 1914. With the end of World War I, a large section of the Volyn Province, including our village, was added to Poland. I do not know the exact date when Grandmother Freida and Grandfather Tzvi Arye settled in Skrilov. Grandmother told me that they moved there immediately after getting married. Since our father was born in 1864, we can assume that my grandparents settled in Skrilov around 1860. They leased the agricultural estate of a Polish “paritz” and began managing and cultivating it with the help of sharecroppers.

Our mother, Rivka Breindel, was the daughter of Yosef, son of Mordechai Barkash. She was born in the city of Dubna [Dubno], located in the Volyn province. I am familiar with the Barkhash family, whose primary occupation was wholesale trade, and they also owned breweries. Except for our mother, who married our father, Reb Benzion from Skrilov, her brother and four sisters immigrated to the United States from Russia before World War I.

Her brother, Pesach Barkhash, and her sister, Belah Gurfinkel, settled in Chicago. The sisters, Sara Sinai and Sheindel Drucker, settled in Los Angeles, California. Another sister, Tzvia Skorman, passed away in Turkey on her way to the United States. Tzvia's family, including her son, Zelig, and her daughter, Henya, reside in Mexico.

In recent years, we have been visited by Yitzchak and Mordechai Sinai, and our cousins–the children of our aunt Sara Sinai– and their families from Los Angeles, Gitel, our cousin, the daughter of our aunt Belah Gurfinkel, Ester Katz,

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and Isidor Drucker. The granddaughter of our mother's brother, Velvish Barkhash, from Dubno, lives in Israel. She is the daughter of Beltzi, the daughter of David Velvish, who Ukrainian thugs murdered in 1918-1920. She made Aliyah to Israel as part of the operation, initiated by Israel Belkind, to bring pogrom orphans from Ukraine to Palestine. The fate of the rest of the Barkhash family in Dubno, and possibly in other areas of Ukraine where they may have relocated, mirrored the fate of the Jews in Ukraine and Poland during World War II. We know that some of them had been arrested by the Soviet forces that entered Dubno as part of Poland's division between the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany. These individuals were sent to Siberia for committing anti-revolutionary and Zionist acts, and ultimately disappeared without a trace.

The image of our beloved mother is always in my mind. She was gifted with kindness, gentle manners, and a pleasant expression, and she treated everyone she met, whether Jewish or Christian, with warmth. Anyone who came to our home or happened to stop by was always welcome. Our house, the only Jewish one in the village, had its doors open to everyone and anyone in need of support. Those passing through the village could always find help and wise counsel from my mother. Often, the house was too small to accommodate all those who slept over and those who dined at our table. Yet no one in the family ever complained: “This place is too small for me.” Everyone appreciated and admired her noble qualities. I never heard my mother raise her voice. She always responded calmly and patiently. With that strength of hers, she influenced the entire course of our lives and upbringing.

My mother had a unique ability to overcome the obstacles and hardships that life presented her, and she approached each situation with remarkable inner calm. She embodied the unique capacity to bridge the two worlds of education and learning: that of tradition and heritage, and the emerging realm of modern education and enlightenment. It is worth noting that providing both general education and religious teachings for the children of a single Jewish family within a small village was no small feat. The melamed, who was brought from town to teach us tradition and heritage, lacked the ability and knowledge to provide a modern education. Conversely, the teacher of languages and worldly culture could not substitute for the religious instruction taught by the melamed. Both teachers were engaged for a six-month teaching assignment, referred to as “time,” and lived in our house during that time. Indeed, this arrangement was undoubtedly a heavy burden, although important. Mother shouldered this responsibility with grace –influencing, guiding, and directing our education with goodness and kindness, all without being imposing. Our mother, Rivka Breindel, daughter of Yosef Barkhash, passed away on Yom Kippur 1938, at the age of 76. She was buried in the town of Droshkopol, in Volyn.

