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The union “Histadrut Mizrachi” was founded as early as 1914 by members Yitzchak Baruch Barij, Yosef Wasser, Nachman Pfeffer, Yosef Pess, Feibel Glazer, Yitchak Leib Goldscheider, and Lipa Steinwurzel. Subsequently, the Zionist association “Kadima” was founded in 1918 with Mordechai ben Aharon Schwarzwald serving as its chairman and Yechezkel Enreich as his deputy. The branches of the youth movements of “HaShomer HaTzair,”, and “Gordonia,” were established later. A Hebrew school was also established where the teachers Karp, Shechter, and others taught.

During the final stages of the First World War, self-defense forces were established to protect against gangs affiliated with the warring armies and other antisemitic hooligans. These defense forces used both legal and illegal weapons. Following the Balfour Declaration, which called for establishing a national Jewish home in Eretz Israel, spontaneous expressions of joy erupted throughout the town, culminating with a large celebration that filled the town with a festive spirit. Jewish homes and windows were tastefully decorated, and blue and white national flags were raised throughout the town. Children dressed in holiday attire adorned with blue and white ribbons, held the national flag and paraded from the gathering place to the synagogue. The synagogue was adorned inside and out for the occasion. Inside, the chandeliers and candles were elegantly draped with blue and white ribbons, All told, the decorations took two days to complete. A representative of the Polish government was invited to attend the celebration in honor of the Balfour declaration.

The celebratory speaker was Reb Yosef Wasser, who spoke in both Yiddish and Polish. Everyone was convinced that we had already taken possession of Eretz Israel.

In 1922, a Polish high school was established in our city and named after the estate owner Badeni. This milestone allowed the youth to acquire a general education in an organized manner.

In 1926, a group of members broke off from the General Zionists which was led at that time by Zelig Kranz. They began to organize themselves within the “HeChalutz” [a labor affiliated movement]. The first members of this group were Yaakov Leider, Reuven Kranz, Moshe Letzter, Shmuel Katz, Meir Barach, Naphtali Barach, Mordechai Weissman, and others.

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In 1928, the first group left for a Hachshara [agricultural training for pioneers] in Bielsko. The following members participated in that group: Yaakov Leider, Moshe Letzter, Reuven Kranz, Mordechai Miller, Mordechai Weissman, Yona Barach (Miller), Ada Meir, Tzigma, and Rivka Menaker. In that same year, the first pioneers from the city made Aliyah: Barish Ecker, Yidl Zigman, David Klein, and Tzvi Shraga.

In 1929 when the riots in Eretz Israel erupted and Arabs attacked and rioted in the Jewish settlements, all of us youths became agitated and wanted to go and aid those in the Jewish settlements. The following members made Aliyah then: Yaakov Leider, Moshe Letzter, Reuven Kranz, and Tzipora Shraga. In Eretz Israel, they joined a “Hitachdut” group organized in Rehovot. One of them, Yaakov Leider, was forced to return to the diaspora for personal reasons. He remained there until after the Holocaust.

First [back] row, from right to left: Brunn Altzi, Gertwagen, Letzter Sara, Adler Malka, Laszczower, Miller Sheva, Brunn Pnina, Ehrenwert Mania and Konig Yaakov Second row: Chamish, Szargel Breindl, Samet Malka, Barak Zipora, Ober Rivka, Sachs Marie, Chaya Samet, Weissman Shoshana, Barasch Tzevia and Weinberger Batya Third row: Weissman Mordechai, Wasser Rafael, Aszkenazi Ester, Menaker Rivka, Meir Ada, Kranz Reuven, Letzter Moshe, Leider Yaakov, Schapira and Charap Isser Fourth [front] row: Szargel Avraham, Orenstein Selig, Szargel Sara, Letzter Israel, Rakower Yaakov, Itzhak Laszczower and Ecker Leib

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In 1928, a branch of the youth wing of the “Mizrachi,” known as Bnei Akiva, was also established in the city. Its goal was to educate in both work and the Torah. The pioneering youth in town initiated, organized, and supported all the Zionist activities in the city and prepared for the struggles for the salvation of the Jewish nation. We should note that there were no branches of the extremist movements, like the “Bund” and the Communists in our town. Everyone worked toward the common goal of national salvation within their own movement; and, as a whole, they created a unified front operating in complete harmony. Nearly all the youth learned the Hebrew language, and various cultural and sports activities were organized, including the establishment of a drama club and a significant public library.

Hebrew school “Tarbut” in Radekhov – the teachers: Karp and Schechter Dvora In the photo: “Tarbut” Hebrew School in Radekhov – class 1 grade 2 – 5694 [1933/4]

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his grandfather, Reb Shlomo Elimelech, was a sofer ST”M [scribe] about whom S.Y. Agnon said that the prominent people of his generation would only put on tefillin if it were inscribed by Reb Shlomo Elimelech. He also added that [Rabbi] Shmelke Shapira, a relative of his, was the son of the ritual slaughterer from Toporov [Toporiv].

The Zionist youth of “Achva” On the banner: …will redeem Eretz Yisrael, then Eretz Yisrael will redeem the people of Israel

The Hebrew school continued to operate until 1939.

Additionally, a school affiliated with the “Agudat Israel” party operated in the Husiatyn kloiz. For many years, lessons on the Talmud's daily page were held there, with about 20-30 participants daily.

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Zionist youth movements in Radekhov Top row, from left to right: 1) Malka Friedman 2) Ester Czop 3) Rachel Steinberg 4) Lushi Kratz 5) Gila Friedman 6) Zippora Samet 8) Scheindel Kupferschmidt 10) Falik 11) Velti Sigal 13) Sara Gerber Schwarzenberg 14) Chatzl Weitzberg 15) Gertwagen Genia 16) Moshe Baranenko 18) Ester Distenfeld 19) Perl Kupferschmidt 20) Aharon Sternberg 21) Feige Lozik 22) Yosef Barij 23) Mindel Drucker 24) Kahane daughter of Shimon 25) Ettel Grunschpan 26) Duni Ecker 27) Grunschpan Ettel 28) Golde Zehner 29) Liba Charap 30) Shimon Barij 31) Golde Laszczower 31) Natan Barach 32) Nunia Gertwagen 33) Tema Schrage 34) Ecker daughter of Tzvi Arye 35) Ester Distenfeld 36) Michel Schrage 37) Chava Barij Editor's note: number 31 is mistakenly repeated twice

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Standing, from right to left, first row: Kurzer Henia, Sandel Rivka, Weitzberg Chetzel, Taschme Chana Second row: Schrage Rivka, Windbeutel Lea, Goldscheider Ester, Weiss Ester, Schwarz Gila Third row: Menaker Rivka, Wasser Scheindel, Weissman Lea, the Hebrew teacher, Kurzer Toltzi, Czop Ester, Schorr Rachel On the poster: Hebrew School in Radekhov

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Top row, from right to left: 1) Baranenko 2) Moshe Schwarz 3) Eliyahu Zehner 4) Efraim Menaker 5) Mottel Gertwagen 6) Botknecht Avraham 7) Dov Ecker Second row: 8) Elefant Yosef 9) Mendel Kitzes 10) Pnina Brunn 11) David Ober 12) Avigdor Kleiner On the poster: Gordonia “Busli” group in Radekhov

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The rise of evil that took power in Germany in 1933 had a significant impact on the Jewish population everywhere. Economic trade decrees were implemented that were specifically designed to impoverish the Jews who primarily earned their living through trade. Propaganda urging people not to buy from Jews increased, and Polish shops were established in order to cut off Jewish businesses from their sources of income.

