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Mates was my first melamed and the one who began to teach me the Torah. I spent most of my childhood in his cheder. That period is engraved deep into my memory, with its indelible experiences of the melamed, the young pupils, and the courtyard. The Torah classes I took with Mates have become an enduring part of my knowledge.

To this day, I can hear the melody that Mates used when he taught us the passage in Genesis, “As for me, when I came from Paddan, Rachel died to my grief in the land of Canaan on the way, still some distance to Ephrath,” with a wonderful explanation of the entire Torah portion.^[2] I recall that I knew the section and delivered the melamed's explanation better than my classmates, and was rewarded by a pinch of the cheek, which flooded me with emotion. I boasted of the experience to my sister and friends, and the excitement at this expression of the melamed's feelings towards me persisted for a long time.

After having been a pupil of different melameds in various cheders, and making very good progress. I began studying on my own in the House of Study. My father thought that I still needed to be supervised by an older scholar, and he

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arranged supervision by Yitzchok, a fine scholar and a follower of Kotsk Hasidism.

Yitzchok and I studied together that winter, and made fine progress. I studied Yoreh De'ah^[3] and Choshen Mishpat.^[4] When my father (may his memory be for a blessing) returned home before Pesach (Passover), and tested my knowledge of Talmud, I noticed his amazement at the progress I had made. However, his pleasure did not last for long. It vanished after his conversation with Yitzchok, when the latter informed him that I had gone astray, and he could no longer be my melamed.^[5]

The great sin I was found guilty of was quoting from the poems of H. N. Bialik and M. Z. Fayerberg, two poets of whom I was very fond, and whose names I had written on the first pages of various sacred books in the House of Study.^[6]

I moved on to studies in the small synagogue of the Radzin Hasids, where I grew close to the other students.^[7] It was not easy to break into that circle, as some of them considered me non-observant and showed no desire to become my friends.

The only person who respected me was Mendel Lerner, and it was thanks to him that I stayed in the synagogue community. He influenced me to add a blue string to the fringes of my ritual undershirt, in the manner of the Radzin Hasids.^[8] I did not take into account the offense it would cause my father, who belonged to the Ger Hasids, and thus considered my addition of the blue string a sure sign that I had forsaken the Ger court and joined the Radzin court.^[9] However, I did not fully acclimate to the Radzin synagogue either. By then, I was already striving to acquire a general

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education, which I could not obtain in Horodlo. I went to study in Lida, near Vilna.

Zissele was of my mother's generation and her best friend. She was one of the most interesting persons in Horodlo: a righteous woman who did many good deeds, had an aristocratic appearance and was very clever. She was kind and had a noble spirit. She extended her counsel and help to all who were in need.

Although women did not play a great role in community life at that time, I felt great respect for those virtuous and honorable women whom Zissele represented. When times were hard in our house, Zissele would appear at the right moment with good advice and good deeds. She was renowned for her wisdom, and everyone held her suggestions in high esteem.

May her memory be blessed!

Shmuel Biderman was well-known as an important, respected person. As a highly observant Jew, whose piousness bordered on fanaticism, he was clearly not too fond of me. Yet fate would have it that he actually gained my sympathy.

It happened in this way:

During the Austrian occupation following World War I, Shmuel Biderman – a Radzin Hasid -- used to say his weekday prayers in the House of Study.^[11] He would come in early, and after prayers would study until late afternoon. I was almost the only young person who studied there until

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late afternoon. Shmuel and I were usually the only students during that time, sitting and studying and hardly conversing.

One day, the Austrian police were snatching up people on the street for forced labor, and were approaching the House of Study. Shmuel quickly took me into the women's section and hid me. When they appeared on the threshold of the building, he informed them that he was the only person in the place. He did so at the risk of his life if the policemen had searched the building and found me. I was very moved by this evidence of Shmuel's devotion and care.

The Horodlo rabbi was distinguished by his wonderful qualities and honorable ethics, which were above and beyond the conventional. He was a great scholar, God-fearing, and renowned for his knowledge of the Talmud and its commentaries. He had written a number of important religious works, and his bearing was imposing. His remarks and sermons in the synagogue before ¬shofar-blowing, and on other occasions, were very impressive and aroused my great respect.

The rabbi and my father (may their memories be for a blessing) exchanged letters on matters of Jewish law and Talmud. I still appreciate my great privilege in being the go-between in their exchanges. These were the letters of two scholars who, though they argued over halacha (interpretations of Jewish law), were simultaneously

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profoundly moved by deepest respect, friendship, and comradely feelings for each other.

Horodlo was a small town, and was very proud of its rabbi. The rabbi (may his righteous memory be for a blessing) had great spiritual influence over his community, and his deep knowledge of Jewish learning was renowned. He was respected by all, and a source of wisdom.

