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It seems that memories, the bad and the good, the pleasant and the sad, which at one time were the essence of one's life and grey everyday existence-often come back magically from the depths and appear newly radiant, unreal , not quite the reality of things past.

I recall some of the characters who inhabited my past, in that town both near and far, where I grew up, Koło, or as we called it , Koil, on the banks of the Varta in far-off Poland.

When I was still almost a child, on Shabbat and holidays I would follow my father to the “Shteibel”(prayer-hall) of the Gur Hassidim, in the short alley that led to the “Mikveh”(ritual bath), in the two-storey building that housed the oil-press of Rabbi Wolf Brockstein, there I first saw him. I still recall him standing motionless between the “Aron-Kodesh” (Torah cupboard) and the window. In the “Shmone-Esreh” (Eighteen) prayer Rabbi Wolf the Hassid stood like a statue. I as a child would look at the Hassidim at prayer and note their varied expressions, that ranged from the funny, or the ecstatic to the indifferent. But always my gaze returned to Rabbi Wolf.

As I remember him, he was short, an aged youth, his face that of an ascetic, furrowed, pale red, with a sparse grey beard. But it was not his outward appearance that gripped me. He had the quiet power of an ancient statue, his eyes shut, his eyelids quivering with passionate prayer, his lips hardly moving.

Who was he and what did he do? I do not know, but my father would sometimes speak of him:

As my father described him he was a sort of “Paul” or missionary of the Hassidim in our little town, daring in his youth to bring the message of the Baal-Shem-Tov ( a famous Jewish mystic) to a town which was all “Misnagedim” (opponents of mysticism). He was the first to set up a circle of Hassidim among the Talmud students and sons of the wealthy, including my father -whose own father was a “Misnaged” Rabbi-and who in the “Bet Hamidrash” (religious academy) taught ( between the Minha and Maariv prayers), not Hassidism but “The duties of the Heart” by Rabbi B. Ibn-Pakudah, the Sephardi sage.

In outward appearance he was the very opposite of the other. Tall and thin, like a dried “lulav” (palm-frond used at Sukkot). His inner essence- to use Hassidic parlance -was also different. He was lively, aware, in his speech and prayer. His hands and body moved strongly and his prayer like his speech was powerful and aggressive.

As I recall he would pinch children's cheeks and call them “sheigetz” (Yiddish: naughty).

His livelihood came from a little shop in an old wooden shack, with a tiled roof covered in moss. Apart from yeast for Shabbat Hallah bread-that housewives bought on Thursdays, I don't think he sold anything. Rabbi Yohanan was no businessman.He spent his days and nights in the Shteibel studying Torah and praying, or chatting with the Hassidim. The shop was run by a round plump woman with a broad scarf on her head that almost covered her eyes.

Rabbi Yohanan and Rabbi Wolf were childhood friends, now both elderly and revered by their Hassidic followers, like in the stories of Y.L . Peretz.

In his youth Rabbi Yohanan helped his friend in preaching the ideas of Hassidism.

I well remember the night when the Hassidim got the sad news that the Rabbi of Gur had died. They gathered at the Shteibel, and with them was my father. They sat on the floor , mourning in a fearful silence, broken only by quiet sobs.

Suddenly the door opened and in staggered Rabbi Yohanan, supported by two young hassidim. He sat on the floor, raised his arms to heaven and began crying bitterly, filling the room with wild lamentation.

He was not a rabbi, nor a “Mr”, neither a Hassid nor a bible scholar, but unlike many Jews he was a Zionist intellectual.

Those were times of searching and questioning, of rebellion and renewal in Jewry. Jewish boys who went from the “Heder” to the “Beit Midrash”, listened in awe to the changes around them. They heard of the Russo-Japanese war, of pogroms and revolution (what were they?), of words like Haskalah, Bund, Zionism etc.. and amid all their arguments and shouting one heard the raised voice of Moshe Kott.

When I was a bit older and already knew the meaning of words like Bund and Zionist I would creep secretly into a room where the Zionists had their meetings and there got to know Moshe Kott.