Top, from right to left: Ecker Elazar, Szargel Eliyahu, Menaker Chaim, Schwarz Moshe, Botknecht Avraham, Ober David, Malka Samet, Kitzes Mendel, Klejner Avigdor, Gertwagen Mottel, Kramm Poldi [Leopold], Ecker Dov, Guterman Tzvi Second row: Letzter Sara, Szargel Breindel, Alzufrom Leiber, Shoshana Weissman, Szargel Sara, Szkulnik Zelig, Brunn Elka, Sender Barach, Guterman Pepi, Barasch Tzevya, Katz Moshe Shmuel, Ober Rivka, Marie Sachs, Ecker Leib Third row: Taschme Binyamin, Weinberger Batya, Letzter Breindel, Wasser Rafael, Samet Chaya, Barach Naftali, Pepi Brunn, Isser Charap, Aharon Botknecht, Avraham Szargel, Henia Charap, Adler Malka, Miller Sheva Bottom row: Katz Ester, Zehner Mirl, Barak Binyamin, Kramm Madi [Arnold], Miller Sheva, Ober David, Elboym Michael, Windbeutel Lippa, Wasser Izio On the poster: Popular Youth Organization, 5697 (1936/7)

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The “Beitar” youth in Radekhov

The mother of the author [Chana Beila Bruck (Frisch) nee Genauer]

I was born on Passover Eve 5671 (April 10, 1911) in Radekhov to my father, Baruch, son of Izik Barach-Frisch, and my mother, Chana Beila, daughter of Yeshaya Genauer from Schtervitz.

My father was the oldest sibling, so we lived in my grandfather's home, a three-room apartment. The shop from which we earned our livelihood was shared among us. It was a grocery store that sold haberdashery items, glasswares, and windowpanes. As time went on, our family grew. I had two brothers, Chaim and Eliezer, and three sisters, Rachel, Bluma, and Dvorah. In total, 11 people lived in that apartment and made a living from the same business.

I was three years old when the First World War broke out. My family became refugees seeking shelter in a nearby village because our town was very close to the border. Since the war dragged on for years, we could not remain in that village, so we eventually returned home. By then, I had grown older and could remember the days at the end of the war. I witnessed different groups of soldiers and gangs invade the city one after the other: Ukrainians, Poles, [anti-Bolsheviks], Denikin's men [White Army], Cossacks, [Ukrainian Nationalists] Petliura's men, and others. Each group rioted, robbed and terrorized the people of the city. I will never forget Mosheleh the milkman returning from the synagogue without his beard, which the rioters had cut off, and with blood dripping as he walked hunched over, sighing.

During one of the nightmarish nights one of the gangs had inflicted on the city, gunshots rang out, and rumors spread that shops were being looted. My grandfather, Reb Izik, could not remain passive as he watched them attacking while he stayed safely at home. He decided to go to the police headquarters to demand that they restore order. Our pleas for him not to go out and put his life at risk were in vain. We tried to convince him by saying: “There is a rabbi in the city

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and a community leader. Why should you be the one to risk your life?” But he insisted. “Jews are being murdered in the streets, and I cannot just sit at home. This is unacceptable.” Without further ado, he left and headed to the police headquarters. Remarkably, a short while later, the shooting and looting stopped, and my grandfather returned home safely.

With the end of the war, people began to feel impoverished and more distressed. The “Joint” came to the rescue and sent a warehouse filled with food and clothing. The needy received a cup of hot cocoa and a roll. On Saturday, they changed the roll to a piece of cake. Clothing and shoes were also distributed to the needy. The people in the city gave my father the key to the warehouse for safekeeping. He and our neighbor, Mendel Kratz, assisted the public loyally and dedicatedly with no accounting necessary.

My father was a merchant, like many other Jews in the diaspora who did not have a profession. Unfortunately, he was not very successful due to fierce competition in the market. It is important to note that the shop needed to provide for 11 family members. As time passed, I grew older, and boys my age had already begun to assist their parents in their businesses, with some even moving to Lemberg [Lvov today–Lviv] to seek better opportunities and to earn a living there. However, I was different; I continued my studies because my mother encouraged me to do so. She wanted her sons to be educated and knowledgeable. Despite her heavy responsibilities at home, she committed to supporting my father in his business. She insisted that her older son should continue to focus on his education.

I had my main studies with the best melameds, including Reb Yoseleh and Reb Altchi. When I reached the age of bar mitzvah, I stopped attending the state school without completing it, as I was drawn to the study of Gemara and its learners. When I ceased receiving lessons from my teachers, I studied on my own in the beit midrash using the books available there. Once a week, on Thursdays, I continued to study throughout the day and night.

Throughout this time, I continued my general education studies at dawn when it was neither night nor day. My study partner, Isar Charap, would join me as we sat beneath the light of a small kerosine lamp for long hours, even in the winter when the cold seemed to penetrate our bones. We studied world history, literature, and other subjects according to the state high school curriculum.

We were usually the only dedicated learners in the beit midrash, although others also studied there. Besides me, my friends Shalom Zapun and Avraham Ober studied in the beit midrash. Avraham studied under his father, Reb Yaakov, a known scholar in town who spent his days in the beit midrash. At the same time, his sister, Ester, supported him and his large family. Another exceptional student stood out from the rest and received a teaching permit.

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His name was Yaakov Barach, and he was the same age as me. He continued his studies in the Husiatyn kloyz, associated with the Belz Chassidim. The kloyz was completed after the [First World] War. Later on, a Sh”aS Society [a group of people who studied the Mishna together] was established in the kloyz. They met to study the daily page every evening after the prayer.

Most of the youths in our town belonged to moderate Zionist organizations, and we did not have any youths in our city with extreme views. As a result, a Communist youth movement was not established in our town. With the arrival of Rabbi Yona Banner, a. youth group affiliated with the “Agudat Israel” party began to form. Among the members, Hershel, the son of Rabbi Shmelke Shapira, stood out. In those days, when I was only 16 or 17 years old, we decided to establish a new religious public library. Shapira suggested naming it after “Agudat Israel,” but I refused. We wanted to create a non-affiliated library in our apartment above the store.

My public activism began at a young age. I purchased a Zionist Shekel when I was younger than the allowable age to do so and participated in the distribution of Shekels within religious circles. I held the position of secretary of the Keren Kayemet Fund [JNF], the Shekel committee, the committee for the election to the Polish Sejm, and others. In my role as secretary of the election committee, I was arrested by the authorities, who pressured me to cease any political Zionist activity.

Zelig Krantz of the General Zionists served as chairman of all the inter-Zionist institutions while I served as secretary. I do not recall any conflicts between us and the rest of the youth movements in any area of activity. Each organization conducted its Zionist activities within its own framework, while all joint activities were achieved in complete harmony.

I began my religious Zionist activism at a young age as well. I organized the religious Zionist youth movement, which was later called “Bnei Akiva.” All of my siblings attended that movement with me. The young rabbi in the city, Rabbi Asher, fought against the movement because it hosted girls and boys together. Chaim, the rabbi's son, and the rabbi's brother-in-law opposed Zionism and used to argue with me about it at the beit midrash. From our movement, Shifra Charap participated in a Hachshara [training for pioneers] camp and later made Aliyah.