He was known in the town simply as Moyshe Mendl. Though he was famous as a great scholar, he befriended ordinary, decent people, and led an unpretentious, modest daily life. He was a wonderful family man and loved to be at home. His relationship with my mother was attentive and respectful. As was common among observant Jews of the time, he never referred to my mother by her name, but they had a complete and mutual understanding. I can't remember him ever raising his voice or showing anger at home. His attitude towards his daughters, my sisters, was fatherly and generous.

With me, on the other hand, he was very strict; he had high expectations of me as far as education and religious knowledge were concerned. However, I was also rewarded. It was a moment of generosity and good will, on the eve of Yom Kippur, just before we left for the synagogue, for Kol Nidre.^[12]

At this emotional, anxious moment, he focused my attention by winking and beckoning me into his room, where he laid his hands on my head and blessed me quietly. His tears, falling on my head,

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refreshed my soul, dew-like. Memories of that moment still move me to tears.

The last time I saw him was in November, 1939, in Chelm, when I was preparing to cross the border towards Russia.

Moyshe-Mendl Valach and his daughter Esther

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Horodlo, My Home Town

After years of absence, I returned to Horodlo. The situation was tragic, completely different from the case years earlier, when I had left. The years of peace and stability were over, and the town – along with all of Poland – was suffering from a harsh wartime regime and conditions that were terrible for the Jewish community.

I arrived on a Friday afternoon in November 1939, hoping to cross the Bug River (the then-border between Poland and Russia). The cart-driver who had driven me to Horodlo stopped at the Polish school, on the town's outskirts. He was afraid to take me into the town proper. I left him and tried to enter the town through side roads, taking precautions not to encounter any Germans.

Exhausted and terrified, I went to Gitl-Roize's house. A few friends and relatives came to see me when they found out that I was coming, and advised me to leave the town immediately and return the same way I had come, although it was almost night. These dear Jews recounted the cruel laws that ruled the town, and maintained that if the Germans discovered me I would bring disaster upon myself and upon the town's Jews. They were fearful and terrified by the pervasive climate of persecution. Afraid to go to the synagogue for the pre-Shabbat services, they locked themselves in their homes to pray by the light of the humble Shabbat candles.

When I saw those candles shining through the windows of a few Jewish houses, I was overcome by a longing for the distant peaceful days. Fearful and agonizing, I quietly slunk out of my home town, my birthplace. I felt lonely and abandoned, unable to bid farewell to family and friends, and continued to seek respite for my weary soul.

Translator's Footnotes

1. Melamed is the title for a Teacher of Hebrew and Jewish religious subjects. Most often it refers to a teacher in a school for young children, known as a cheder. Return
2. Genesis 48:7. Return
3. Kotzk is a Hasidic dynasty originating from the city of Kock, Poland, where it was founded by Menachem Mendel Morgenstern (1787–1859). Kotzk is a branch of Peshischa Hasidism, as Menachem Mendel Morgenstern was the leading disciple of Simcha Bunim of Peshischa (1765–1827). Return
4. These works are sections of Arba'ah Turim, Rabbi Jacob ben Asher's compilation of halakha (Jewish law) (1300). Return
5. This phrase implies deviation from traditionally observant Jewish culture. Return
6. The poet Chayim Nachman Bialik (1873-1934) wrote primarily in Hebrew and Yiddish, and is considered a pioneer of modern Hebrew poetry, part of the vanguard of Jewish thinkers who gave voice to a new spirit of the time. Mordechai Ze'ev Fayerberg (1874–1899), was a Hebrew writer, a pioneer of psychological realism, neo-romanticism, and symbolism. Return
7. A dynasty of Hasidic rebbes. The first rebbe of this dynasty was Rabbi Mordechai Yosef Leiner, author of Mei Hashiloach, in the city of Izhbitza. (Izhbitza is the Yiddish name of Izbica, located in present-day Poland.) Mordechai Yosef founded his own Hasidic movement in the year 5600 (1839), leaving the court of Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotzk. His son and successor, Rabbi Yaakov Leiner of Izhbitza, moved to Radzin. The dynasty today is therefore known more as the “Radziner Dynasty”. Return
8. The corners of an observant Jew's undershirt are typically garnished with fringes that hang down. Different groups of Hasids use different types of fringes, some with blue strings as referenced in the Torah. Return
9. Ger is a Polish Hasidic dynasty originating from the town of Góra Kalwaria, Poland, where it was founded by Yitzchak Meir Alter (1798–1866), known as the “Chiddushei HaRim”. Ger is a branch of Peshischa Hasidism, as Yitzchak Meir Alter was a leading disciple of Simcha Bunim of Peshischa (1765–1827). Return
10. Rebbetsin is the traditional term for the Rabbi's wife. Return
11. During a short period in World War I, the southeastern part of Congress Poland, encompassing the areas east of the Vistula and the towns of Radom, Kielce, and Lublin, was administered by Austria-Hungary. Return
12. Kol Nidre marks the start of the Yom Kippur evening service. Return

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The melamed (teacher) of the youngest boys in our town was different from other melameds. Those who could not make a living otherwise became melameds, to whom parents entrusted their small children so that the boys would learn traditional Judaism. These melameds employed different methods to fulfill their mission – some with the whip, others with a plain stick.^[1] Thus, the children absorbed learning and blows simultaneously. Our melamed, like the others, did not spare the stick. But his pedagogical methods were completely new. He had acquired his profession thanks to his experience at work and teaching, and he was truly proficient at it.

