[Columns 313-314]

[Columns 315-316]

[Columns 317-318]

Kehat Kliger was born in Ludmir. The son of the synagogue cantor Dovid Kliger of blessed memory. He displayed writing talent from his earliest years – publishing is first creative poems and prose in the local weekly paper. He was an active librarian in the “Sholem Aleichem Society” and at the same time proceeded with his personal and modest talented work. In the years 1930 – 1932 he entered the literary world with the publication of his mature works in the Warsaw weekly literary magazine “Literarishe Bleter” (“Literary Pages”) published by Nakhman Maizel. He emigrated to Argentina and became a contributor in the local Yiddish press. In 1941 he published his first book called “Songs on the Earth”, poems and ballads. His creative talents grew and expanded and the fruits of his talent were published in a series of books from 1943-58. Among them, there is one worth giving special mention, a book of poems and ballads called “The World Has Invited me to Die”, which was dedicated to horrific tragedy of the Ludmir martyrs and expressed the deep cries of pain and suffering of our generation. It is important to mention that after his visit to Israel, K. Kliger published a book of poems in Buenos Aires in 1956 called “Scenes from Israel”.

The world invited me for a glass of mourning, The world invited me to a bloody feast, The world invited me to die. I arrived, drank from the glass of mourning, I arrived, prepared and ready to die. In order for the drink to be sweet on my palate, In order for me to enjoy the meal, In order for my death to be pleasant, - Musicians strummed dead melodies at open graves, Winds danced with ropes at the gallows, Bows dug, like steel shovels, - Ay, mother, how the red slaughter knives played, Ay, how they tugged melodies from the millions of dead, When suspended nights rocked under the skies, Years smiling on one digging his own grave And I, mother dear, how I drank, How I drank the glass of blood until the last drop, The bitter glass of bile with mourning. And my heart fogged up with the melodies of the million of dead, My blood was intoxicated by confession – wailing, My body squirmed, My body was feverish, My body was dying But did not die. My body was dying, squirming, My body was feverish but did not die. I opened my eyes, Saw ruins and destruction, I saw dead nights With choked necks, Split open heads with eyes still open, Shot winds girded with swords, Dancing on rooftops, on trees, On corpses, on limbs, On choked necks, On dead heads with with open eyes. -Who is there, Who is there in the red hollow of bloody scents, Who is there, Who is there under the lit skies In blazing fervor, Who is there under the ruins of ash and fire? – This is how I asked and screamed, This is how I bled, This is how I walked This is how I wandered through ash filled days on end Over embers of lives and homes, Through extinguished worlds, - But nobody answers my terrified screams, Only winds play dead melodies Over exterminated warm necks. -Who is here, Who is here under the embers of fire, Who is here,

[Columns 319-320]

It began with mockery and cutting off sidelocks, and it ended with…complete extermination

A Jew recites “Kaddish” the memorial prayer for the dead for the first Jews killed by the Nazi murderers on Parne Street in Ludmir

[Column 321]

Who is there under skies and red immersions? – However, no one answers my screams of terror, Only shooting winds dance on shot temples, Only winds scrape out the dying melodies Over dead heads with open eyes. Who is there, Who has remained after the glass of mourning, Who is there, Who had remained after the bloody feast? - I wrap my body In a piece of sky – a torn curtain from the Torah ark I bow my head In the tattered shadows of the gallows I break my fingers On hills with open graves: -Oh world, you, world, Red-slaughterer hangman, Oh, world, you, world, Sword-girded murderers, - You invited me to the bloody feast – I came and ate your meal; You invited me to die – I arrived all set for death; I was prepared to confess my sins before dying, My body squirmed, I was feverish, I was dying, But I did not die; You led me and led me Through seven gates of suffering and death, You led me through millions of dead, But I did not die. And since I did not die, I want salvation for my earthly life; Since I did not die, I want redemption for my earthly existence, I want redemption for terror and horror, I want redemption from: Fire, murder and choking. I want the blossoming earth, the calm seas, I want the bright sun on my head, my shoulders, I want the song filled day In my blood, my limbs; I want the green kindness of the mountains, The tranquility of valleys, I want the familiar nourishing tables, The cries of joy, The dancing breath of twenty-four-hour days; I want the blessing of the fields,

[Column 322]

The abundance of corn and rye, I want the granaries, The barns, The mines, The gold and silver treasures; I want the harbours, Factories, The villages, The cities, The regions, The borders, - I want the round world from all four sides, I want the entire universe. Oh world, you world, Gallows swinging in the wind, - You invited me to the bloody feast – I came and ate from your dead meal; You invited me to die – I came ready to die; I recited the confession of my sins, My body trembled, I was feverish, dying, But in spite of you I did not die. And since I did not die, I want a penalty, A verdict, A rabbinic tribunal, I want a reckoning, A balance, Settlement, - Because my body is still being tortured With terror and horror, Because my blood is still intoxicated With moaning confessions, Because my heart is still fogged With melodies of millions of dead. Oh, world, you, world, Red slaughtering murderers, Oh, world, you, world, Wind blown gallows, - You will give, Me the round world and all four sides, You will give, Me the entire universe, You will give, Give me – Reckoning, a verdict, settlement!…

[Column 323]