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First row in the back, from right to left: Auster Tzvi, Shechter Shimon, Bubes Dreizel, Sara Frisch, Charap Sh., Gruber Sara, Frisch Rachel, Barach Rachel, Sandel Mindel, Frisch Bluma, Falik Itzhak, Weissblatt Yehuda Second and third rows: Zeuger Israel, Frisch Moni (Chaim), Leib Mer, Ober Avraham, Raanan [Frisch] Yaakov, Knaul Dov, Ehrenwerth Shimon, Falik Moshe, Gleicher Simcha, Eliyahu son of Rachel, Zapun Shalom. The children: Lippa Frisch, Batya Bubes On the poster: Torah and Work Movement, Radekhov

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Shifra was the sister of my study partner Isar. Pnina Botknecht and Avraham Ober also participated in a Hachshara camp. Avraham later made Aliyah to Eretz Israel.

In 1932, I attended a seminar for counselors of the “Bnei Akiva” youth movement. The seminar was led by the esteemed Dr. Avraham Ovadia, who became a friend to each of us despite being much older. During this seminar, he met for the first time many of the finest members of the “Mizrachi” youth in Galicia, who later went on to achieve significant accomplishments for our nation and our homeland. Among the youth who participated in the seminar were Reb Dov Knaul from Bezhezhin [Berezhany] and his wife Shoshana, as well as Yehoshua Sadiel who was one of the founders of Kvutzat^[1] Avraham and Kibbutz Kfar Etzion, Reb Zeev Blumenzweig z”l, the head of the HaRav Kook Institute, and Reb Yaakov Rosner.

A year later, I decided to attend a Hachshara camp in Podberezhe [Paberže]. It took place on an estate owned by a Jewish proprietor named Krystynopoller. When I arrived, I met a group of pioneers headed by Shmuel Klein from Bezhezhin. A few weeks later, the group's members elected me as their leader, marking the beginning of my public service on a statewide level.

Indeed, I dedicated a considerable amount of energy to ensure that our members understood the foundations of our doctrine, the principles of Jewish thought, and appropriate moral behavior. My goal was to prepare them for adapting themselves to a communal life in Eretz Israel, which was something I personally aspired to achieve. In the winter of 5694 [1933], I was called upon to lead an industrial training group in Kosov, where we worked as carpet weavers (a profession that could not have been practiced in Eretz Israel then). For the first time in my life, I participated in a labor strike, advocating for a wage increase. The strike was called by the local weavers' union. This was the second protest initiated by our organization. The first was in Podberezhe, when the estate owner failed to honor our contract, leaving us without even the minimum earnings necessary for survival. He claimed he had no money to pay us. In Podberezhe, the workers just slowed down their work, but the owner threatened us by saying he would not issue certificates validating our attendance as Hachshara participants at his estate. Despite that threat, we remained undeterred. As a side note, I witnessed a young dog there being tied up with a chain. When I asked why they were doing this to such a young dog, they responded that if you want a dog to be able to bite, you need first to tie it up. I told myself that “dogs would not bite before being tied up.”

That was how I learned my lessons in social structures. I developed a strong sense of justice, which helped me realize that only a just regime can prevent social injustice and suffering. I came to believe a communal life based on equality is the ideal solution for humanity. Over time, I refined this idea and shared it with others I trained and educated. As a result, my friends affectionally nicknamed me “the religious communist.” This nickname, which was not meant to be derogatory, God forbid,

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later propelled me to the top leadership of the “Torah and Work” movement and “HeKhalutz HaMizarchi,”^[2] which was centered in Lvov.

In the summer of 5693 [1933], I was tasked by the movement's center to travel to Brody to give a lecture at the movement's branch. I was aware that there were many communists in Brody, but I did not anticipate that they would attempt to harass me and disrupt the lecture. When they found out where I was staying, they set an ambush and waited for me to leave so they could attack me. God intervened and brought another guest, Fishel Fisch, whose name was similar to mine. When the attackers heard the name Fisch, they mistakenly believed he was the lecturer. They assaulted him on the street, hitting him badly. At the time, he did not know why. Even now, every time we meet, he reminds me of that day and the beating he received for me. I indeed lectured at the branch on Saturday night. The communists came and interrupted me, but only by talking and not hitting.

During that time, I managed Hachshara groups, and the head of the “Bnei Akiva” movement was Yitzchak Werfel, a young and talented student. He met Rabbi Fishman-Maimon, who was visiting Galicia with his only daughter, Geula, a member of Israel's “Bnei Akiva” movement. An unbreakable connection formed between the rabbi and Yitzchak, likely at first glance. As a result of that visit, Yitzchak (now known as Yitzchak Rafael, Israel's Minister of Religions) decided to leave the diaspora and make Aliyah to Eretz Israel. I was invited by the movement's center to take over the management of the “Bnei Akiva” and “HeKhalutz HaMizrachi” movements in Galicia.

From 5694 [1935] through 5699 [1939], until the exact day that Second World War broke out, I stood guard in my position. After two years of service, I expressed my desire to make Aliyah. However, my friend, Dov Knaul, at the Kvutzat Avraham in Eretz Israel, urged me to stay in my position until a replacement could be found.

The massive waves of immigration to Eretz Israel that occurred in the “good years” before 1939 came to a halt. Instead of tens of thousands of entry visas [provided by the British Mandate authorities], only a few thousand and possibly just hundreds were granted. Meanwhile, the situation of the Polish Jews deteriorated as antisemitism surged, fueled by the hateful ideology of Nazi Germany. Poland prohibited Jews from exporting money for Zionist purposes. Nevertheless, the funds continued to operate, and fundraising efforts continued with the hope that permits would eventually be issued. The Zionist movement administrations, which expanded significantly during the peak of immigration, maintained their operations even when only a few hundred individuals made Aliyah instead of thousands. In addition to the Zionist funds, there was another fund

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specifically dedicated to assisting poor pioneers. Its goal was to help cover the costs of Aliyah. However, as the situation in the pioneering movement worsened and the gates to Eretz Israel closed, many pioneers stayed with the Hachshara groups for years without the opportunity to make Aliyah. This led to increased pressure on the movement's workers, as they were unable to provide visa certificates for everyone. I faced threats to my life from an individual who believed he was entitled to a certificate that I did not possess. We operated under these challenging conditions for several years.

Under these circumstances, the regular process for making Aliyah through visa certificates provided by the mandate authorities was no longer viable. We had no choice but to send people on dangerous journeys as Ma'apilim [“illegal immigrants”]^[3] Without the British Mandate certificates, this journey was fraught with risks. Consequently, the Polish movement of “HeChalutz HaMizrachi” took the initiative to organize a Ma'apilim ship that could accommodate a few hundred people. They successfully leased a ship named “Asimi” and began arranging for the Ma'apilim.

In 1938-1939, we had an in-depth discussion at the center regarding whether we should endanger the lives of pioneers on such a perilous journey. Opinions within the center were divided. Some members opposed our participation in “illegal” immigration, while others, including myself as the head of the center of “HeChalutz HaMizachi,” supported the initiative. Ultimately, we decided to send two members from the movement's center to the Hachshara's kibbutzim to gather the opinions of the members after explaining the risks associated with this type of immigration.

As a supporter of the initiative, I received positive feedback from the Hachshara groups I visited. However, other groups reacted negatively when the center's representative who opposed the initiative visited with them. Ultimately, to ensure everyone's happiness, we decided to send our members to Eretz Israel in this manner. Unfortunately, this was our only ship that successfully rescued hundreds of souls from the Nazi inferno. Following the success of the first ship, we began to organize another group of members. Unfortunately, before we could complete our mission, World War II broke out, resulting in the tragic annihilation of European Jewry.