He had begun his career as a melamed's assistant in the towns of Galitzia, and was trained as a melamed in the modern fashion. He had diplomas, recommendations, and testimonials for his pedagogical work. We loved learning and having the Hebrew texts explained in Yiddish. He knew how to make every class period pleasant; he understood us and familiarized us with the texts. This was how he formed scholars who admired him and that went on to tell their own children, “Go, my boy, go to rebbe Mates! I, your father, studied with him.” The love he inspired in his students gave rise to his reputation.

He was generally a cheerful person, understanding and wise, good-natured and satisfied with his life. He gained the love of all the social classes in town: scholars as well as the

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unlearned, and suited his conversation to each person's understanding and knowledge.

I remember one occasion. We were learning Leviticus 21, which states that a priest may not be in any proximity to, or in the same space as a dead body, because this confers ritual defilement.^[2] However, the Talmud commands a Kohen to do all in his power to bury an unknown, unclaimed dead person, even though he may become defiled.^[3] Our small class suddenly grew very quiet, and the melamed's voice rang out: “Dear children, please think about this question: What is the rule in a case when a priest is on the road and sees a dead person running away? Is he allowed to care for him or not?” The class went completely silent. We did not know what to say. This happened in the presence of a guest, when the melamed wanted to boast about how knowledgeable we, his best students, were. There was silence. Each of us sat speechless and looked at a friend, who looked at another in turn, etc. We finally looked at the melamed, begging him to solve this very serious problem and not shame us in the presence of a guest.

We knew what we were doing. The melamed quickly came to our aid, saying, “It is in your nature. When a guest enters the classroom, you don't listen to the subject matter. If you had listened, you would have immediately asked, ‘Rabbi, how can a dead man run?’” This was how we were saved from an insoluble situation.

Once the guest left, we all began trembling with fear, waiting for the melamed's physical response, which we deserved. However, we were wrong this time. He did not strike us, but rather gave us a lecture on ethics: “Shame on you, Gentiles! Every penny of hard-earned money your parents are paying for you is wasted. The efforts and pedagogical experience I invest in you are also wasted! Close your Torah books and go feed the animals.” We sat there as if turned to stone, acknowledging our guilt and justifying the lecture. We wanted

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to fall at his feet and beg forgiveness, embrace and kiss him out of respect, but were afraid to move. We just sat with downcast eyes, ashamed. He came to the rescue once again. “That's enough! Go and eat, and have a rest. I'll try one more time. If you don't change your ways, I'll leave you and go wherever my feet carry me.” We were not disappointed. We devoted ourselves to our studies, listened and learned. The melamed noticed this and said, “You see? I wasn't wrong about you. I had the right idea: if you studied, you would succeed, and all would be well.” He was very pleased with our progress, as well as with his own pedagogical expertise.

The weekly schedule of our studies was as follows: we all studied together for the first three days of the week, and studied individually on the other three days.

I remember what he told me once, when I was no longer under his supervision. One winter night, he was standing at the cantor's position in the synagogue, leading the afternoon and evening prayers. Two of his students were standing in conversation., talking. One said. “This evening we should be studying separately. We're not up to the melamed's expectations, and he'll probably beat us. If I had a knife, I would stab him in the back.” The other said, “If he were standing on the riverbank, I would push him into the cold river for a dunking.” When the two returned to the cheder, they were beaten as they expected, for not knowing the Torah portion, for the stabbing, and for the dunking.” When the melamed finished his story, he presented the moral. “In spite of the beating, their children are also my students. I resemble the Patriarch Abraham, who converted the Gentiles.^[4] I turn the small ignorant children into ‘little Jews’ and their later teachers enjoy ripe fruit.”