He spoke quietly, dispassionately, but conveyed his message with the passion of a Hassid. It was exciting stuff: we learned of Hibbat-Zion, of settling in the Land of Israel, of people like Rabbi Zvi Hersch Kalischer, of Drs Pinsker and Lilienblum, of a gifted writer called Ahad Haam, of the Bilu movement, of the charitable Baron Rothschild, and about the farming colonies - and our young hearts filled with yearning for that distant place. Then we learned of Zionism and Herzl, and our meetings would end with the lusty singing of Hatikvah, often accompanied by Moshe Kott on the violin, We treasure those memories.

The man himself was just an ordinary Jew.

He wore the same shabby black kapote, a black hat drawn over his eyes. Of medium height, broad-shouldered, a short reddish beard, that was his appearance. What was he like as a person? How did he contend with his poverty-stricken surroundings? Who knows?

He had a small shop by the river where he sold leather and shoes. His wife was tall and big, but childless. When she died, he remarried and had sons and daughters. But the economic hardships he faced left him little time or energy for Zionism, Herzl and the dream of the colonies.

The years passed and our studies took us away from the Beit Midrash as well as from the early Zionism of Moshe Kott.

In later years I saw him occasionally, white-haired now, leading a child by his almost empty shop, and wordlessly saying, please God, I shall yet raise the young.

He was a “melamed”(tutor), but not like just any other teacher. He was – for his time – “modern,” and “progressive” and many called him Mr Shaladowski, because he was more of a teacher than an old-fashioned “melamed”.

He was short and thin, enveloped in a black kapote reaching his ankles, unlike the kapotas of “progressives”. He wore a black hat like a traditional Jew. His beard was short and sparse, in brief: just another poor thin Jew… So how then was he also “modern”? – thanks to his insistence on grammar and exegesis.

He was the only melamed in town who led his pupils through the intricacies of Hebrew grammar, with a Polish-Lithuanian accent. His Bible class taught not only the traditional Rashi commentary but also the new interpretations of Moses Mendelssohn of Berlin. Some of the parents were uneasy but they let him prepare their children for Bar Mitzvah nonetheless.

He was modest and introverted. His voice was soft, his rhetoric muted. He took care not to offend, and was strictly observant, avoiding all contact with the Zionists.

The writer was a teenager when he first met this tutor, who treated him like an adult.

One evening after classes he was invited to the home of his teacher., who lived in a small room with a large table, two benches and a cupboard full of books. There were writings of the Haskalah (Enlightenment) movement, books of poetry and much more. All of them neatly wrapped and marked with his Ex Libris in careful handwriting.

For our melamed was also a poet. He would sit in his lonely room and pen verses, often didactic in form, in imitation of the great Jewish poets. He was also a Bible scholar, and consulted a German commentary, not one in Yiddish.

I heard that he spent his last years on Mt Carmel (Haifa) and was buried there.

But what of the Jews of Poland he taught? They were all swept away by the tempest…

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The righteous man from Koło , Rabbi Shloyme Rotfeld was not referred to in town as “Rabbi” but as “The Good Jew”. Such a name suited him with a small addition: the beautiful Jew. His majestic splendid face, his entire demeanor, from head to toe possessed a lot of charm and drew attention. His pale face with his brown eyes, his wide flowing beard and curly sidelocks were engraved in memory. Always tidy, without the smallest stain on his clothes, as if he were a great pedant on his outward appearance. If outwardly he was like this, it was a sign that within he was pure.

On the street, when he would appear, he wore a lovely wide coat and, on his head, a shtreiml (a round hat edged with fur). He carried a walking stick with a sliver handle. At home he was also fastidious about his clothes: he was always wrapped in a brown silk dressing gown. He paced back and spoke, informally, to his Hasidim (followers). They often thought he was talking to himself, encouraging those present and himself.

On all complaints to God and to him on the part of those embittered and depressed, he would respond with mild, soft words. One had to have a heart of stone to oppose him. Worries would disappear, fears would vanish and a stone would be lifted from your heart. His glance really hypnotized and lured.

Reb Shloyme lived in the old marketplace, at Moishe Vroneh's, the fabric dealer. His apartment was “close to heaven”, on the third floor. Two of the rooms in his dwelling served as a House of Prayer, one for men and one for women. The other two, were for, may they be spared the evil eye, his large family.

He had few Hasidim, in total one hundred. Half were in Koło and the rest in the vicinity and across the ocean. The further away his Hasidim were, the more they respected him. They remembered him

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on holidays when the postmen brought him their gifts.