The autumn tress saw and remained silent, The skies of Elul did not shout out to God. “Autumn trees, why were you silent?” “Elul skies, why did you not shout?” My small Jewish town, my twenty thousand Jews, Were slaughtered on the 19th day of Elul in the village called Pitidin. Woe to the trees, in the village of Pitidin, Woe to you, the skies over the village of Pitidin. From suckling to children, from conception to old age The slaughtering knife slaughtered, each and every one. The slaughtering knife slaughtered, the knife cut, The bride, the groom, the rabbi, the in-law. From the main street to the synagogue court yard, from poor to rich, The slaughtering knife slaughtered, treating everyone equally, My twenty thousand Jews, - How many have remained? No one has remained, no one has remained. And the autumn trees saw and remained silent, The skies of Elul did not shout out to God. At least tell me skies, tell me tress, About the day of slaughter in Pitidin, woe is me! I know the village, the cottages – each one, With the yearning country roads, with the meagre plains; I know it, the village, the Volhynian Pitidin, Every wretched peasant from the market and fairs; I know every sound from the scythe In sunny spring, and cloudy autumn, - Oh, tell my skies, tell me trees About the slaughter day in Pitidin, woe is me! The rabbi Yakov – Dovid, the old grey naïve man, Did he actually smile before his soul left him? When Hinde the Gabbai's wife, wearing her Sabbath kerchief, Welcomed with love the brown murder? Oh, tell me skies, tell me tree, About the slaughter day in Pitidin, woe is me!

[Column 324]

Did the cantor's wife, Pesiye – Gitl, my mother, With my sister, her only daughter, - Really dance before the killer, dance and sing: Holy, holy – and hop three times? Did the ritual slaughterer Yitzkhak – Shloyme make a blessing, When the knife of the evil slaughterer cut his throat? When the pious water carrier Srolye the mute, Shouted as he was dying: God will pay? When Reb Nokhemtze's son – a seven-year-old, Yelled out “Hear O Israel”, was his cry was suffocated and remained in a void? Woe unto you, trees, you blood stained witnesses, Why were you silent at the sacrifice in Pitidin? I will write this with blood in the journal of my heart, Let it remain in our memory for generations, While my Jewish town, the twenty thousand Jews, Where slaughtered on the 19th of Elul in the village of Pitidin, - The trees on earth did not cry, nor scream As if it was possible for them to remain silent in the skies.

The day swallows the last cup of Jewish blood from sunset, Shmayeh sways, in the red glow, not cold on the way to the gallows. The birch trees escape from the road, the peasant huts Shmaye's eyes – blazing blue, Shmaye goes to the gallows. Kneeling, The musicians' cross blazes, the lens shines with malice, Shmaye's tuft, a blond fire, Shmaye strides to the gallows. On his lips, furious curses, his blood boils with hatred, Like his holy forefathers, Shmayeh goes to the gallows. Under the ashen dust of the Ghetto, he sees a blade of grass growing, Shmaye is feverish: A white birch tree will grow from my gallows. Over the short grinding night dawn will break lighter Shmaye squirms: I am the last Jew going to the gallows. From the earth where national joy sprouts like blossoms from one seed, Shmaye's limbs Hallelujah to death, to the gallows. “Adieu dear parents, it is now a great privilege, Like a proud Jew and man to die on the gallows.”

[Column 325]

The cold sky turns ashen grey, like a scorched parchment of the Torah, Shmaye's neck in a polished tight noose on the gallows. His body – a flag, a flag in the wind, his red tufts flying. May the people of Israel Live! Am Yisreol Khay! Sang Shmaye on his way to the gallows. 1947

I am writing you a letter of a sort, My Lord, And you may, Want to punish me severely for this: One terrifying night You made me a boy orphaned of both parents – “YIsgadal” May His great name be sanctified[1]. You left my home in ruins. From my house only a mound of earth remains. You took everything away from me, Except my sorrow, Now I am lonely Like you my Lord – May His great name be sanctified. I wander through ruins, Abandoned, on my own In a dead world, Without mercy, My God; Take my soul

[Column 326]

For a slice of joy, If you want my body, It's also ready – May His name be sanctified. I'm writing you such a letter, My Lord, And you may, angrily, Punish me for this: I have nothing left on your sinful earth Than a curse, a sigh, a tear – May His name be sanctified.

Bring me wind, my little sister's ashes, I want to bury them in my heart; Search well, they are mixed with The ashes of our grandparents. I want to protect the ashes like an amulet, Until the end of my life. Later, I will give them to the Lord of the world, As a gift. I will tell him: My Lord, I bring to you, from your people, A vestige of the destruction: Sit my Lord, with ashes on your head, Sit and recite The Book of Lamentations. I ask of you, wind, Bring my sister's ashes to me from across the seas; Search well, they are mixed With the ashes of our parents.

The mossy alleys of the castle writhe in terror. They want to flee far from this cursed soil. Like stabbed children, the small trees on the street corners are bewildered. Their sword gashes are still trembling.

The dawn has no time to comb its shaggy blue hair. It emerges from between the prison bars, traces of night stuck to its eyelashes. Its blood is infused with the murder of Jews, the helpless lambs, who wait in terror for the slaughter–knife, the hangman's rope.^[1]

The last breaths of night are still dying on the crumbling old walls, as if a body were hanging outside the bars, bony, shriveled; the first drops of sun drip with the mold of thorny wires that hang, like burning veins, in the din of an insistent clamor.