His private life was sad. His wife Beyle

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had given birth to sixteen children, of which only three girls had survived. I remember that when one of his daughters died, his wife nearly went out of her mind with grief. When his youngest son died, his father's favorite, and the one who was supposed to say the mourner's Kaddish, the melamed was despondent.^[5] The ritual slaughterer Ya'akov (may his memory be for a blessing) paid a consolation visit, during which he told him the following story:

Rabbi Meir's two sons died on the same day. His wife, who did not want to give him the news all at once, greeted him at the door as he was returning from the House of Study, and posed the following dilemma: “A few years ago a person came and asked me to keep a valuable pledge safe for him. I was overjoyed to have the pledge in my possession, and considered it my own treasure. Today, the person came and asked me to return his pledge. What do you think I should do?” Rabbi Meir immediately said, “ Of course, you need to return it.” She then took him into the children's room, where he saw the lifeless bodies of the two beloved children. He raised his arms to heaven and said, “God gave, and God has taken away.” The slaughterer's visit and the story had a positive effect on the melamed. He was comforted, and began to return to his everyday life.

Just like the Patriarch Jacob's request of God, “Bread to eat and clothing to wear”, the melamed achieved these through hard work at different jobs.^[6] He did not make his living solely through being a melamed. His house was inherited, and he rented out several of its rooms. He also repaired overshoes, especially those of the Gentiles in the area. He had a rich brother in Ludmir, a sister in America, and a brother in England; these three did not neglect their brother, the melamed.^[7]

He would often recount a dream that he had had, in which his father came and gave him a cupboard full of sacred books and a sack of money for his brother in Ludmir. That was why he remained poor

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whereas his brother was extremely wealthy. He often complained about his hard life, despite the help he received from the above-mentioned sources. He would compare his situation to that of other Jews in the same situation, yet were able to make a respectable living. “I, too,” he said, “would like to spend time studying Torah for its own sake in the House of Study, and not have to use my religious knowledge as a means to subsistence.^[8] Following up on this thought, he once tried his luck in business.

When Poland was under Austrian occupation, the authorities enabled the cultivation of tobacco without special permission. The melamed began to grow tobacco for his own use as well as for sale to individuals. At that time, people began to deal in tobacco and sell it in Lemberg.^[9] The Jews were very successful and made good profits. The town businessmen thought of the melamed and persuaded him to try his luck in the tobacco business. He finally agreed to try, found a partner in Moyshe the carpenter, and after the holiday of Sukkot (a period of vacation) borrowed money from all those who paid his wages and wanted him to succeed in business as well as to try his hand in a different economic field.^[10] He added the little money that he had, as did his partner. The two of them made efforts to purchase tobacco, hired a cart with two horses, and set out for Krakow and Lemberg, accompanied by the good wishes of their acquaintances.

Halfway through their trip, a downpour began, drenching the ground and everything above it. The cart overturned, and all its contents were soaked and ruined. Obviously, the melamed could not continue – who would be interested in such spoiled merchandise? Shamefaced, they

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turned back to the town. They arrived at night, so as not to draw the attention of the townspeople. As they walked back into the house, the melamed said, “Oy, Moyshe, Moyshe, you've lost your money and wasted your time, and all because of me. Before we left, I forgot to tell you of my dream about a cupboard full of books that I received. I realize that I must continue being a melamed, and prepare the community's sons for life as good Jews. I will never be a merchant; teaching is my mission for the rest of my days. Moyshe, please forgive me for the damage I have caused you.”

Thus did the melamed return to teaching small boys, and he continued to do so until the end of his life in our small town in Poland.

May his memory be blessed!

His student, Yisroel Barg, in the Land of Israel.

Matisyahu (Mates) the melamed and his daughter Mindl

1. A small whip was commonly used for discipline in cheders. Return
2. Leviticus 21:11. Return
3. Kohen is the Hebrew term for male descendants of the priestly families. Return
4. A midrash on Genesis 12:5. Return
5. Traditionally, only boys may say Kaddish. Return
6. A quote from Genesis 28:20. Return
7. Melameds were stereotypically poor. Return
8. Mishna Avot, 4:5: “Do not make your scholarly knowledge a spade with which to dig.” Return
9. Present-day Lviv. Return
10. One period of vacation time in traditional Jewish schools begins immediately following Yom Kippur (10 Tishrei), and runs at least until the end of Sukkot; some schools extend the vacation until the end of Tishrei. Return

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It's a bit difficult, after thirty years away, to write down my memories of Horodlo and the Jews who called it home. In fact, I would not have written a memoir at all if Jewish Horodlo had still existed. But the terrible destruction that overtook Europe's six million members of Jewish communities, including the Jews of Poland (among them our parents, brothers, and sisters), who were all murdered by Hitler - the arch-enemy of the Jews -- and his helpers, obligates us to write down memories of our town and its beloved Jews.

May the descriptions below serve as memorials to the Horodlo community and its precious Jews, who existed and are no more.