On the day the war broke out, I was in Warsaw on matters related to that second ship. I attempted to return home the following day, but it was already impossible to do so. On the way from Warsaw to Otwock, a distance of 30 kilometers, we stayed on the stopped train for 24 hours. After that, within the next 24 hours, our train was bombed by three German airplanes. We sought shelter wherever it seemed safe under the circumstances; we scattered, and each person prayed to God in their own language. We looked around to see who had survived and who had been hit. Fortunately, none of us were missing or killed, except for one individual who died of a heart attack.

At that moment, I decided, along with three other Jews, that we would no longer travel by train.

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The trains had become targets for German airplanes, and we began to make our way on foot toward the east. Exhausted, hungry, and thirsty, we dragged our feet forward. We paid tens and hundreds of zlotys for just a slice of bread. We tried to walk only at night and hide during the day. Eventually, I reached a point of utter exhaustion and asked my companions to leave me to my own fate, believing that they were stronger and could continue without me. However, they refused to leave me behind and urged me to try to walk just a little further. Summoning my last bit of strength, I dragged myself and followed them until we found water to drink. When I took one sip of water, my eyes lit up, and I felt transformed. Only at that moment in my life did I truly understand the meaning of the words “Living Water.”

This was how we ended up wandering near Lublin. We debated whether to enter the city but ultimately decided to go around it. If I remember correctly, it was in the morning before Shabbat and we had not yet managed to get far from the city when we heard the sounds of airplanes and bombs and saw columns of smoke rising from the city. Soon after, we noticed convoys of vehicles and people moving eastward toward an unknown destination.

We arrived safely in Levertov [Lubartów], where my companions stayed. At that moment, they seemed to me like angels sent from God, saving me from a certain death on the road. From Levertov, I continued on toward Belz and Sokal, until I finally arrived in my town, Radekhov, albeit with swollen and sore legs. Shortly after my arrival, the Russians came to “free” us, bringing with them massive weapons in an unending flow. To me, it appeared an indestructible force that could not be defeated.

The arrival of the communist Russians brought significant mental distress and financial hardship to a large part of the town's Jewish population; many of them relied on free trade to earn a living. Private businesses were eliminated, and the remaining inventories dwindled. The younger generation could find work in public positions, but they were compelled to work on Shabbat. Those who refused to do so struggled to make a living. I, and many others, faced a serious dilemma: how were we to support ourselves without desecrating Shabbat. My father, Reb Baruch, insisted that we not seek jobs as long as there was a slice of bread on the table. We endured this challenging situation, which grew increasingly difficult, for several months.

When the Red Army arrived, they brought along individuals from another “army.” Although dressed in military uniforms like the soldiers, these individuals were involved in civil affairs. Among them were communist Jews. Communist propagandists organized assemblies where they discussed the shortcomings of the previous regime and described the paradise that the new regime promised. They criticized nationalism and Zionism at the same time,

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and were accompanied by activists of a different ilk. No one knew what their roles were. I remember one of them who spoke Yiddish and would approach every group of people in the market, listen to their conversations, and make comments. He vehemently attacked the Zionists. As a Zionist activist, I could not register for work like everybody else. Well known among our people, I felt that every pointed remark aimed at the Zionists and their activists was directed at me. In that tense atmosphere, what could I do? I could not register for work like others, and being idle would raise suspicion that I disagreed with the new regime that was installed to “redeem” us. I endured that challenging situation for days and weeks.

One day, friends of my sister, Rachel, who participated in a Hachshara camp in Slavkov [Slawkow] with her, visited our home. They shared their plan to smuggle themselves across the border into Litah [Lithuania], which was still independent, and asked Rachel to join them. I saw this as a potential escape while it was still possible. When I discussed this idea with my parents, they expressed concern about both of us leaving the house at the same time in such an uncertain manner. They suggested that I go first, and if I found it safe, I could inform Rachel and she could join me. Following that advice, I set out first. However, before I could contact my family, a heavy curtain fell and separated me from them.

It was December 1939 (Tevet, 5700). We were part of a group of about 15 people, young men and women of “Bnei Akiva” and “HaShomer HaDati” [“The Religious Guard”]. We trudged through frozen, plowed fields on a dark, moonless night, with fear gripping our hearts, “Will we succeed? Will the border patrol catch us? Will we reach our destination?” We left with empty hands, taking nothing with us. I regretted leaving behind a good and expensive suit, so I wore two suits, one on top of the other, which left me exhausted. As we made our way, we stopped for a brief break. I felt as though I could not continue. I pleaded with my companions to leave me behind and carry on without me, allowing me to face my fate in the field. They firmly refused to do so. My dear friend, Nathan Schorr, stayed by my side and convinced me to keep going until we reached our destination. Somehow, I found the strength to press on, and after a short rest, we continued our journey.

At dawn, we were already on the other side of the border in Lithuanian territory. However, what we feared the most actually happened. The Russian patrol did not notice us, but the Lithuanian guards were more alert and ready for prey. First, they demanded that we hand over all of our cash and jewelry so they would not harm us. Under this circumstance, one gives up anything to save one's life. I had some money sewn into my suit. I removed the stitches from the seam and gave them the money. They indeed disappeared, and we sneaked unseen into the town of Eshishuk. We scattered among the houses and were sure we were safe. However, that was not the case. A short time later, the police began a house-to-house search for us. They gathered us

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at the police headquarters, where various interrogations and demands commenced. A report was filed for each one of us, and later in the evening, we were taken to trucks. We were forced to get in the trucks and then we were taken back across the border.

As we boarded the trucks, we heard the voices of the local Jewish residents, announcing: “We will free you; we will redeem you.” We could not understand the meaning of their words. Meanwhile, several trucks containing tens if not hundreds of people were lined up to travel to the Russian border. We were driven for a short time, believing that we were approaching a border crossing. The trucks stopped, and we were ordered to disembark. The trucks then returned to their original locations. After that, we also began to return to Eshishuk, each of us separately. For fear of a new arrest and expulsion, I changed my name to Freund, and using that name, I later made Aliyah to Eretz Israel.

In Eshishuk, and later, in Vilna [Vilnius] and Kovno [Kaunas], I had the privilege of getting to know the wonderful Jewry in Lithuania [known in Yiddish as Litvak Jews]. I was especially touched by the women who cared for us, the poor refugees. Their kindness and heartfelt support were indescribable and left a profound impression on me that I will never forget. As a result of these experiences, I began to see Litvak Jews in a new light.^[4] I also started to reflect on the Galician and Polish Jews, many of whom are no longer with us. This led me to question whether I and others like me would have been able to support our brothers who had come from far away. Unfortunately, that question remains unanswered to this day.

The people from Galicia and Poland gradually began to organize themselves into Hachshara groups. “HeChalutz HaMizrachi” was led by the lawyer, Zerach Warhaftig (the head of the Jewish office for immigration from Congress Poland) and others including myself. My role in that center primarily focused on education and public awareness activities. One might ask why we were putting effort into educational and informational activities when we were in a political fog and faced an uncertain future. Would we be able to leave and reach our desired destination of Eretz Israel? Describing the mood of those days is difficult. During the first half of 1940, Lithuania remained independent. Although the Red Army was present, it had yet to intervene in the country's economic life. The shops were still well stocked and had attractive window displays. As refugees, we received support from the “Joint.” We ate at affordable soup kitchens and received deliveries of clothing in good condition. The Eretz Israel office, led by Dr. Moshe Sena, did everything possible to secure certificates [transit visas] for us.

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In Eretz Israel, I later discovered that the gaon Rabbi Yitzchak HaLevi Herzog risked his own life to save distant brethren as swiftly as possible. He traveled to England for this purpose. Indeed, he ultimately succeeded in his mission. Through his efforts and those of others, the last few thousand people were saved from Lithuania before the impending tragedy that befell European Jewry.