Like bloody madness, the knowledge burns in inflamed brains. The silence is full of uproar. It screams from all bodies: “Soon, we will be dragged again, once more taken to lead and rope and pit and pyre!”^[2]

And who will be led, and who will be dragged, if not desiccated skeletons, if not the bones, the skulls, if not the bodies, that have been blackening here for days, stitched with lead, in order to die once again for the executioner Westerheide.^[3]

[Columns 327–328]

Where will we be taken? Piatidin has guzzled enough, Piatidin has eaten its fill of blood and marrow and bones.

A pyre has been lit under the hearts of the Jews of Ludmir, and the terror of mothers pierces their children. A blind Jew recites his confession in preparation. Another holds a knife to his own throat: “If it is death, let us slaughter ourselves here, brothers. Let the murderer not see our pain, our suffering.”

But the red voice of Executioner Westerheide giggles. He likes the wailing, the funerals of the living Jews. His bloody fingernails joyfully claw deeper into the hearts of the hiding, panicking Jews.

O, Piatidin, what is your sin – or your merit – that entitles you to cuddle your Jewish neighbors in graves? Piatidin, who cut your trees down and fashioned them into gallows, so that the shame and the curse will blaze over you for years?

O, Piatidin, see how the footsteps of children and elderly die on the road to your ripped bosom, once fields of wheat. Why did you not sow your soil with rocks and stones, why did you not set your land on fire with burning forests?

See, here it is, the death procession, funerals of elderly and children. Sky – why are you blue? Sky, pluck yourself to tatters. If there is a God here – let Him die together with them, before this ground heaves with strangled voices. And the blond Ukrainian dogs guard the gate, their crooked crossed teeth hiss with boiling, venomous hate. Ha–ha – why are they guarding the gate? Jews are already dying here, slaughtered babies slaughtered– woe is me –already lie in their own blood.

Yes, the blond–brown dogs still guard the prison, and the bones inside the bodies sound like the bare bones of the dead. Who will make it to the grave of the Piatidin ditches, who will live to see the merciful death of the murderer? The prison gate, the gate will be the only one to bear witness.

The massive, sturdy bolts will open with a grating screech, and the metallic, steel–clad voice of Executioner Westerheide will seal his last murderous command here with Jewish blood.

Yossele Dreyer sits in his sheltering green caftan in the sunny guesthouse of the small Karlin synagogue on a pinewood board, still scented with forest sap and roses. He scrapes out a childish “Here lies” with a chisel.

“Ay, ay, little Jews are dying, poor things, of tuberculosis,” and he stills his sorrow with a deep draw of snuff–tobacco. His 90–year–old beard smells of brandy, midnight prayers, Mayver–Yabek; but he himself, Yossele, is already a pile of clay, a shadow.^[2]

The chisel scratches angrily at the white flesh of the board, and Yossele's feathered cap shifts back and forth. He is saying verses from Psalms and his eyes are full of tears: “Beloved father, plant no more black flowers in the cemetery. Save your little Jews, who haven't yet tasted mother's milk, from joining the young dead.”

In Piatidin, in yesterday's little Volhynian village: blue peace, flickering candle stubs, dreaming farmhouses, gleaming sickles drunk on sunny wine, moss–covered sheds, heaps of rye sheaves.

In Piatidin, in yesterday's little Volhynian village: a cow watches a rosy sunset in the pond's mirror, nightingales in the pine forest sing a sweet Slavic melody, a barefoot girl walks through the stalks carrying a clay jug.

In Piatidin, in yesterday's little Volhynian village: a flaxen–haired shepherd boy, a reed pipe, misty meadows, an little evening fire, crackling, joyous.^[1] A harmonica sings longingly in the moonlight.

In Piatidin, in yesterday's little Volhynian village: a blue–fringed napkin – the sky –– over the white–blooming month of Nissan. Next to a dusty path, a chapel with golden hangings and images of Christ, a peasant woman kneels, kissing the crucified one's feet.^[2]

In Piatidin, in today's little Volhynian village: the fields are blooming with skulls and bones. From the smallest stalks, too weak to green themselves, dangle blond heads of dead children of Ludmir.

In Piatidin, in today's little Volhynian village: each sprouting blade of grass is a human limb, each root – a bone. The cornflowers spurt with the red froth of a live heart, stabbed.

In Piatidin, in today's little Volhynian village: a twisted human limb hangs down from a branch. My town's mass grave stretches for miles: Gnoyne, Rilivetz, Khapalitsh, Kilshtshine.^[3]

In Piatidin, in today's little Volhynian village: the soil refuses to remain soil, the soil wants to become sky! The grieving Shechinah, its head covered with ashes, wanders restlessly in the gurgle of choked voices.^[4]

In Piatidin, in today's little Volhynian village: the sun hangs, an open ledger, the white–hot letters boil, dripping warm streams with the holy blood of twenty thousand Ludmir Jews.^[5]

October 12, 1947

[Columns 329–330]

The Smutsh, a muddy stepson of the Luha River and the poor son of the Bug River, the most beautiful of the rivers of Poland, served as a natural boundary between the suburb of Kilshcziona and the so-called new Ludmir. Kilshcziona was entirely Jewish. Not a single gentile was found in it. Even the Shabbos goy^[1] came from across the Smutsh. Its houses - small, densely packed wooden houses, without a sign of a street or path between them, and whose roofs were sloping and made of old wooden shingles covered with green moss.