As the month of Av drew to a close and Elul began, the air became suffused with a palpable sense of sanctity. The Jews of Horodlo shifted from their everyday existence to the sanctifying worship of God. They rose early in the morning to pray and study in the synagogue and the House of Study. At twilight, they hurried to leave their shops and businesses to take their places in the synagogue, where they would spend the evening in prayer and study until late into the night. As the time of selichot approached, the air of sanctity became more acute and pervaded the town.^[2]

I remember Leybl the chimney sweep, who played an important role during the days of selichot, a role that was quite different from his ordinary manual labor

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all year round. It was he who woke people before dawn for these special prayers in the synagogue. Which native of Horodlo does not remember Leybl striding through the dark streets, holding a large lantern in one hand and a wooden hammer in the other? He would strike three powerful blows, which would mingle with his dry, high-pitched voice as he called out, “Jews! Wake up! Come to services!” His penetrating voice would echo through the dark distance.

Flashes of light appear in the windows: the kerosene lamps are being lit in the homes of waking Jews. Adult family members rise and dress quickly so as not to miss the beginning of the service. The synagogues soon fill with devout Jews, who are simultaneously apprehensive and full of confidence and hope for the new year.

Dovid Yosef Zuberman was the regular Torah reader in the House of Study. This ordinary man was kind and honest, and would be seen all year round holding a Pentateuch, as though he were reading the weekly Torah portion and preparing to chant it in the House of Study. He was the proper, trusted person to lead prayers during the Days of Repentance. He would ready himself, covering his head and body with the tallit, and his voice would ring out in the dark: “Righteousness and justice are the basis of your throne; steadfast kindness and truth go before you.”^[3]

During the High Holy Days, especially Yom Kippur, the sense of impending sanctity expanded and strengthened. The Jews of Horodlo searched their souls and devoted most of their time to religious obligations. They cleansed and purified themselves for their heavenly father, and were confident that he who heeds prayer would accept the prayers of his people, the People of Israel.

Kalmen Nayman (or, as he was known in town, Kalmen Moyshe, the son of Baba), played a very important role during the Days of Repentance.

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He was the regular cantor in the Great Synagogue. The souls of the members of the congregation would tremble at the sound of his passionate prayers and powerful lyrical voice. Like a conductor, he would stand at the lectern, surrounded by a choir of young boys. When his mighty voice would thunder, “Happy the people who know the horn's blast,” the congregation shuddered, knowing that their cantor was a true messenger.^[4]

He would be standing at the lectern, in ecstasy; his strong, pleasing voice filled the synagogue, pleading for the people who had delegated him: “Here I am, impoverished in deeds and merit. But nevertheless I have come before You, God, to plead on behalf of Your people Israel.accept my prayer as the prayer of one who is wise and experienced.”^[5] The congregation was carried away by Kalmen's devotion and excitement. After he had finished the Mussaf prayers, the congregation was clearly impressed by the dedication of their local cantor, whom they greatly appreciated.^[6]

Kalmen Nayman and his family

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Guests in Town

The face of Hershl, the cart driver, beams even more than usual. He devotes extra attention to his horses and cart, taking care of every detail. He harnesses the horses and drives happily to the train station: important guests are coming today.

“Giddy-ap!” his voice resounds, galvanizing the horses. His voice echoes in the distance. The horses obey him, and he's sure he'll arrive at the station on time. And, indeed, he soon returns with the important guests, who had been away from town all summer. They had been in Warsaw and Lódz on business, and were returning home for the High Holidays. As the cart appears in the marketplace, the Jews of Horodlo come to the doors of their shops and houses, and inspect the guests.

Here is the imposing, aristocratic figure of Leybl Zavidovich, with the heavy valises that contain holiday gifts for his household and his extended family. His wife Zissele comes out to greet him, with great joy and respect. Here is Moyshe-Mendl Valach, the great scholar with his patrician face; here are the handsome Eliezer Tsung and the knowledgeable and Enlightened Leybl Kulish, as well as many others.^[7]

The appearance of these important visitors and their return home after an absence creates the impression of good news, elevates the town above its ordinariness, and adds charm and glamour.

On the eve of Rosh Hashanah, preparations for the holiday intensify and are felt throughout the town. Women are busy baking challahs and sweets, and cooking the holiday dishes. The wonderful fragrance pervades the entire market. The men clean their holiday attire, shine their shoes, and offer to help their busy wives, all before they go to the mikvah (bath-house) for purification in the ritual bath.^[8]

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Moyshe the Mikvah (Bath-House) Attendant

Moyshe, the bath-house attendant, is especially busy. Early in the morning of the day before the holiday, he begins to fill the ritual bath with clean spring water, after draining it of the water that previously filled it. Moyshe stands with the wooden bucket in the dim early light and pours the fresh water contents into the wooden trough that connects with the pure ritual bath. Drawing water takes many hours: again and again, he pulls the heavy bucket up and empties it into the trough, until the ritual bath is full. Then, he prepares the steam room by heating up the stones on the large oven. The first Jews start to come in late morning, to bathe and purify themselves for the holiday.

One of the busiest men in town before a holiday is Zelig, the synagogue manager. With his long, black, aristocratic beard, he evokes respect. Zelig was an integral part of the Horodlo scene, who was respected by everyone.