The following are the names of the children born to our mother, Breindel, and our father, Reb Benzion Kaptzan: 1. The eldest child, Moshe, was born in 1885; 2. Gitel Dvora (1887); 3. Mordechai (1889); 4. Chaim Kehat (1890); 5. Ester Beila (1892); Tzipora (1900); 10. Tzvi Arye (1902); 11. Yitzchak Dov (1904)

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Members of the Zionist movement in Druzkopol Skryholow Top row, from the left: Yaakov Meir Kaptzan, Yaakov Linden, Zvi Yanai, Mordechai Tanchuma – née Goz Second row, from the left: Leib Goz, may he live long, E. Kaptzan – the author of this article, Chaya Goz of blessed memory, and Eliezer Katz

Our father, Benzion, was the only child of his parents. He studied Torah from the best melameds in the surrounding towns. In those days, a proper education meant a deep knowledge of Mishnah and Poskim. Throughout his life, he remained closely connected to books. As he became engaged in the management of his businesses, overseeing his estate, and trading in forest products and grains, his time for reading and studying became very limited. Nevertheless, he utilized every available minute for Torah reading, whether upon returning home in the evenings after his dealings or in the early mornings before heading to work. Obviously, Shabbat was dedicated exclusively to Torah study and prayer. It was a joy to listen to him chant the Torah portion every Shabbat, using the traditional Bible cantillation notes.

Every Shabbat, we gathered for public prayer in the neighboring village of Pulhan, where four Jewish families resided. Our father read the Torah portion to those assembled every Shabbat and holiday. When a boy reached the age of 13,

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he was called up to the Torah (aliyah) and given the honor of reading the “Haftarah”.^[3] Our father strictly kept track of every boy's turn. On the way from our village to Pulhan, our father would recite Psalms from memory without pause. If he happened to forget the beginning of a chapter, the entire group would stop walking. The youngest son, who had not yet reached the age of 13, and was still allowed to carry on Shabbat, would open the Psalms book that our father had given to him when we left the house. After the young boy had taken a look and reminded our father of the content, we would continue on our way, and Father would resume chanting the Psalms. There was never any thought of skipping the public prayer, and no weather conditions could prevent or delay our family's splendid procession.

Upon our return from the public prayer, the table was set and beautifully decorated for the noon meal, which lasted a long time. Each one of us was required to recite the Kiddush over the wine aloud and with confidence. All attendees participated in singing Shabbat Zmirot [songs] and in the blessing over the food, using strong voices. After the midday rest, we boys had to appear before our father for practice and for examination of the week's study material. Father's insights broadened our horizons. During our studies, we were also required to examine the Rashi commentaries and, at times, the commentaries of the Malb”im [Rabbi Meir Leibush ben Yechiel Michael Weiser]. During the long summer days, on Shabbat, after studying with Father, we would gather for a family afternoon meal, enjoying a cup of tea and some treats. Afterwards, we would take walks in the vast fields during the twilight hours. During the walks, our father would explain about the various kinds of crops, seeds, and other plants – the times of their sowing and the methods of their cultivation.

Sometimes, our conversations turned to insights shared by our father about various chapters in Jewish history. He spoke about topics such as the Spanish Anusim [forced Jewish converts] and the expulsion of Jews from Spain, the 1648-1649 pogroms in Poland,^[4] and the beginnings of Christianity. As dusk approached and we returned from the walk, we gathered for Shabbat's “third meal,” as was customary, and sang traditional Shabbat Zmirot. The darkness gradually enveloped the house, bringing a sense of quiet and calm. Some of us immersed ourselves in our dreams, weaving together our experiences and fantasies. This continued until we could hear our mother's voice, murmuring the familiar Yiddish prayer: “Got fun Avraham un fun Yitzchak…” [“God of Abraham and Yitzchak…”]. As the light was turned on, our father began to chant the Havdalah prayer, “MeChoshech L'Or” [“From dark to light”]. After Havdalah, he walked around the room humming “V'yiten Lecha” [prayer chanted after Havdalah], blessing the entire family and all of Israel with a wish for a good week ahead. Then a week of regular days began, with its concerns and worries, although for us, the children, the joy of trips and pleasures was not quite over yet.