The inhabitants of Kilshcziona: cart owners, porters, chimney sweeps, garbage collectors, and just beggars with emaciated arms - flourished and multiplied peacefully in their hovels and sent their angry eyes to the bourgeois Ludmir across the Smutsh.

Caption inside the photo: The Central Halutz named after “Nordau” next to the Zionist Federation in Ludmir

“My grandfather z”l cut these roof tiles from an oak tree, and the nails: a convex head, a thick, round shaft that never rusts. They have no equal in our time, the steam and machine generation. The houses of today - oh, cobwebs!”

And sometimes he stopped and lets out a sigh, which was not in honor of the Sabbath: “On this roof, you see Breina, my great-grandfather z”l was struck by a thunder. My grandfather z”l, R' Kalman, delayed the burial until he finished covering the roof, for it is customary among us that demons to howl at night through a roof open in the middle. Heaven forbid!”

Berel' sons were educated at “Tarbut” school despite the insults of the members of the Gerer shtiebel.

All hope was lost, Berel argued against them. The new roofs have lost their Jewish form, and even our shtiebel is covered with red tin, the Story of Esau^[2]. The history of the roofers ended in Ludmir!…

And indeed, Baruch, Berel's first born son, grew up in HeHalutz, received training and made aliya to Israel. His youngest son, Binyamin, one of the outstanding students at “Tarbut” school, wore a pale blue kippa on which was embroidered: “For the sake of Zion, I will not be silent, and for the sake of Jerusalem I will not rest” [Isaiah 63:1]. In the last year, 5699, he was elected head of the student committee of Keren Kayemet LeYisrael [Jewish National Fund] at school. He devoted himself to this fund with heart and soul. He showed enthusiasm and perseverance in various activities beyond his years, until the school was honored to receive the national flag of Keren Kayemet LeYisrael that same year.

The flag was presented to the school in a festive public ceremony. Before the oath of allegiance to the flag, Binyamin spoke on behalf of the committee he headed, and said among others:

- “Eretz Yisrael is dear to us than ever, and in recent years, in the years of the Meora'ot^[3], it is dearer seventy-seven-fold, and every Jew must see himself as a soldier of Eretz Yisrael.” Tonight I

[Columns 331–332]

dreamt that I was standing guard in the besieged Tirat Zvi^[4]. Suddenly an arrow from the ambush pierced my chest. It hurt a lot, but I didn't cry. I dipped my finger in the blood of my wounded heart and wrote on the rock: “the country is ours…”

The breathing in the hall stopped. About a thousand pairs of sparkling eyes stared at the pale blue kippa and the flag. Suddenly, Berel the roofer jumped from his place and roared like a lion:

- Breina, we are making aliya to Israel!

Arms intertwined and broke out in a stormy dance: we are making aliya to Israel with a song and dance!!

The first days of September 1939. Poland is gripped by the flames of war from all sides. Also Ludmir, a distance of about six hundred kilometers from the German border, was bombarded continuously from morning to evening, and its inhabitants sought refuge in villages, fields and forests.

The second day of Rosh Hashana 5700 [15 September 1939]. A wave of Jewish refugees stopped in the nearby town of Ozyutychi to seek forgiveness from God. At sunrise, the synagogue was filled to capacity for a short, breathless prayer. The first blast of the shofar broke the barrier of tears and waves of sobs silenced the wailing of the shofar. The old rabbi's heart broke within him, and he roared like a lion: Ribono Shel Olam what have you done to us?! - and fainted. The flight of the enemy destructive planes deafened ears and melted every heart. - Have they started yet? A terrible cry broke out and a crowd wrapped in tallitot scattered throughout the gardens that Ozyutychi was blessed with. Every shady tree became a shelter for those lying on the ground. No one dared to raise his head. When the rattle of the planes stopped, heads wrapped in tallitot were raised, and a soft shofar blast echoed through the trees and rose to the heavens laden with laments from desolate hearts.

Only the night served as a safe shelter from aerial bombing, and with the setting sun life awakened in the houses and streets. The exiles regrouped and set out on their wanderings, some in wagons and some on foot towards the border of Romania, which was still considered a neutral country. Suddenly, appeared before me Berel the roofer pointing at his small cart pulled by a small, tortured horse. Does the teacher want to travel with us? - he asks me, pointing with his finger at his family members gathered in the cart. He reaches into his lap and pulls out from the opening of his shirt a bundle wrapped in Breina's sock - here is a “demand” I received from my Baruch. Don't you remember him? he was your student. Breina's eyes startled: teacher, how far is it from here to the border? - about three hundred kilometers - for such a carcass, Berel gestures to the small horse, the road is too long, but there is no choice, we must move forward. The convoy is moving, goodbye!

Those who remained, including the writer of these lines with his family members, accompanied the departing with congratulatory glances until they disappeared down the forested hill.

After several days of terror, joy passed through the camp. Rivne was captured by the Red Army and the Ludmir district was included in the Russian occupation zone.

A short time later, the Chief of Police appeared and in his hand an order from the District Minister: To hand over the power peacefully! To help the residents to return to their homes!

The wheels of public and cultural life operated with great precision under a regime appointed from above. The citizens returned to their occupations and tried to adapt to the communist path.