For years, he had taken upon himself an important community role: seeing to the good order and cleanliness of the Great Synagogue. He carried out this responsibility faithfully, and would personally polish the large, heavy lamps, as well as clean and refill the barrel of water for ritual hand-washing. He did not rest until the entire synagogue was spotless and gleaming

with light and tidiness. He also remembered to prepare drinks and treats for the synagogue Kiddush on Saturdays.^[9] “Have a drink, enjoy yourselves!” he would say graciously, “Le Chaim, folks. To life!” and his face would shine with joy.

Woe is us! All these dear, innocent ones were murdered by the Nazi killers (may their names be blotted out). May the holy memory of the community and its martyrs live forever!

Translator's Footnotes

1. The Jewish month of Elul immediately precedes the High Holy Days, and is a time of introspection and repentance. Return
2. Selichot (Hebrew for pardon or forgiveness) are penitential prayers recited before and during the Ten Days of Repentance from Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur. Return
3. The talit is a prayer shawl. The verse is from Psalms 89:15. Return
4. Psalms 89:16. Return
5. This prayer is traditionally recited, in the first person, by the cantor prior to the Musaf (or additional) service on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. The cantor engages in a personal dialogue with God, asking for his prayers to be received favorably, despite any personal shortcomings. Return
6. Mussaf is the series of prayers that follows the morning service. Return
7. The Jewish Enlightenment movement was an intellectual movement, mainly among the Jews of Central and Eastern Europe (1770s-1881). It advocated against Jewish reclusiveness, encouraged the adoption of prevalent attire over traditional dress, while also working to diminish the authority of traditional community institutions such as rabbinic courts and boards of elders. It pursued a set of projects of cultural and moral renewal and the adoption of modern values, while working towards an optimal integration in surrounding societies. Other goals were economic production and the taking up of new occupations. The movement promoted rationalism, liberalism, relativism, and enquiry, and is largely perceived as the Jewish variant of the general Age of Enlightenment. Return
8. The Mikvah is a ritual bath used by religious Jews to fulfill for ritual purification. Return
9. A synagogue Kiddush is a blessing over wine said following Saturday morning services at synagogue, which often becomes a communal gathering with food and drink. Return

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Let me tell you about the life of Yitzchok Saller (may his memory be for a blessing). You will most likely wonder why I chose to describe the life of this Yitzchok, rather than that of any other resident of our town. I can say that I'm doing this because he was my closest neighbor, whom I knew better than anyone else in the town. I saw him often, and was familiar with his difficulties in making a living. I'm qualified to do it, as I lived next door to him for over twenty-five years.

He was middle-aged, tall and thin, with a sparse blond beard. A Jew like all others, honest and decent, with a pure, virtuous soul. All day long, he would roam through the villages around Horodlo, trying to sustain his family. He would buy some wheat or barley from a peasant, some pigs' bristles, or the skin of a calf, and sell it. He was also a tobacco dealer, and kept a goat at home for milk. In short, he was a poor Jew, like most of the Jews in town.

He would be on the street from early morning until late at night, with his coat unbuttoned, his naked torso exposed. He liked to sing a Hasidic melody, clearing his throat loudly afterwards and saying, “Oy, God, my God! What will we do? After all,

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we need to prepare for Shabbat, and we need to stay alive until Shabbat too. There's not a penny in the house. On top of everything else, the High Holy Days are nearing, and afterwards – the long, cold winter. The children run around in tattered clothes and worn-out shoes. Oy! What can I do? Who can understand God's will? ‘He punishes those he loves.’”^[1] This was his refrain as he walked the streets.

He would rarely speak to anyone. Only two people were familiar with his moods, and to them he would pour out his bitter heart. They were Mendl Lerner and Note, Zissele's son. He would have scholarly conversations with them, and argue over a difficult point of law. They would also share their opinions about their business ventures: the price of wheat is rising, barley is cheaper, tobacco is in short supply, and so forth.

I knew him well. A glance at his face would tell me whether he had earned enough that day to sustain his family. If God had helped him to earn something, he would walk up to me with a smile, asking, “Well, Melechl, have you taken a dip in the river today?^[2] How are things going?” And I would answer with a smile, “Well, Yitzchok, why are you smiling? What's the happy occasion?”

He would answer, “Oh, you're too young. When a Jew earns something to keep going, with God's help, he needs to rejoice.” This would be followed by a Hasidic tune hummed under his breath. But his greatest joy was on Shabbat when he was well supplied. On such occasions, he would dress in his Shabbat coat and black velvet cap, comb his reddish beard, and go to pray in the Radzin small synagogue.

He had a wife, named Chashe, and three children: Moyshele (who was deaf, may God preserve us!), Shmulik,

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who also had a physical problem – he had a constant eye infection. As Melech could not afford medical care, he couldn't help his child. His small daughter, Rochele, was healthy.