At the beginning of the second half of 5700 [1940], the Russians orchestrated an incident in which a Russian soldier was killed in Lithuania. Clearly, the Russians could not allow such an event to happen without consequences. Subsequently, they dropped their pretense, and the Russian army fully occupied Lithuania.

A large Russian army was visible in the streets of the cities, with soldiers raiding stores and crowding around shop windows. As a result, the shops began to empty, and the streets took on their familiar Russian monochromatic appearance. Long lines started forming outside retail establishments, reminiscent of scenes in Russia itself. The refugees experienced an enormous shock. I had fled from the Russians to make Aliyah to Eretz Israel, and now, the Russians had returned for the second time and closed the gates again here in Lithuania. Could they possibly treat us any differently here compared to other countries they conquered? What should we tell our pioneering camp? Was there any glimmer of hope on the horizon for escaping this situation? I did the best I could to unite and strengthen our camp before despair could set in and scatter us. I developed various plans for what to do in the event that we were unable to leave and were forced to remain under communist rule. There are people in Israel now who were with us then in Litah and still remember my words from that time.

We made preparations and explored various ways to escape Russian rule. I want to share one of the plans I was involved in developing. We discovered that the Netherlands governed an island (I do not remember its name) that anyone could visit without a visa. Based on this information, each of us separately approached the Dutch consulate to confirm that a visa was indeed unnecessary for traveling to that island. Armed with this official verification, we then requested exit visas from the Russian authorities for our new destination, of which we had little knowledge. Many months passed without any response, negative or positive, from the Russians. During this time, the consulate closed, making it impossible to obtain additional verification documents. I was, therefore, tasked with a mission to travel to one of our movement's kibbutzim in Azuolu Buda. One of Slavkov's members, the silversmith Yaakov Mendelbaum, resided in that kibbutz.

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I gave him one of the original signed certificates and explained that I needed a duplicate certificate by the following morning.

These signed documents, created by the “Consul” Yaakov Mendelbaum, saved tens, if not hundreds, of young people from a certain death. With the help of these certificates, they were able to escape the Russians and Lithuanians and reach Eretz Israel. Today, Yaakov Mendelbaum lives in Tel Aviv, where he continues to work in his profession. These pioneers will fondly remember him.

When I was in Kovno one day dealing with the movement's affairs, I learned that the Russian authorities approved the exit visas from the country. I did not have a British visa, but I left with one of the certificates made by our “consul.” We only received the final exit visa in Moscow. When the exit visas were issued, the “Joint” paid all of the costs of our Aliyah, most likely in dollars. We were on the brink of total despair the day before, worrying about our future. But on that day, we suddenly felt free, able to make Aliyah with a Russian exit visa. We became guests of a well-known travel company called “Intourist.” From the lowest point as persecuted refugees, we arrived at luxurious hotels in Moscow, places typically reserved for high-ranking officials and officers. We did not experience a shortage of food, as we took butter, canned fish, and cheeses from Lithuania. We even managed to share some of the leftover butter with the cleaning lady, who did not know how to repay us. It was a generous gift, considering that butter was quite rare in Russia then and it still is today. The “Intourist” company organized tours in Moscow for us at no cost. We felt quite comfortable during our time there, as they took care of us day and night, arranging for famous bands to perform for us and treating us as honored guests.

Finally, the time came for us to say farewell to Moscow and travel to Kiev [Kyiv] with plans to continue on to Odessa by the Black Sea. Our ultimate destination was Eretz Israel, with a stop in Turkey. While on the train, we encountered young Red Army soldiers, some of whom seemed eager to approach us. We were a group of several hundred joyful youths, singing songs of freedom and Eretz Israel. One of these young soldiers told us (in Russian): “I do not understand a word of what you are singing but my heart is with you.”

The fear of Russia continued to loom over us. While we were tourists in Moscow, we might have enjoyed the same privileges as other visitors, but we were acutely aware that this would not protect us, especially since our ultimate destination was Eretz Israel. This meant that we identified as Zionists, holding numerous documents that detailed the lives of the pioneering movement's youth and Hachshara kibbutzim.

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These irreplaceable documents were treasures for those who had lived these lives and sacrificed their youth for the movement's ideology. The constant fear and worry that our belongings might be searched for “forbidden” things did not subside. We feared we could be arrested and removed from the train, preventing us from reaching our destination. There was no time for hesitation. I began throwing invaluable certificates, documents, and cherished pictures out of the train's window.

In the Odessa harbor, we encountered a surprise. All the harbor workers who handled our luggage on behalf of the customs authority were Jewish men and women who spoke to us in Yiddish. Even the waiter on the Russian ship that took us to Turkey was Jewish and communicated in Yiddish. We spent a week in Turkey, primarily in Kushta [Istanbul]. From there, we traveled the entire width of Turkey, moving from north to south, through tall mountains and long rivers, until we arrived in Chaleb [Aleppo], Syria. After that, we journeyed to Beirut in Lebanon and crossed into Eretz Israel at the Rosh HaNikrah border pass, eventually making our way to the city of Haifa.

Another group, which was the first to leave Litah for Eretz Israel, flew out through the Scandinavian countries. Yet another group that left after us traveled the entire length of Russia from west to east to Japan and from there traveled by various means to Eretz Israel or the United States. Dr. Zerach Warhaftig, who was with us in Litah and who led the Aliyah office, sent his brother to Eretz Israel. At the same time, he and his family elected to stay in the United States during the war, and that was where he received his doctorate degree.

After a brief stay in Haifa, I arrived at my destination: Kvutzat Avraham at Kfar Pines. This group was founded by the “Bnei Akiva” movement in eastern Galicia, and youth from “HaShomer HaDati” in Poland and Galicia joined later. Within that group, I worked at various jobs, including digging holes for citrus trees, breaking rocks for road gravel, and working at a military base in Ein Shemer. After a long day of hard work in the orchard, the owner or his manager came to inspect what I had done. To my disappointment, he asked me: “Is that all you have completed?” I had put in considerable effort, believing that producing clean and quality holes for citrus trees was the main objective, not the quantity of holes dug – something more experienced workers understood well. After experiencing this reception in Eretz Israel, I felt quite depressed.

Indeed, I was told not to return to work the following day. Only those who have experienced such humiliation can truly understand the bitter feeling of someone who came to establish himself in his homeland only to be told he was not welcome. Fortunately, I later found out that it was only one man's opinion. Later, in another orchard where I worked,

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the manager came to observe my work. He stood on the side, watching how I, a novice, handled the hoe. He then approached me slowly and guided me on the proper way to hold the hoe and how to lift and lower it with minimal effort and movement. I worked there for several days, and later, a friend informed me that the manager praised my efforts and predicted that I would become an excellent worker one day.

The group's members also tried to guide me in my work. When I went out to work on the roads to break stones for gravel, a friend from the Hachshara in Kosov came to teach me and introduce me to this kind of work.

These were the days of the war between Germany and England. One night, we heard an airplane circling above, searching for its target. A short time after that, we were startled by two massive explosions in quick succession, and then the airplane left. Later on, we found two enormous craters, each 15 meters in diameter and a few meters deep. The German radio reported that they destroyed a military camp in Karkur, which was located about two to three kilometers away from the craters.

I spent about half a year at Kvutzat Avraham before moving to the Beit She'an Valley where I joined a young kvutza named Sde Eliyahu, that had been established the previous year. The kvutza was made up entirely of young people from Germany and their experienced counselor, Aharon Nusbecher (now known as Nachlon). Even though I was a stranger to them, and they were strangers to me, they welcomed me as a full member of their community. One member of the group, Shimon Hollander, the secretary of the Hachshara Kibbutz and a gafir [a British Mandate's guard] in Eretz Israel, likely advocated for my acceptance, even though all the members were several years younger than me.