On Shabbat, all work came to a halt in our house and on the farm. Not only did the regular Christian workers and the maids stop working, but even the work animals rested, in keeping with the scripture: “And He rested on the seventh day from all His work which He had” [Genesis 2:2]. On Sundays, the workers did not work either as they celebrated their Sabbath on that day. Therefore, Sunday was dedicated to shopping, or other trips. Obviously, these trips gave us, the children, great pleasure and entertainment. During the summer, we would go to the forests on Sundays to pick delicious wild berries and compete with each other to see who could collect the most.

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We would also swim in the stream that flowed through the village. Obviously, our father supervised all the activities to ensure that we did not associate with the Ukrainian non-Jewish youth of the village; we were the only Jewish family.

Our parents worked hard and to the best of their ability to ensure that we, as children, received a good and orderly education, given the challenges faced by a single Jewish family in the village. We should therefore express our appreciation for the significant efforts of our parents in providing an education to all their sons and daughters, through private teachers and melameds. We learned everything in a jumble – Chumash, Rashi, Gemara, Hebrew, Russian, arithmetic – without any governmental education, minister of education, or compulsory schooling as we know it and are privileged to have today. There was also no shortage of reading materials. The older children subscribed to the Hebrew-Yiddish library in Berestechko, and our parents ensured that we, the younger ones, had access to age-appropriate reading material. We also regularly received an illustrated children's magazine called “Olam Katan” [“Small World”] that was published at that time.

Our parents took great care in our upbringing, especially because we lived in a non-Jewish community, whose customs and values were foreign and entirely contradictory to Jewish beliefs. This isolation deprived us of the opportunity to absorb customs handed down from father to son within a Jewish community. Therefore, our father placed at the top of his concerns the duty to pass on to us, with all his strength, the traditions of our forefathers.

We had wonderfully memorable days when we left our home in the village and traveled to celebrate the holidays, Rosh Hashana, Yom Kippur, and the Days of Awe in the city with the Jewish community. This profound experience became deeply rooted in my soul throughout my life. The prayers at the synagogue, the recitation of Selichot before dawn, the prayers of Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur – when each of the worshippers was wrapped in a kittel and tallit – the awe-inspiring sanctity that prevailed inside and outside the synagogue, the procession on Rosh Hashana to the river near the town to cast away all our sins – with everyone dressed in black kapotas – all of this was impressive and left a deep mark on my memory and soul. In general, our lives were calm and peaceful and could be described as pastoral. Our estate house stood at the edge of the village, isolated from the farmers' houses. It was surrounded by various fruit and ornamental trees, most of which had been grafted by my older brother, Moshe. A small stream flowed along the border of the garden. A short distance from the house stood another building–a small children's center, where we studied, and the rooms served as the children's bedrooms. One room was reserved for Grandmother, who took care of and watched over us. Every night, she would chant the “Shema” with us before we went to bed, and during the deep freezes, she would warm our blankets on the big brick heater, which was always kept lit.

Our small world was beautiful and pleasant, filled with serenity and family warmth. On the surface, everything seemed good and lovely. However, I do recall certain phenomena, foreshadowing sorrow

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and darkness, casting a shadow over the skies of my childhood, without my understanding their meaning or their extent, as I was just a child or a youth at the time. One event stands out in my memory: I was about six or seven years old when our regular worker, Kuzma, was called to serve in the army. When he came to say goodbye, he was accompanied by his friends who had also been conscripted. At that moment, Jewish egg merchants had parked in our yard with wagons filled with eggs that they had managed to purchase traveling from one farm to another. On their way to the city, they stopped at our house. Suddenly, this same Kuzma, whom we all cherished and who often played with us, together with his companions, attacked the Jewish egg merchants and overturned their carts, spilling all of their goods. I was left wondering why. Why did Kuzma do this? This question troubled me for a long time.

I remember another event distinctively: I was sent to visit one of the farmers when I encountered a group of shkotzim [derogatory name for gentile children] on a side trail. They attacked me by throwing muddy lumps of earth at me and letting their dogs chase me. I was deeply shaken by the experience. When Grandmother put me to sleep, I asked her: “Grandma, why did they send the dogs after me and throw muddy lumps of earth at me? I do not set my dogs on them when they come to our house. Why did Kuzma hit Jews and break their goods?” Grandmother replied: “Because we're in the Diaspora, that's why.” Curious, I asked her: “What's the Diaspora?” This was when, for the first time in my life, I received a lesson about Zionism from her perspective: “Here in Skrilov, it is not our land. Our land is Eretz Israel, and Jerusalem is our holy city. Bad and evil people expelled us from there because our ancestors did not listen to God, who commanded us to be good Jews, obey the Torah, and practice the commandments. However, with the coming of the Messiah, the son of King David, we will leave the Diaspora. No one will remain behind. Even the dead will rise and journey to Eretz Israel.”

