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Those were our Jewish homes in Ryki. With every mistake that happened in our life; with every difficult situation which we encountered, we need to turn our view towards the past and learn from it, to search for answers to pressing questions, to draw inspiration for a continuing Jewish life. We can learn from the past of our birthplace about our future, about the future of our children, about our Jewish and human fate. It is never too late to collect everything that we have to tell about the destroyed Jewish life in our home so that future generations can come and draw from this source.

Geographically, Ryki is located on the crossroads of two important roads. One extends from Danzig through Warsaw, Lublin and Lvov to the borders of

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Romania and Czechoslovakia, the other one stretches from the German to the Soviet boarder. If one arrives in the shtetl from the north, two windmills will greet you, which are situated on each side of the road on a little hill. From there one can see the entire village as if it was situation on the palm of a hand. It is breath-taking and one wants to reach even faster the center with its small houses in the narrow lanes, quiet, sleepy ones, just like dreams from our childhood that we dreamt in those homes.

The center is a large marketplace that is surrounded on all sides by stores, where Jews were looking out for a single customer all week long. Several larger buildings were standing in the center of the marketplace. They looked as if they were watching over the village, over its peacefulness, calmness, and order, so that it would not be disturbed by any stranger.

Located next to it was the well with its wooden pail, which was attached to a round piece of wood with a thick rope. The round piece of wood had hand cranks on both ends. There Jews drew water and carried it all the way to their homes.

Located in the southeastern corner of the marketplace is the old synagogue with its tall, multi-colored window panes. In the nearby neighborhood was the prayer house where all the shelves were stacked with religious books. Jews prayed there three times a day. The rest of the time, the shtetl Jews studied Gemara, Mishnah, Shulchan Aruch and (Khayey Adam) day and night.

Young me and youth used to study the Talmud and Poskim from the morning till late at night. There were also night vigils when one drove away the sleep out of one's eyes, searched with burning awakeness between the lines of the Gemara, swam in the Talmudic ocean, conquered a mastery and became absorbed in studying, with a longing melody which reached through the open windows all the way to the sleepy lanes on the other side of the prayer house. The longing melodies met with the echoes which resounded in the empty marketplace and the sleepy lanes of our shtetl.

Was there anything more beautiful than studying the Torah aloud! The

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prayer house was a warm home for all Jews in the shtetl. Great scholars, merchants and craftsmen gathered there, everyone found a place. After having finished the afternoon prayers, special groups gathered in the corners. Someone would start to chat and study, splits hairs or retell a legend from the Gemara, from the Midrash, and someone else would talk about politics, about wars, tell about his former military service. On Shabbat, people came to listen to the sermons of a rabbi. Average Jews came and enjoyed the Shabbat pleasures. In the women's section, God-fearing women delighted in the beautiful moral talk of the rabbi.

The prayer house was also refreshing for strangers who could rest their tired bones. There were those who came from far way places. They all walked from house to house, collected one cent after another which they gathered and sent home to their families whom they had left somewhere in far way homes. In the evenings, and especially in the rainy and windy fall nights, they sat around the heated stove of the prayer house, enjoyed the warmth, chatted and told each other marvelous stories. Each one of them had his own life story that spanned over distances, over cities and shtetls and each one of them had encountered various strange adventures.

There were those who had left their homes many years ago, who had left their wives and li8ttle children to find a piece of bread for them. Among them were invalids, who were unable to do any work and this made them wander over the world, from town to town, everywhere where there is a Jewish settlement to beg for a little piece of bread in order to survive.

There were impoverished people and simply paupers who had not been successful, who did not have any luck and could not provide for their families, all of them met with warm hearts in Ryki. The Jews of Ryki did not refuse them alms.

On the other side of the old synagogue was the small Hasidic house of prayer where the Jews of the society Ha-simkhah were praying. They used to get up at daybreak

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and ran immediately to recite the morning prayers so that they could engage earlier in their business tasks.

Just outside of town, near the banks of the river, was the ritual bath and the steam bath. A little further on was the slaughterhouse.

On the other side of the river was the Jewish cemetery, where eternal quietness ruled. The complete calm was occasionally disrupted by the laments of the living, accompanying their closest on their last road to their eternal rest.

Behind the shtetl, in the Northeastern corner, were located Skalski's mechanical steam mills, where the grains of the entire area were ground. In later years the steam mills provided the entire area with electric power and lighting.