The sages said about the Beit She'an Valley that “if there is a paradise in Eretz Israel, Beit She'an Valley is its gate.” Indeed, the valley was blessed with more springs, streams, and rich vegetation than any other area in Israel. Numerous winged creatures made their home in the region, and those migrating north and south stopped by as guests. I felt it impossible to experience this gate to paradise without singing. Indeed, the spirit of the place inspired me, and I joined their song, celebrating the breathtaking views of one of the country's rarest landscapes.

I lived in a tent, like most of the group's members. A dirt mound about 80 centimeters high encircled the tents. There were only two structures within the defensive wall. The wall was made of two layers of wooden boards with gravel between the boards.

Along with other members, I performed pioneering work at Sde Eliyahu, much like the work done at other new settlements in Eretz Israel. This included drying the swamps around the camp, creating drainage and water channels, laying foundations for new structures, and working in the fields, which did not require extensive professional knowledge.

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As time went on, I took on more complicated tasks. As an independent builder, I constructed temporary farm buildings that stood for many years, a building for an electric generator, warehouses, and a cowshed. I also built agricultural machinery made of wood and steel, a task that no one else wanted to tackle. Neither carpenters nor locksmiths were willing to get their hands dirty doing such jobs, so I was the only one who accepted this job voluntarily.

During that time, we did not have a water tower made of reinforced concrete. Instead, we used a large container, which had to be disassembled in Kibbutz Yavne after they had erected a reinforced concrete water tower. I was tasked with transporting this container to Sde Eliyahu, a distance of several hundred kilometers. It was an unusual job, but I accepted it eagerly. I traveled to Yavne, took the container apart, removed it from its columns, loaded it onto the truck, and delivered it to Sde Eliyahu. There, I poured the foundation for the columns and raised the tank on the new tower I had constructed. This setup served the camp for many years.

While I was still a member of Sde Eliyahu, members of the party's central committee asked me if I would take on a prominent role. I declined for two reasons: First, I wanted to continue supporting myself through hard physical work. Second, after being compelled to rely on public funds meant to assist needy pioneers making Aliyah, I promised myself that if I were fortunate enough to reach Eretz Israel, with God's help, I would avoid public affairs. The committee members and others who knew me from the diaspora and appreciated my skills and abilities challenged my decision by saying that the work I was doing at the kibbutz was something anyone could do. However, they argued that not everyone was as capable of contributing to the public as I was. While their claims had some merit, I could not accept them, so I chose to continue my life at Kibbutz Sde Eliyahu.

World War II was nearing its end in 1944, and horrifying news began to emerge from Poland about the annihilation of the Polish Jewry and about the uprising in the Warsaw Ghetto. In Eretz Israel, the right-wing underground groups Lehi and Etzel began their activities against the foreign occupier. The first signs of freedom were starting to appear on the horizon, yet in my kibbutz–and likely in those of other movements–the pastoral life continued as usual. People seemed somewhat content, without worrying. They said: “I saved my own soul [and the rest is not my concern],” while remaining indifferent to the broader struggles of the nation. In particular, I remember one Lag BaOmer celebration. Rather than the traditional diaspora themes celebrating the struggle for life's revenge against the oppressors, Lag BaOmer in Eretz Israel should have reflected the fight for freedom. However, in my kibbutz,

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the holiday was more about a celebration for boys and girls. Instead of singing national songs and anthems of freedom, they sang love songs, such as the words from the Song of Songs 2:6: “His left hand cradles my head, and his right arm encircles my waist!” At that moment, I suddenly felt a profound disconnect between the harsh reality of our nation and the idyllic calm of life on my kibbutz and in my movement. I wanted to express my solidarity with the freedom fighters sacrificing their young lives for our nation. This realization led me to decide to leave my kvutza, the movement it belonged to, and the political party this movement was associated with.

I informed the members of my kvutza about my decision. In a letter to the center of the Mizrachi party, I expressed my thoughts (I am quoting from my memory since I do not have a copy of the letter): “As HaMizrachi is a political party, it must engage in the political life in the country based on an independent platform. However, I have come to realize that HaMizrachi is not actually an independent party but rather a satellite of the Mapa”i party.^[5] Therefore, I feel compelled to leave the party, the movement, and the kvutza.”

In my early days, I believed that the movement that should be at the forefront of the fight against English imperialism was the Zionist Socialist HaShomer HaTzair movement. I reached out to them to learn more closely about their ideology and activities. After leaving the kvutza, I observed urban workers actively opposing the foreign ruler and found myself drawn to them, even though I was unable to take part in their actions myself. In Tel Aviv, I met members of HaShomer HaTzair and became acquainted with its central figures during a conference held in the city. I had one pressing question for them: “You claim to oppose imperialism, so why are you not fighting and instead content with mere discussions?” To address my straightforward inquiry, they directed me to Mr. Rabinovitz, a member of the Arab-Israeli League. For over an hour, he endeavored to teach me about their socialist, anti-imperialist ideology. The crux of their justification for their inaction against imperialism was based on the geostrategic situation of Eretz Israel, which they argued was characterized by a single road running from north to south. They contended that, given that reality, there would be no chance of winning a war against the foreign conqueror as cutting that road off would easily suppress any resistance to the occupation. While there was some logic in that reasoning for inactivity, other Israeli freedom fighters did not make such a cold calculation, and instead sacrificed themselves for our nation. Therefore, they rightfully deserve all the recognition and glory bestowed upon them by the history of the nation of Israel.

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Agonizing Route

After about four years of communal living, which freed me from the concerns about where my next meal would come and how to find shelter, and after more than ten years of public service in the diaspora and Eretz Israel, I arrived in Tel Aviv as a new immigrant, who had just made Aliyah. I came without any relatives, friends, or acquaintances. Although I could have reached out to my friends at HaMizrachi center who would have undoubtedly helped me find a job, I chose not to do so. I wanted to go out on my own and experience how an ordinary Jew acclimates to life in Eretz Israel and settles down without reliance on past records or connections who could vouch for him.

When I left the kibbutz, I received only two pairs of khaki pants, two shirts, one blanket, and perhaps a few pairs of underwear and some towels. I did not get much cash except for my travel expenses and a few pounds of pocket money. What was I to do? The War [of Independence] was still ongoing, and there was little demand for workers, resulting in high unemployment. I reached out to my friend Chanoch Chemilink, who was staying at Mikveh Israel at the time and participating in a “Haganah” course. I asked him whether there was a job opening available there. He replied that there was a job for me if I agreed to work as a guard. I accepted this opportunity. Even though it did not pay much, I would receive food and shelter and therefore be able to save a few pounds to rent an apartment in Tel Aviv. In Mikveh Israel, I had the chance to meet old friends Yitzchak Zaft and Fishler for the first time. Both were prominent party activists in the diaspora, and here in Eretz Israel, they worked as garbage collectors for the Tel Aviv municipality. They transported the city's garbage to a disposal facility located in Mikveh Israel.