I recall the revolutionary attempts against the Tsarist rule in 1904-1905 and their echoes that reached our remote and desolate village. Among the visitors to our home were people in power, soldiers, and officers of the border patrol unit. During that time, hostility toward the Jews intensified. As a result of the harassment we faced, we could no longer maintain the estate. The family shifted its focus to the export of grain and timber, continuing this work until the outbreak of World War I.

That war, which was supposedly more civilized and less savage toward European Jewry than World War II, still brought great suffering, hardship, and humiliation upon our family. It was very difficult being the only Jewish family in the midst of hatred and oppression during the war and subsequent hostilities in the years 1914 to 1921. As the storms quieted and our family began to recover, hoping for a better future and learning from our recent past, we joined the pioneering youth movements and immigrated to Israel.

I, the author of these memories, made Aliyah in 1925. In 1929, I traveled to visit my family. Upon my return to Eretz Israel, I brought with me Bracha Lehrer, whom I married abroad. We settled in Kfar Bilu, where we welcomed two children: our daughter Sarale and our son Chaim.

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Family celebration at the home of David and Zipora Parnas on the occasion of their son Mordechai's passing his final exams (1947). Top, from the right: Zipora Kaptzan and her daughter Aviva, Mordechai (the honoree of the party), Zipora, wife of Zvi Kaptzan, Zipora Parnas, Bracha Kaptzan, Sarale, her daughter, and Zelig Kranz Second row: The father David Parnas, the brothers, Itzhak, Zvi, and Eliezer Kaptzan, and Yehudit Kranz The three children of the Kaptzan brothers are holding a photo of their grandparents, Reb Benzion and Breindel.

Our brother, Yosef, and his wife, Yehudit, who immigrated from Skrilov to Argentina, established their home in Buenos Aires, where their daughter was born.

Our brother, Tzvi Arye, who made Aliyah in 1924, married his wife Tzipora, the daughter of Yosef Kempner from Kovno. They established their home in Kfar Bilu, where their sons, Yosef (born in 1930) and Chovav (born in 1938), were born.

Our brother, Yitzchak Dov, who set out on foot and reached Italy, made Aliyah in 1925. He brought his girlfriend, Tzipora (Feigel), the daughter of Yona Shraga from the neighboring village of Uvyn with him to Eretz Israel. They established their home in Kfar Bilu, where they welcomed two daughters: Aviva (born in 1931) and Tchia (born in 1936).

Our nephew, the son of our brother, Yosef, made Aliyah in 1935 and worked for a short time at the Agricultural Experiment Station

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near the city of Rehovot, located close to his mother's brother, Tanchuma. From there, he moved to Kfar Yehoshua, where he worked at a grocery store. Later on, he joined Wingate's Night Squads and was killed in the village of Daburiyya in a battle with Arabs (on the 11th of Tammuz, 5698 [July 10, 1938]).

The sorrow we feel is immense, boundless and without end, because we could not bring the rest of our family to Eretz Israel. This includes our father, older brothers, and sisters with their families–youth, children, and the elderly–all of whom perished in the Holocaust, together with all the Jews of Poland. Their fate was like that of the terrible and cruel disaster that befell everyone in Poland and Ukraine.

Fortunately, we were filled with joy that our nephew Nathan, the son of our sister, Gitel, managed to cross all circles of hell during the Holocaust, serving in the Soviet armed forces, fighting against the Nazis. He is the only one who successfully endured this journey and survived. Nathan eventually reached Eretz Israel as an “illegal immigrant,” was arrested [by the British], and imprisoned in Cyprus. After the establishment of the State of Israel, he made Aliyah, along with his wife, Miryam, and their oldest son, Benzion. Initially, they settled in Kfar Bilu, then moved to Havatzelet, and eventually found their home in the Milchan neighborhood of Rehovot, where they welcomed their son, Gadi, and twins, Tchia and Tova. May there be many more children like them.