Now I would like to tell you about several misfortunes that befell to Yitzchok Saller. One sad event happened on a hot summer day. His only goat died, and he began sobbing, “Oy, what will we do now? We have lost half of our household's livelihood! At least our children had a bit of milk, and I could sell some milk as well.” I could see gloom spreading over his face, and his hair starting to go gray.

Another tragic event that made a great impression on me was after the High Holidays. Signs of the oncoming winter were beginning to appear. It was starting to rain, and the sky was covered with heavy clouds. One day at dawn, when the town was asleep, we heard terrible screams from the direction of the river. I got up and ran towards the river breathlessly. When I came to the river, I saw a dreadful scene: Yitzchok Saller and a Gentile were standing neck-deep in the water, holding a heavy sack, each pulling one side in order to take it from the other. When Yitzchok saw me, he started yelling with all his might, “Melechl, save me!”

When I began shouting ‘Gevald’ and calling for police help, he begged me, “Don't yell, just help me take the sack from the Gentile. You know that the contents of the sack are secret. They are my entire livelihood, my flesh and blood.”

To tell the truth, although I knew that the sack was full of

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tobacco, Yitzchok's sole source of income, I truly did not want to go into the water. Instead, I picked up a large stone and began to threaten the Gentile, shouting,

“Either you drop the sack or I'll kill you on the spot!” Hearing the commotion, several Jews came up. The Gentile dropped the sack and fled across the river in his fishing boat. We grabbed the sack, which was full of tobacco and heavy with the weight of the water it had absorbed, and started off towards Yitzchok's house. On the way, he asked me to take the sack into our shop rather than to his house. He was sure that the police would eventually search his house, and would confiscate the tobacco if they found it, cutting off his source of livelihood. In addition, he would be sentenced to several years in jail. We hauled the sack into our shop, concealing it in rags and wood chips. I asked him, “How did you get into this situation?”

He answered, “A peasant from the neighboring village came to me and said that he wanted to buy thirty kilos of tobacco. We decided on the price, and he said he would pay me after I helped him take the sack to his boat, which was on the river. He knew I would not call for help, because I was prohibited from dealing in tobacco. Obviously, he wanted to rob me.

“Yitzchok continued: ‘I'll tell you the truth. If it had been my money alone, I wouldn't have risked my life for the sack. But I'm using other people's money, people who gave me loans.’ A single thought flashed through my mind: ‘God,

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where will I get the money to pay off the loans? I don't even have a spare penny in the house!’”

This is how Yitzchok Saller, the fine young man, who had never done anything wrong, a delicate person who would not bother even a fly on the wall, who was silent about his hunger so that the town would not discover the extent of his hardships, who never wanted to take charity, whom the whole town called “Yitzchok Rooster,” who did not mix with others and was not interested in politics and current events – this person exhibited incredible bravery and courage in his final hour.

When war broke out in 1939, and the Nazi boot trampled Poland, killing our town of Horodlo among other communities, our Yitzchok's situation was miserable. He had no hopes, and was resigned to his fate. The edict struck him like a thunderclap on a clear day. He had not a penny in his pockets. Doing business was impossible, as it was prohibited by the Nazis. He walked around in a depression, saying, “What will happen to us? How will we find a way out of these troubles? The Nazis certainly won't let us do business. Earning money is impossible. Where will I find food for my children?”

At this point, he couldn't imagine that the Nazis would not only demand money from the Jews, but their dearest possession, their lives.

As he saw people fleeing the town, he would ask his wife, “Well, Chashe? What do we do now? Where do we run? True, we still have about 200 kilos of barley and a bit of tobacco. But how long can we live on that? And what will we do when that is finished?”

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“Of course, we'll die of hunger. Wouldn't we be better off if we moved to a different town, where there are more Jews?”

His wife would reply, “Well what can I say. You're a man, after all. How would I know what we should do? I think we shouldn't leave our house. What will we do on the roads? It's hard to be wanderers, dragging our children with us. We worked so hard to get this house – should we now just abandon it? You know about the lives of the Gentiles around here. They know us; they know that we have no money. We don't need to run. The idea makes no sense, and won't help us.”

He would then pucker his forehead and say, “How would I know? You might be right. Where would we run? Winter is coming. God might help us, and peace will come to the world. Maybe! But if things get worse, we'll leave in summer.”

But the future showed that neither fleeing nor remaining could help save the Jews. Their bitter end had already been sealed, as we, the survivors of Horodlo, now know.

When the Nazis burst into Horodlo, the Gentiles were their best and truest friends. We suffered the same fate as everywhere in Poland.