Three months later, elections for independent rule were announced, which would bring the long-awaited happiness - complete unification with the Soviet Union

A group of graduates and instructors of Hashomer Hatzair Seated from the right: Yosef Hirshfeld, Yakov Tzipel, Leah Buchsbaum, Zonszein, Chaim Haznold, David Ptroshka, Zev Viner Standing from the right: Bat-Sheva Haznold (Vider), Bergman, Yissachar Stern, Yehiel Birman, Yosef Peldaker, Meir Hirshhorn, Avraham Stein, Tova Viner (Kowalski), Ben Zion Vender

[Columns 333–334]

Every street and alley, every rejected fence, every balcony and counter became propaganda platforms for soldiers, workers, artists, officials, doctors and teachers, and children and old people cheering and announcing the coming of the great salvation. The electoral districts were mainly in schools, including the former “Tarbut” school. The writer of these lines, who served as its principle, awas elected coordinator of Kilshcziona area.

The winners of the elections in this district were two soldiers who once saw “Father” Stalin with their own eyes. They confiscated a room at the school and settled in for the election season. One of them was nervous and easily excited, enthusiastic in his speeches to the point of contortions. He loved children and kissed them in front of everyone. Once he took out a light blue kippa from his pants pocket, put it on top of a pencil and spun it around in feverish anger. My eyes darkened, I recognized it: “For the sake of Zion, I will not be silent, and for the sake of Jerusalem I will not rest.” It is…

At the end of the meeting, I recovered and with a fake smile I asked him, “where did you get this from?”

He rubbed his wrinkled forehead, as if to drive away harsh pangs of conscience, and said through clenched teeth:

- Nonsense! I found it on the Rivne-Lutsk road, and at the same time he asked:
- Do you know what is embroidered on it and in what language?
- Please - I replied and began to translate and explain to him precisely.

He became excited like burning sulfur:

Zion, Zion - counter-revolution! – He squashed the kippa, threw it on the floor, and his anger subsided. It was evident that he intended to cleanse his conscience from a serious sin that weighed on his heart.

After he softened a bit, I asked him for the kippa as a keepsake. He didn't object or show any suspicious attitude towards me. I took the kippa and went home and put it in my bookcase.

Not many days passed, and I escaped. I left the house with its contents and the bookcase with the kippa inside it locked with a padlock, and I would never see them again.

Indeed, the kippa has become embedded deep in my heart, and its letters shout to me from the flames of the sunset.

Our Binyaminkim and Yisraelkim, where are you?

Translator's footnotes:

1. Shabbos goy is a non-Jew who performs certain actions on the Sabbath that Jewish law prohibits for Jews. Return
2. The story of Jacob and Esau reflects the historical relationship between Israel and Edom (lit. “red”), aiming to explain why Israel, despite being a younger kingdom, dominated Edom. Return
3. Meora'ot (lit. “Events”) was a series of demonstrations and riots in late August 1929 in which a longstanding dispute between Muslims and Jews over access to the Western Wall in Jerusalem escalated into violence. Return
4. Tirat Zvi (lit. Zvi Castle) is a religious kibbutz in the Beit She'an Valley, Israel. On 28 February 1938, the kibbutz was attacked during the Arab revolt by a group of armed Arabs. Return

Ludmir, September 1939. Our alley, near the “Green Market,” had changed: it was almost empty of people, empty of fruit and vegetables. Everything seemed to have died out. Here and there, at street corners and intersections, at the corner of Magistrat and Lutsk streets, Jewish guards were standing on watch during an alarm, and did not let people out on the street. They were recognizable; in addition to their colored armbands they wore gas masks over their faces. As night fell, people had to hang black curtains over their windows, and lie down on the floor by the faint flicker of a kerosene lamp as they listened to the terrifying silence of the night, which seemed to last a year.

During this harrowing period, my sister Gitl became very ill and was taken to the hospital on Kowel Street. As far as we were concerned, we were at war: the German army was on the other side of the Bug River, and many Jews began fleeing to us to save themselves. The study houses filled up immediately.

Tearful women and their children, hungry and exhausted, were sitting or lying on bundles scattered on the street. When the siren sounded, all the nearby residents rushed to the shtibl.^[2] Naturally, because it was a brick structure, a bomb could not damage it. Children cried in fear, and orthodox Jews begged in their prayers to be delivered from the enemy and their lives saved.

One morning the first powerful bombardment was heard, landing on the railroad station. Pieces of shrapnel reached our houses. No one went out on the street that day.Nearby neighbors whispered that there were numerous wounded, as well as some dead.

That evening, we heard a wagon approaching our house; our sister Gitl lay in it, half–dead. She had been sent back from the hospital, which had admitted about one hundred wounded from the day's bombardment. We wanted to save her, but doctors were afraid to come for consultation. Gitl was prescribed injections, but the nurse was to frightened to venture out on the street.

[Columns 335–336]

The next morning, we saw men running on the streets with bundles of bedding, and women carrying children. Holding their last possessions, they were fleeing from the bombs to the villages and the fields. We were almost the only ones left in our alley. I remember our aunt Yocheved (may her memory be for a blessing) packing her things every morning and saying to my father, “Come, Sholem! Let's run away too.” His answer was always, “I'm not running anywhere. If the One above wants to take care of me, He will do that here too…”

And indeed, how could we flee with such a sick girl? When the siren sounded we would carry her to the Blatsovk shtibl^[3] and lay her on the floor. I remember how the steeple of the nearby cathedral was burning after bomb explosions, and the residents of an entire row of houses were fleeing because their homes were burning. We were in terrible danger then.