He was far from being provided with a livelihood. His means of support, barely, with great difficulty and debt somehow got him by, however, he was far from poverty. Once, a Hasid with “a long tongue”^[1] askedd: “Rebbe, why do you not show us miracles?” He replied: “The fact that I support such a large family, may they be spared the evil eye, isn't that a miracle?”

Reb Shloyme did not make a fuss about himself. He did not turn over worlds nor engage in Jewish mysticism. He spoke with his Hasidim about everyday matters and his best teachings was the advice he offered. He had a clear head. Anyone who came to him once, remained his Hasid forever.

The Hasidim in Koło were simple people. I will list a few of them: Shmuel Stal (owner of a Bakery), Kharap, Avrom Yisroel Tchaynik (a buckwheat maker), the blind Yakov Tzorndorf, the brothers Mendl-Yakov and Shmuel Himl, Yekusiel Roznberg, Yisroel Tchaplitsky, Gotlibovsky, Mendl Arkovitch, Mendl Shtern, Wolf Kenig, Tuvyieh Vilfret. The last ones were his prayer leaders.

It was not difficult to visit Reb Shloyme. One did not have to send a petition to be a follower through the beadle as they did in the large Hasidic courts in Ger, Skernevitz and Alexander. If someone had a heavy heart, he would go straight the “Good Jew”. They would tell him everything from A to Z, not counting the words, trusting him as you would a good friend.

In 1934, after my father's death, I went up to see him. His friendly and good-natured welcome alleviated my pain. Before I had a chance to say anything he said: “You lost a father and I lost a Hasid (a follower), we are both mourners…

The most beautiful times with this “good Jew” were Sabbaths and holidays. There was so much joy and confidence. From where did he take this? His Hasidim gained strength and courage from this which helped them deal with the difficult week days.

His praying was a part of his splendor. Standing at the synagogue lectern as a community spokesman, he said the prayers clearly, as if he was talking to

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the Master of the Universe. His reading of Hebrew was fluid, stressing every blessing and plea. In many prayers he inserted heart, and many times, after praying he fainted.

Saturday night, at the third ritual meal, two bottles of beer were brought from the tavern keeper. The Hasidim took care of the food, especially Shmuel Stal. They drank the beer fairly, not distributed according to the sum which each one contributed. Some gave more and others gave less but everyone was treated as equal brothers. At the third ritual meal, they sang without stopping. They forgot and healed until late, even until midnight. That is when they prayed the evening prayer.

From the Sabbath one can learn what took place on holidays like Purim, Passover, Shavuot and Sukkot. On the high holidays the crowd was big. The “good Jew” was also different, in a higher spiritual world.

On the eve of the holidays, people sent the Rebbe gifts. The poorest of the poor did not skimp on a groschen and bought something to please Reb Shloyme. If a Hasid had a good “season” the Rebbe and his household would be satisfied as well.

Rarely did he go visit his Hasidim in the surrounding towns. Once a year he went to Tchekhotshinek to the baths. He did not have enough money to travel abroad.

The righteous Reb Shloyme had a large family. His eldest son, Moishele, had a sharp mind but was far from being a prodigy. The other children, youngsters. When I left, they were still small children.

The Rebbetzin, his wife, was a true helpmate. Without a maid, without financial means, she raised ten children. The house was always clean. You did no see worry on her face. She was a good friend to the wives of the Hasidim, providing a lot of comfort.

I will describe her: a small young married woman with a beautiful wig on her head, a cover for a religious Jewish woman. She was always pale, however her speech was determined and filled with confidence. Her neighbours were glad to know her because she tore down worlds in order to keep peace among them.

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More than Reb Shloyme needed his Hasidim, they needed him. When his Hasidim were expelled from town he went to Warsaw with his family. For a while he suffered in the ghetto^[a] and perished in one of the gas chambers.

One of his sons was saved. During the war he went from Vilna to China and from there to America.

The last years in Koło were difficult and more than one “good Jew” was needed in order to hear a good word of comfort to alleviate the troubles.

The monument built over the grave of the Rabbi from Koło Picture by Sh. A. Shlezinger

Original Footnote

1. See the article by Khaim-Eliezer Shultz. Return

Translator's Footnote

1. An idiom which means he is unable to do what he claims. Return

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