The worst and most hostile Gentiles included the three Marczianik brothers (may their names be blotted out), the three Sarabakwicz brothers (may their names be blotted out), Bjanek Danczek, and especially the vile, heartless Zygmunt Szimnicki. These, and others, found great pleasure in robbing the unfortunate Jews of the town. They would go to Jewish homes and say, “Listen, I can make sure that you won't have to

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work for the Germans. Well, for a price, of course.” Another time, they would say, “The Jews will be transported out of here today. Give me such and such an amount, and I won't show them your hideout.” Or they would say, threatening, “Give me this much, or I will tell them where you hide your merchandise.”

This was how, leech-like, they systematically sucked out the money and blood of the Jews.

That was when Zygmunt Marczianik came to Yitzchok Saller, saying:

“Yitzchok! Give me tobacco!”

Yitzchok would reply, smiling at first, “You want tobacco – where would I get you tobacco? You know that I haven't had any tobacco since the Germans arrived.”

But the Gentile insisted, as his eyes sparkled with the robber's gleam, “Listen, Yitzchok, I know where you hide your money and your gold, and your tobacco, as well. You're rich.”

“Dear Zygmunt, what are you saying! How would I have money and gold? You know that I'm a poor Jew and have always worked hard to make a living, especially these days.”

Zygmunt answered, gnashing his teeth angrily, “If that's the case, I'll bring the Nazi police right now. They'll discover all of it and you'll never see the light of day again. You'll go where many of your brothers have gone – straight to Paradise.”

Yitzchok considered this threat for a bit, and said,

“All right, Zygmunt. I have some from before, about a hundred grams. You know that I need it, too. Take some, and leave some for me. There's no food. Let me smoke, at least.”

His wife sat in a corner while the children

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buried their heads in her apron, crying. Hearing the conversation, she spoke to her husband, weeping: “Yitzchok, don't give him any, or there'll be no end to it.”

Let me note that these were daily occurrences. Each Gentile found “his” Jew, whom he would exploit like a blood-sucking parasite.

And the end came. One day in Nissan, Zygmunt walked into Yitzchok Saller's house with a Nazi policeman, with the following announcement:

“Yitzchok! We've been ordered to search your house, as we've been told that you possess gold and money. Give it to us willingly; if not, your end is near.”

Naturally, this caused a panic. Heartrending cries came from the children, who clung to their mother. Yitzchok tried to show that he had no money or gold, and that he made a living only thanks to the generosity of his Gentile neighbors. Zygmunt (may his name be blotted out) began the search violently, tearing up the bedding, breaking the furniture and even the oven.^[3] Finally, when he seemed to have given up on searching the rooms, he turned to the policeman, saying, “Stay in the room and make sure the wife and children don't remove anything.”

He then addressed Yitzchok imperiously, smiling devilishly, though his face was crimson with anger: “You, take me into the warehouse!”

When they entered the warehouse, Zygmunt began angrily and wildly kicking and breaking everything within reach. Once again, he found nothing. Then he began to demolish the floor.

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At that moment, the embarrassed Yitzchok turned as pale as a sheet. Apparently, the Gentile was breaking open the floorboard that concealed the tobacco and barley that Yitzchok was keeping as a last resort. When he saw the Gentile bent over the floor, breaking up the boards, he realized that this was his last hour, and there was no escape. He and his family were facing death.

Without a thought, Yitzchok caught up the heavy stones on the weighing pans of his scales, and, mustering all his strength, began to strike the head of the bending man vigorously until it split, and the blood gushed out. The Gentile apparently died instantaneously. The wounded lion, Yitzchok – whose first reaction to the sight of blood was shock–leaped up agilely, leopard-like, and burst into the house as swiftly as an eagle. Before the Nazi policeman could react, he wrenched the rifle out of his hands and struck him with the butt.^[4] The German swayed for a moment and fell face down, with blood pouring from his mouth. Quick as lightning, Yitzchok sprang upon him and stabbed him with the rifle's bayonet.^[5] With the same agility, and fueled by a sense of revenge, he yelled to his family, “Come!”

He ran to the river, apparently intending to cross it and so save his family and himself, never looking back. His family ran with him. When they came to the river, he impulsively grabbed his wife and children, and hurled them into the water, knowing that none of them could swim. Yet it must have seemed the only way to rescue them. He then threw himself into the river.

That was how Yitzchok Saller and his family were murdered.

May their memory be blessed!

Translator's Footnotes

1. Proverbs 3:12. Return
2. Attaching “l” at the end of a name signifies a diminutive, and can be a sign of affection. Return
3. The oven may have been the old-fashioned type, made of bricks. Return
4. The description of Yitzchok's movements is traditional, and taken from the exhortation in Mishna Avot 5:20, “Be strong as a leopard, and swift as an eagle, and fleet as a gazelle, and brave as a lion, to do the will of your Father who is in heaven.” Return
5. The rifle was most likely a Karabiner 98, which has a knife bayonet attached. Return

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