After the summer season in Mikveh Israel, where I had the opportunity to personally meet Berl Katznelson, who spoke to the Mikveh Israel [agricultural school] students about current affairs, I went to the employment bureau in the city. I did this without any recommendations. I endured long waits for an appointment. Since party representatives were members of this employment bureau, those who had a note from a party member stating “The bearer of this note…” were likely to find better jobs more quickly than others. In contrast, those without a reference or influential connections had to wait for a chance to receive a job that not every “privileged” person would want to take. Once, a ship carrying potatoes arrived. Workers were needed to separate out the rotten potatoes. A job like this, considered “clean,” was one I took on in Tel Aviv. The work lasted only a few days, and I found myself back in line, looking for employment. I went to the employment bureau every day to register as unemployed. Two or three weeks later, a ship arrived with frozen meat. Porters were needed to carry the meat to special cold storage warehouses.

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Thank God, there was an employment bureau where Yaakov Frisch and others like me could wait for a day's work to help sustain our meager existence. I worked as a porter in cold storage warehouses, alternating between meat and potatoes. I worked in one cold storage warehouse on Petach Tikva Road and another on Jaffa Street. Next, they were pouring a concrete roof for a school in North Tel Aviv, and they needed porters of a different kind to mix and transport concrete. There was no shortage of workers, and I was grateful that at least I had a dry slice of bread to eat every day. This is how I endured hunger for many months in the bustling city of Tel Aviv. At one point, there was a demand for metal workers at the “Sadan” metal factory, and I worked there for several weeks. I spent my days sitting in a large iron container cleaning up after the welding process. The noise in there reverberated from the sound of hammers and chisels and if I did not become deaf from this work, then it was a miracle.

We were called to do this work because they claimed they could not find regular employees at that large factory to do it. I only understood the reason after I stepped out of the large container and started to work at the factory itself. It became clear that the workers were the true masters, not the owners. Here is the story: We produced barrels for a beer factory, each made of several parts. One of the parts was a strip of iron tin, which we bent using a bending device. It took four of us to operate this device–two on each side. We held a lever that operated the press to bend the tin strip. One of the four workers always stood facing the entrance door, where the metal factory owner, the manager, or the owner of the beer factory would enter the production floor. When one of them appeared in sight, the watchman would signal, and all four of us would raise and lower the lever until the part was completed. This is how we spent our days at work. One day, I suggested to my coworkers that we see how much we can produce in twenty minutes of work without exerting too much effort. We did this primarily for fun. In that experiment, we discovered we were producing parts in one day that could have been completed in twenty minutes. I found myself wondering why the factory owner was willing to pay workers for essentially doing nothing. I learned the answer only later on. The factory operated on the principle of “cost plus,” which is predicated on the fact that the owner has a monopoly on the products and faces no competition [possibly due to the high tariffs imposed on imports]. Consequently, he does not mind paying the workers whatever they demand, leaving the customer with no choice but to pay the full price dictated by the “cost plus” regulation.

Later on, the employment bureau succeeded in securing job opportunities in British Army camps.

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I was assigned to work in Beit Nabala's camp, where I spent several weeks alongside many Arab workers. The English officers appeared to take pleasure in observing a large number of people working in their camps each day, all while knowing that “the emperor will pay.”

During that difficult period of financial distress and hunger, which also brought with it significant mental anguish, I approached the “Beit Histadrut” and knocked on its doors, but received no response. I struggled to find a suitable job until I met Golda Meir, who was then the secretary of Tel Aviv's Workers' Council. I told her that hers was the last door I knocked on. I shared some details about myself and my accomplishments. Golda listened attentively, picked up the phone, and called Hillel Dan at Solel Boneh.^[6] She said, “This is Golda Meir. Yaakov Frisch will come to you shortly. Please talk to him.” That was how I found myself in Hillel Dan's office at Solel Boneh. Without much discussion, he sent me to the car division at Solel Boneh's workshops in Giv'atayim, where I worked for an entire year.

When the workers at the workshops saw the new employee, they were curious about how I landed that job. They asked me: “What connections do you have? It is impossible to get a job here without the benefit of nepotism.” I answered what I answered but chose not to reveal who helped me. Just like in the factory in Tel Aviv and the British Army camps, the working conditions for employees were exceptional. They earned good wages with minimal effort. Some individuals received pay because they were enthusiastic fans of “HaPoel” soccer players, while others benefited from special privileges. Some employees earned wages while their main job was elsewhere.

While working at Solel Boneh, I met my future wife for the second time in our lives. We made Aliyah from Litah together but then went our separate ways. I was laid off after working for Solel Boneh for a year. Once again I found myself among the unemployed in the big city where joblessness was widespread. This time, my uncle Yerachmiel Genauer became God's messenger. He recommended me to the owner of a metal factory where all the work, complex and difficult, was performed by the owner, his wife, and one additional worker.

Fortunately, my wife also worked at a factory. Like me, she was frugal, so we were grateful for our jobs. This new chapter in my life lasted 22 years.

Two years after I began working in metal processing, I, along with a partner, decided to open a workshop producing housewares. Our partnership did not last long, and we dissolved it after several months. I continued the business on my own. During that time, the Israeli War of Independence broke out, and I was called to serve. While being responsible for a section of the Latrun area, I was injured. Upon my return, I realized that metalwork had become challenging for me. I fell ill and concluded that I could no longer continue working in production.

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For more than three years, while I was producing tools and housewares outside of the kvutza, I experienced immense mental and creative satisfaction. When I held a block of metal in my hand and shaped it into the desired form, the steel and copper responded to my thoughts and the work of my hands. There is no greater joy than feeling like a partner in what could be described as the act of creation itself. “Many are the plans in a person's heart, but it is the Lord's purpose that prevails.” [Proverbs 19:21]. This made me reflect: “My life may be a narrow path, but it will be shaped by me, not strangers.” I was compelled to cease my creative production work and seek another occupation. Who knows whether I would find a job that truly satisfied me?

During my time in the army, our welfare officer began planning housing for the soldiers in our unit. As our service neared the end, it was decided that a community would be built for our unit in Kiryat Ono. They began to pour the foundations for about 100 homes. Once I attended the association council meeting to discuss an issue related to construction. During the meeting, a question arose about supervision for the pouring of foundations to ensure the work was done correctly. I was casually asked if I would be willing to take on that role. I accepted the opportunity. The pouring of the foundations began in November 1950. I received guidelines from the engineer and went to the work site. During the next three weeks, I carried out my responsibilities. I reported to the engineer that the contractor was not adhering to the guidelines. However, I soon realized that the engineer, and primarily the council members and its chairman, were not genuinely interested in proper oversight. Instead, they seemed more focused on maintaining the appearance of an inspection for the association members. As a result of that negligence, many homes are now faced with crumbling walls, and the only solution is to repour the foundations and rebuild. This is how they handled public funds and trust.

At the same time, the Kiryat Ono and Givat Bracha communities joined together to form a unified settlement. This new settlement required a secretary to manage its daily affairs. Since the settlement mainly consisted of our veterans' housing, they sought someone from among their ranks for the position. They offered me the job, although it came with some challenges because I resided in Tel Aviv and had to commute daily to work in Kiryat Ono. On days when meetings stretched late into the evening, I often had to walk a few kilometers to the bus stop. Despite such difficulties, I accepted the position. I understood this was not a religious settlement, so I informed the council in advance that I was not a member of the “Histadrut”^[7] and did not work or write on Shabbat. If these restrictions were acceptable to them, I was willing to take the job. I have been serving the public at Kiryat Ono ever since.