Besides the airborne enemies, we were faced daily by local enemies. These were the Ukrainians who wanted to exterminate the few remaining Jews. The high–ranking Polish officials had left town at the outbreak of war, and there was now no authority in Ludmir. One morning the entire staff of the large prison near us ran away. The prison gates opened and all the criminals took over the town, weapons in their hands, supposedly to “safeguard public order.”

Posters in the city announced a provisional city management, headed by a well–known Ukrainian doctor, who was an extreme anti–Semite. Local persecutions of Jews started. Jews who lived in Vadafuin and Ustil streets were were taken out and shot, and their homes were set on fire.^[4] It was very dangerous to go outside.

However, I had no time to be afraid. My sister's health had deteriorated. Besides, I was the only remaining capable person in the family. These were her last few hours of life. But I did not believe that, and like an insane person I ran to the pharmacy through the deserted streets looking for injections. I still wanted to save my sister. Bullets landed on the street a few feet away from me. When I finally reached the nurse, gasping for breath, begging her to come and inject my sister, she asked me, astonished, “Now? Nobody can walk on the street. I will come later, when things are quieter.” But I was already too late. The same day, during my sister's funeral, bodies of people who had been suddenly shot to death near the cinema on Farna Street were brought to the cemetery.

That was a terrible night for our family. We lay on the ground at the house of our Zamosc relatives (may their memory be for a blessing) and listened, heartbroken, to the silence. At midnight, we heard the din of tanks and heavy machine guns, as well as screams and clamor of people.We thought that, God forbid, the enemy had entered the town. With the blue dawn, we emerged, grieving, into the daylight to find out what was happening. We were glad to see it was the Russian army. People said that they had had a long hard way, because the bridges from Lutsk had been damaged, and that caused many pointless casualties.

At the end of December 1939 I left Ludmir for Lemberg, and from there made my way deep into Russia.^[5]

A senior “Messada” group

[Columns 337–338]

Ludmir – a distance of 14km from the German border – an important military point in the Ukrainian region. The following factors greatly influenced the initial design of the new life in this place:

Tunnels were dug throughout the city. Thirty-one Jews, sixty-four Christians, among them fifty-two soldiers, were killed by enemy attacks. Sixteen Jews and twenty-four Christians were injured, and five houses were destroyed. The inhabitants fled to the fields, forests and villages. The city was emptied. In the last week, the third of the war, the front line rested on the city's suburbs. Polish artillery legions fought fiercely against the enemy's aircraft and tank attacks. The city was doomed to be caught up in war and eventually fell into the hands of the Nazis. Suddenly the sun emerged - the rescue. Rumors spread that the Germans were retreating from the Russian army. The news was delivered by telephone to all points in the district, telling the refugees that they could return to the city. To the credit of the Polish authorities, despite the panic that surrounded them, they tried to organize a temporary armed police force of volunteers. They placed a large guard on the roads against gangs of bandits who were preparing to exploit the passage between the kingdoms in their own way. The refugees returned to their city peacefully and in complete order.

However, at the last moment, with the regime's final dying spasms, the venom of anti-Semitism seethed in the heart of one major. He shot an innocent Jew walking down the street in broad daylight, accompanied by his wife and son. This murder served as a signal, and on that night three Jews were killed in their homes by the police and soldiers. One hundred and fifty Jews, with a similar number of Ukrainians, were led to the gallows at the army base.

The matter became known to the Red Army camps which stood 20km from the city. They immediately sent a large force of soldiers, captured the city, and released the prisoners. It is easy to imagine the joy that surrounded the city. From the far left to the far right, people came out to welcome the Red Army with flags and flowers and shouts of “long live the redeemers!”

This situation caused complete confidence in the occupiers from the very first day. It seemed to the residents that at that moment the eternal chasms between right and left were blocked, and with one shoulder and one heart, everyone worked with the new regime to bring the city back to its previous image.

Mutual trust and cooperation with the new regime grew even more, under the pressure of the wave of refugees that came from the German's occupied territories. Twenty-two thousand Jewish and Polish war refugees camped together on the city's streets and roads. Heaven and earth trembled at the sound of the children's cries and the elderly's desperate calls for help. The town sank under this load. The army handed over all means of transportation to the city. Wagons and tanks worked for two days transporting refugees. But where will apartments be found, and who will provide food? The city had thirty thousand inhabitants, and in addition to them: twenty-two thousand refugees, twenty thousand Red Army, and countless prisoners of war returning from the war campaigns. It was natural that this sudden disaster erased the differences between mine and yours and, in part, also between sacred and secular. Warehouses, churches and mosques were opened wide to house the refugees, and no distinction was made then between Jew and Christian. It is clear, that the Jewish community responded with great warmth to the refugees' project, and the authorities appreciated this.