Our older brother, Moshe, married Chaya, the daughter of Mendi Goz from Droshkopol. They had three children: Gitel (born in 1908), Dvora (born in 1910), and Yosef (born in 1914). They lived in Skrilov until the outbreak of World War I. They endured great hardships and suffering during the war. As head of the household, Moshe was faced with challenges including experiences in civilian prisoner-of-war labor camps that left him broken, shattered, and ill. He passed away in 1920 and was buried in Droshkopol. His daughters, Gili and Dvorale, tragically died around the same time. Both of them were outstanding students at a high school in the city of Lutsk. We have already mentioned their son, Yosef. The mother, Chaya Kaptzan nee Goz, perished in the Holocaust along with the other martyrs from Droshkopol.

Our sister, Gitel, divorced her husband, Eliezer Gabbai, from the city of Ludmir [Volodymyr Volynskyy] in Volyn, after the birth of her two sons, Nathan Moshe (born in 1921) and Yeshayahu (born in 1923). She and her son, Yashayahu, perished in the Holocaust. We have already mentioned her oldest son, Nathan Moshe, may he live long.

Our brother Chaim Kehat married Mirel from the Wiener family in Lvov. They had three children: Shmuel (born in 1921), Freida, and another daughter whose name I do not remember. Shmuel was recruited into the Soviet air force in 1940 while still a student at the Technion in Lvov. Unfortunately, we do not have any further details about him. The rest of the family perished in the ghetto in Berestechko.

Our brother, Yaakov Meir, married Henya from the Biller family in the city of Berestechko. They had two children: Ester (born in 1928) and a son whose name I do not remember.

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Moshe Kaptzan and his wife, Chaya nee Goz, and their daughters of blessed memory
The sisters: Gitel and Dora, daughters of Moshe and Chaya above

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They lived in the train station, Dembova-Krechma, near Lutsk. According to information shared by our sister, Nathan reached a village near the city of Lutsk while serving in the Polish army. The locals showed him to the barn of the farmer who hid our brother Yaakov and his family and here the entire family was murdered by Ukrainian bandits, who had discovered their hideout a short time before the place was liberated by the Soviet armies.

Gitel Gabbai, nee Kaptzan. May God avenge her blood		Chaim Kehat Kaptzan and his wife, Mira, nee Wiener
Aviva Katz, daughter of Zipora and Itzhak Kaptzan, passed away in Adar 5732 [February – March 1972] and was buried in Moshav Batsra. Commemorated by Eliezer Kaptzan		Yosef, son of Chaim Kaptzan of blessed memory. He made aliya in 5694 [1933-4] and volunteered for the “Wingate” Brigade. He fell in battle against Arab gangs in the disturbances of 5696–5699 [1936–1939] in the village of Daburiyya near Mount Tabor and was buried on the 11th of Tammuz 5698 [July 10, 1938] in Kfar Yehoshua.

1. The Southern Group was one of the labor groups established in the 1920s (the period of the Fourth Aliyah) to help immigrants who wanted to integrate into agricultural work in the land of Israel. The groups were located near the colonies where the immigrants sought employment. The organizations were supported by Zionist labor organizations. (from Wikipedia) Return
2. The author recalled a town named Burkatshyn between Dykovyny and Merva, however that may be a typographical error or an inaccurate recollection. There isn't a town named Burkatshyn between Dykovyny and Merva but there is one named Burkachi. Return
3. Haftarah is a section from the Hebrew Bible's Prophets section that is read in synagogues after the weekly Torah reading on Shabbat, Jewish holidays, and fast days. Return
4. Bogdan Khmelitsky led the Cossack uprising of 1648-1649 in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. The Commonwealth included land that today encompasses much of Poland, Ukraine, Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, and smaller parts of Slovakia, Moldova and Russia. Pogroms took place during those years and afterwards as the Cossacks took some of their wrath out on Jews. Return

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