Translator's Footnotes:

1. Kvutza is a form of cooperative settlement that was founded during the Second Aliyah and developed during the Third Aliyah; its principles are based on the existence of a cooperative, communal, small, and intimate group. (From Wikipedia). The word Kvutzat (with a t at the end), is the Hebrew conjunction form of the word. Return
2. “HeChalutz HaMizrachi” [“The Mizrachi Pioneer”] was a Zionist youth movement established by the HaMizrachi party. Its primary focus was to train young people for agricultural settlement in the Land of Israel, all from a religious Zionist perspective. Return
3. Before World War II, about 24,000 Ma'apilim immigrated to Eretz Israel. Between 1945 and 1948 (the end of the British Mandate), 66 “illegal” vessels carrying 70,000 immigrants made their way to Eretz Israel. Return
4. While both Litah and Galicia were considered part of the Ashkenazi Jewish diaspora, there were some stereotypes associated with each group. Litvaks were often perceived as more intellectual and stoic, while Galitzianers were sometimes seen as more emotional and less educated. Litvaks were more likely to be Mitnagdim (people who oppose Chassidim) than other Eastern European Jews [see https://www.torahmusings.com/2012/04/litvaks-and-galitzyaners ] Return
5. Mapa”i was a labor Zionist and socialist political party in Israel (The acronym stands for “The Party of Eretz Israel's Workers”). The party was the ruling party and the driving force from Israel's independence through 1977. Return
6. Solel Boneh is one of the largest construction and civil engineering companies in Israel. Return
7. The “Histadrut” is Israel's largest workers union. It encompasses most of Israel's workers and therefore has amassed powerful political and social power. Return

[Pages 62-64]

My maternal great–grandfather, Yaakov Shmuel Raubvogel, was born in 1865 in Radekhov. He owned property in the village of Chmielno. The town's Jews greatly revered Reb Yaakov Shmuel, noting his intelligence and greatness. I can remember his special gravestone that was surrounded by a fence, and many townspeople would visit his grave to recite prayers and appeal for divine mercy.

My mother's mother, Rosa née Raubvogel Kohl married my grandfather Reb Anshel Kohl who was from the city of Kamionka Stromilova. He was a “resident,” meaning that he spent many years studying under the rabbi of Stratyn. Then he served as an instructor of teachers in Radekhov. He was greatly honored and admired by the community, and the leading citizens in town would come to study Torah from him. Among them was Shmarya Imber, the father of Schwartzwald, Feivel Geisler and others. Grandmother Tsira earned her livelihood by operating an iron materials store, and Grandfather totally devoted himself to studying Torah in order to fulfill the commandment of studying and teaching.

My father, Zvi Aryeh, of blessed memory, followed in his father's footsteps, and was a dedicated follower of the Rebbe of Stratyn, who would stay in my father's home together with his entourage whenever he visited our town.

I can remember one event in 1909, when the Rebbe of Stratyn visited our town, and my father, of blessed memory, complained to him that his livelihood was becoming increasingly difficult because the property manager of Count Badeni stopped buying merchandise from him for his estate. When the Rebbe heard this complaint, he spent a moment deep in thought and then immediately said, “Soon this manager will have a black end.” And so it was. One day in the winter he went outside and slipped on the ice on the lake of the estate. The ice broke under his feet, he slipped and broke his leg. Since there was no hospital in the area he was taken to the large city of Lvov and died from his injuries on the way.

At home, the spirit of Zionism was very strong. On one occasion the head of the community wanted to interfere with the Zionist youth who were collecting money in the synagogue on the holiday of Hoshana Rabbah for the Keren Kayemet . My grandfather the rabbi became angry at him, and said: In order to redeem land in the land of Israel it is even permitted to sign a contract on Shabbat – and the Keren Kayemet is redeeming land in the land of Israel.

This spirit of Zionism had a strong influence on my younger brother Mordechai, of blessed memory, who decided to carry out the mitzvah of settling in the land of Israel himself. He left our wealthy father's home and joined the chalutzim (pioneers), who were involved in all sorts of activities that were unacceptable at that time among Jewish youth, especially those from wealthy homes. He soon immigrated to the Holy Land.

My brother Mordechai once decided to purchase dozens of dunams^[1] of land in Palestine, and since he had no money for that purpose he turned to our father, who consulted with the Rebbe of Belz, who prohibited him from doing it, saying, “God forbid, they are polluting the land, desecrating Shabbat, and eating non–kosher meat.” So he did not purchase it, but thanks to my brother we still have surviving relatives living in Israel.

In the early days of World War II I worked for a German who was an agent in the business of iron and other metals to help the war effort. He appointed me as the manager of collecting and sorting metals, and thanks to that I was able to employ 30 Jews and to save them from the terrible decrees.

In 1942, Reb Yosef Shochet son of Yekutiel contacted me and said: You can see that famine is affecting us badly, and children are swollen and dying – we have to do something to save the children. I have no one other than you to speak to, and you can help them. I immediately made the first contribution and I demanded from all those who had hidden merchandise to give as much as they could. This was how we set up a kitchen in the synagogue of the Belz Chassidim. A barrel that was divided into two served as a stove and for a period of time we distributed to 1,200 people twice a day.

When the Germans were defeated the few survivors left their hiding places. When they found out that I was still alive, they started gathering around me, and I assisted them as much as possible. Afterwards I moved to Lvov, and various individuals who survived gathered around me. In Lvov we found out that Rabbi Steinberg from Brody survived in Dubno. Mr. Halberthal (now in Belgium) and I tried to bring him to Lvov. There was no community in those days, and many of the Auschwitz survivors and those wounded in the war turned to us. We helped them as much as we could.

In Germany I was involved in commerce, and I had contact with many merchants. On the eve of the establishment of the State of Israel in 1947–48 I was the chairman of the “Fighting Nation Tax” for Israel, and I assisted in purchasing weapons from Czechoslovakia. I received a certificate of appreciation from the Israeli government for this as shown below:

To:
Yaakov Weissman – Munich

Dear Friend,

With the completion of the “Fighting Nation Tax” project in the city of Munich, we feel pleasantly obligated to thank you in the name of the project administration for all your work and dedication in organizing the work in your city.

Your efforts proved your great loyalty to building our homeland and your active participation in the great war to establish the State of Israel.

We hope you continue your work in fortifying the state. Build it and you will be built by it.

With blessings from the State of Israel to the Fighting Nation Tax Project
Weingarten

In the village of Peratyn there lived a respected man who was a relative named Mordechai Launer. He owned a Torah scroll and many holy books. When he saw that the end of the Jewish Diaspora was fast approaching he took the Torah scroll and sacred texts and gave them to a priest of the “Subbotnik” sect so that he would hide them. In one of the Pentateuchs he inserted a note saying: “Since the end is approaching, should anyone from the Weissman family survive, I ask that you give this book to that person. Should that not be the case, please give it to any Jew who survives.”

With the arrival of the Bolsheviks, I was approached by the priest who told me he had a letter written to me. When I read the letter I asked him to bring me the Torah scroll. Because of danger on the roads from the Ukrainian marauders, the “Banderistas,” my brother Moshe and I carried the Torah scroll along with us the entire time of our wanderings until we arrived in Israel and then turned it over to a synagogue in Haifa. I view this event as being in the merit of my holy ancestors that served me well. Thank God I was able to see each of my sons and grandsons serving the nation in his own way. My daughter Tsiona Oberman is a chemist in a hospital. My son–in–law Mordechai is a doctor. My grandson Aryeh Oberman – a medical student. My granddaughter Orly will probably follow in their footsteps. My second daughter Hella Kraus lives in Mexico, and her husband is Moshe Kraus – a businessman. Their children are: Yitzchak – a mechanical engineer, whose wife is a dentist. Their second son is Anshel – a medical student, and the youngest is Dov – an architect. The children all know Hebrew and spent a year in Israel as volunteers, and they run Zionist activities where they live, especially among the youth.

Footnote:

1. One dunam is equivalent to approximately four acres. Return

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