In view of the Nazi disaster spreading across the border, and the admired humane attitude on this side, it is no wonder that prejudices were forgotten. It seemed that all the problems and ideas of national and social equality found their solution here. Such a situation was created at all points similar to Ludmir in terms of strategy and the sequence of events, like in Lvov [Lviv], Brisk, Bialystok, Lutsk, etc. And like those who do not see clearly, all the political organizations and public societies, including the communities that had meanwhile been eliminated and closed on their own accord before the hand of the decree touched them, seemed unnecessary to them. All institutions were transferred to the government. In most places, the committees destroyed and burned the archives that had accumulated over many years, without leaving a single trace for future history…

From now on, educational matters were only decided by Political Bureau and the Komsomol. The organization of classes, parent committees, and even a class wall newspaper required the consent of the Political Bureau and the Komsomol. This was also the practice in Soviet Russia. The institutions have been frequently audited by these parties. The supervision was very strict, and everything was connected to a chain of causes and effects. The responsibility of the pedagogical council, headed by the principal, was very great. The background of learning and education was reduced to the knowledge of the cooperative regime and the important personalities in the Soviet Union. Although they valued national culture and maintained a so-called cultural autonomy, they closed shelters and boarding schools, such as the orphanage or our agricultural school, on the grounds of cost savings. And as for the language, they slowly imposed in such “universal” institutions, the “universal” language of the Soviet Union, that is, Russian language. In this way, the question of language and education was easily resolved in all schools, except those of “Tarbut^[1]“ where it was possible to decide between Yiddish and Hebrew.

In this context, we will again take Ludmir as a classic example. Thanks to the first wave of refugees from Warsaw, the representatives of “Tarbut” center remained in Ludmir with their families. They came naked and barefoot, as if fleeing from a fire whose flames were chasing them.

[Columns 339–340]

The Government Gymnasium in Ludmir

1. “Tarbut” buildings remained standing and sever damage was caused here and there.
2. The branches have disintegrated, and we no longer have public support.
3. The teachers' camp is scattered and, at the most, the principal and the guard remained in each school.
4. All of the center's reserve money remained at Bank Pekao in Warsaw, we did not rescue anything for the journey, and we don't have any financial means.

1. We inform the authorities about the existence of the association, its purpose and the basis of its organization, and its right to exist in the past. About our school network and its ideological essence from a national and socialist perspective, if it does not exist in the USSR, we are willing to cancel it. We will adapt the schools to the general program of the USSR, in all respects, except that we ask that the language of instruction remain Hebrew. Thousands of children and youth were educated in this language and speak it.
2. We strive to establish contact with the Soviet educational centers through a special representative, who will appear on our behalf and endeavor to extend the law of cultural autonomy of the Jews to include the Hebrew language. In the event that there should be a choice between Yiddish and Hebrew, the parents would decide for themselves.
3. We decided not to wait for a special order, which will surely appear soon, and we are already opening our schools and conducting classes as usual, as if there had been no interruption and they were continuing as normal from the beginning of the school year. We also try to communicate with the other points in the area through a special runner.
4. It is decided to open the institutions in Ludmir (kindergarten, elementary school, and agricultural school) as soon as possible, and until the teachers who were kept in their institutions last year return, they will be filled or replaced by refugee teachers from the city (Dr. B. A. and his wife and Mr. S. undertake to teach for free).
5. The loyal members of our city are charged with creating a family fund with donations and loans for current expenses. We divided the roles among ourselves and decided to meet every day.

Despite this, we informed our Tzon Kodushim [children] in whisper, word of mouth, and resumed the work in the kindergarten and the elementary school. As for the agricultural school, the farm was temporarily handed over to a military post and its opening was postponed. But the Council of Engineers there expresses its willingness to recognize the ownership of “Tarbut” and the authority of the center's representatives as before.

The writer of these columns appeared before the temporary commissar of education (a local Ukrainian teacher). He was very interested in the ideological and organizational foundations of “Tarbut,” asked for the history of our school, the size of the network and the place of education in it. I explained everything to him honestly and openly. Finally, he expressed his satisfaction that we had expedited the process of giving the children a school building and was satisfied with our initiative. He demanded that the branch and the committee it headed be dissolved, decreed to take out the religious studies from the program, and in place of “Jerusalem” of yesterday in the education, to give “Moscow” of today. As for the language, he has no objection to the teaching will remain in Hebrew.

It is said: You do not bring evidence from an innocent gentile, but even the words of the Jewish communists in the city did not show signs of an outright hostility to the Hebrew language. And after a comprehensive investigation, they also admitted that the transition should be gradual and slow. In any case, not to erase the Hebrew from the school all at once. In the meantime, almost all the schools in the city have already opened, only a few remain occupied by the refugees. We saved only one small building for the school and kindergarten. We gave everything else to the refugees. And now, for the first time in our lives, we receive a monthly salary from the government together with all the teachers In the vicinity.

Anyone who is somewhat familiar with the sufferings of the private teacher from before, will respond with an “Amen” blessing to the blessing of Hamavdil^[2] in the material sense that

[Columns 341–342]

this teacher bore at that time. We greatly appreciated the situation and knew that we would face trials within our own camp. Therefore, we decided to select teachers with a solid cultural backbone from among the refugees, and we were very successful in this.

The lessons are conducted in Hebrew. The children flock to us in droves, accompanied by their parents and without them, until their number has already exceeded six hundred and Hebrew rings out in their mouths like a sublime protest song without any interruption. When we write in the future in our liberated country about the adventures of the movement at this time, our Mordecai-lim Shlomo-lim deserve to have long and holy Parashat Yitro^[3] added to their credit. Their conversations in Hebrew at school, on the street and at home, annoyed their parents, and they began coming to the office despite the Hebrew sign on it. These little children will serve as the foundation and roof for our demands to recognize Hebrew as a mother tongue and grant it minority rights like Yiddish.

And when permanent Russian commissars for education were appointed, we managed to convince them with the force of facts that for tens of thousands of children the Hebrew is their mother tongue (the commissioners admitted that they met children speaking Hebrew on the street and that this Eastern sound fascinated them). Initially, they claimed that Hebrew was only an ancient language dedicated to religious matters and was not for mass use in everyday life. And to that we replied that the agricultural school, whose language is Hebrew, will prove that it is entirely oriented towards life and nature, and its sanctity is a clod of earth and hard work.

In the end, a compromise plan was agreed upon and worked out between us, and it was submitted in writing to the inspector's secretariat. We obtained an official “Kosher certificate” for Hebrew. This document could serve in the future as a platform for broader negotiations with the centers in Minsk and Kiev on expanding the framework. In the meantime, transportation was resumed and one bright day, almost all the permanent teachers, thirteen people, gathered and came. After the family-friendly part of this first meeting, they were given a report on what was done here and what we had achieved in the area of Hebrew. The members, for their part, reported on the situation at the various points they passed along the way like Bialystok, Rivne, Sarna, Kowel, and Lutsk. There, too, were slight flutters for an hour, but later the hope for Hebrew and national education was lost in all areas of the Soviet occupation. Therefore, they do not believe in the victories imagined here and propose to immediately give up the fruits of victory, because they fear that this achievement will later take revenge on us.

Instead of thanking the temporary teachers for their work and dedication so far, they demand that we sever the ties with them. We must completely alienate ourselves from those who once stood at the head of the movement… They do not want to meet with them and participate in meetings with them – out of fear…

The conclusion was: the member S. disappeared and was later discovered in Vilna [Vilnius]. Doctor B. A. his wife and a refugee member, continued their work and no one was harmed because of them. On the contrary, the authorities immediately recognized the doctor's pedagogical value and respected him greatly. Thanks to him, the school developed and was considered exemplary after all the obstacles it encountered. None of the veteran teachers complained about their working conditions, and work continued as usual and according to the agreed-upon plan until 15 November. Among the teachers was one rebellious thug who did not submit to the demands of this minimum program, and he was forced to leave the institution.

In terms of content and form, the school became completely Soviet, but with a touch of Hebrew. But on November 15, I was suddenly summoned to the commissar's office, and he suggested that I switch to Yiddish and completely cancel Hebrew studies, as this was the wish of the administration in Rivne. In light of this order, I demanded an official record that the school was Hebrew, and according to the authorities' decree, it was now switching to Yiddish. But the commissioner refused to do so, saying that it was not a decree but merely a request. At that time, he gave me an order to switch to the five-day system, and to work at the school on the Sabbath. Here I found an apolitical place to identify myself and resigned from the management. I stated in writing that I was not an atheist, and in this spirit, I would not be able to manage the school. The commissioner thanked me very politely for my work so far and transferred me to another government school.

This ended the chapter of the war on a single whispering ember in the ashes of cultural destruction in the Soviet-occupied territory.

Finally, I will only mention that if I had felt any support in the pedagogical council, or in the Jewish community, I would not have surrendered so quickly. Indeed, some teachers secretly revealed great resentment and sacred loyalty to the ideals of ancestral tradition and deserve to stand in line with the heroic martyrs in the history of our people. These were just a few examples; most of them did not pass the test.

The children's suffering was terrible. Their stubbornness and rebellion could serve as material for a wonderful epic. And when I was asked if there is a root or a living mammal remained in the national incendiary fertilizer in Poland - I answered: - Yes! Tens of thousands of our students are warming the seeds of Hebrew culture in their hearts. They secretly celebrate our national holidays and try to speak among themselves in Hebrew. They organized themselves into groups and study the Bible, Aggadah^[4], and history in secret. They created a special hieroglyphic script for themselves, which is the script of their soul. In this script they draw and engrave Hatikvah^[5], Techezakna^[6] etc. on every wall and blackboard.

Before I left my place, I secretly said goodbye to two students, and with tears in their eyes they asked me: is there still hope that the school will return to Hebrew? I was forced to stammer and tell them that I would pass this question on to the Hebrew public.

I am keeping this promise here and hope that the appropriate answer will be found.

Taken from the Hebrew weekly Haolam, 20 June 1940, Thursday 14 Sivan 5700, issue 40, the 29th year (of its establishment) From the article, “The adventures of Hebrew in the Soviet occupied territory,” The section discussing the situation and fate of the Hebrew school “Tarbut” in Ludmir at that time. Taken from a private letter published in the aforementioned weekly.

Brought to print by M. Tzinowitz

[Columns 343–344]

The Executive and Management Committee in America

A group of members of the Women's International Zionist Organization for the immigration of Rivka Yelin to Israel, May 1935 Seated: Boshiper, Gitel Kolish, Sara Sheinkekstel - - Batya Lew, Sheva Zusman, Bergman Standing: Kleinmintz, Weintroub, Rivka Yelin, Pola Stern, Gely Stern, Roza Waser, Sabina Liberzon, Mendlzon Third row: Aharon Bergman, Leibish Zosman, Golda Pril. Hirsh Lew

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