To the west of the mills extends the Skalski pond where fish are raised, mostly carp. Winter time, around Hanukkah, people were cutting the ice from the frozen river storing it in underground chambers, covered with saw dust to use during the hot summer months when the river is no longer frozen and when the children would begin to play on its banks, bathe and swim.

The banks of the river were dry and sandy and here and there, some lonely old trees stand over it, as old as the river, as the world, as everything that looked to us like an eternity… Who knows? Sometimes our childish brains imagined that the trees were the guardians of the shtetl, maybe they were guarding the little river, its banks…

A small stretch of land lies between the city river and Skalski's little pond. This is the extension of the Łukowska street, on which the funeral processions proceeded to the Jewish cemetery. Wagons with grains would use this road to go to the mills. People would stroll there behind the shtetl and further up to the brick yard and farming villages.

Towards the west of Skalski's pond is a large lot which was called “unter shabosin.” The underground ice chambers were located there, covered with low straw roofs to protect the ice from external heat. The square was also used by older boys to practice various sports games. Particularly

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popular was “palant.” This game consisted of hitting a ball with a stick and catching the ball in the air.

It was not uncommon for the ball to get lost in someone's window, or to smash a window, thereby providing income for the glaziers. The owner of the window never succeeded in finding out who had done it. An unwritten law existed which did not allow us to divulge the culprit.

The dense orchards of the priest with its many fruit trees spread farther to the west. Apples, pears, and plums grew there. Bratty kids saw it as a sporting activity to pick the fruit off the trees which grew at the edge of the orchard.

At the end of the orchard was the priest's well. Although the well was not used daily because it was too far away, a lot of Jews insisted on taking that water for brewing tea. The water of the priest's well was much clearer and much tastier than the water from the well in the marketplace.

Behind the priest's orchard, a path leads from the right to the north to the shtetl. This is a suburb, inhabited by Christian craftsmen, coachmen, small tradesmen, and also poor farmers.

On the Łukowska Street is located the old Catholic church, an old, yet beautiful building, with Byzantine architecture and a large cupola. The church was surrounded by densely planted chestnut trees, fenced in with an iron fence of a special style. In the front of the church, towards Łukowska Street, on a large pedestal, the statue of Jesus stood in a pathetic position, with large nails in his feet and the head, crowned with a thorn-cross, leaning to his right side.

From the old church up to the Warsaw Highway, all of Łukowska Street was inhabited by a mixed Christian and Jewish population, mostly merchants. In the same section of the street was also the Ryki school.

The impressive new building of the Catholic church, a gigantic building with red bricks, dominated the northwestern corner, beyond the Warsaw Highway. In contrast to the old church, the new one is built in a Gothic

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style, surrounded by pointed turrets and in the center, a tall tower which seemed to strive to pierce the skies.

From the new church, south of the Warsaw Highway, extends the so-called court orchard, which occupies several hundred acres of land, and which belongs to Pan Kanazhevski's estates. That orchard is a true forest of the most varied fruit trees able to grow in that climate. The orchard was guarded by a guard and vicious dogs and was therefore not accessible to common people from the city.

Beyond the court orchard, on the same side of the Warsaw Highway, but on a slightly higher area, was the Brzezinka (little Birch forest.) Old and young birth trees grew there densely. On the hot days it was a refuge for the exhausted city inhabitants. Young couples in love met there for a rendezvous and on Shabbat days after meals, the woods were humming like a beehive. Jews came there who had left their narrow and stuffy apartments to enjoy a pleasurable Shabbat nap. Before World War I, under the reign of the Czar, the little forest served as a place for revolutionaries to meet and gather.

In the wintertime, gloom reigned in the woods. The birches were standing naked, and it looked as if one had brutally torn down the beautiful leaves. The naked branches, like dried up veins, did cast a sense of dread, like eerie ghosts.

There, at the end of the birch forest, was also the southern end of the shtetl. A road extended from there to the pond Buksa, which flows into the city river. The Buksa pond was deep enough, clean, and clear. The sandy banks served as a beach. In the summertime people used to bathe and swim there. In wintertime, when the surface was frozen, people used to skate there.

A large bloc of huts stood between the banks of the river and the right side of the Warsaw Highway. The poor who could not afford a decent apartment lived there. Behind the huts stood a few houses with little stores, where we could buy a snack, sweets, and light drinks.

A pasture extended behind those houses which

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was called pasternik, a gigantic area covered with grass. Whenever there were fairs, the pasture was converted into a marketplace for cattle and horses. Tasty leaves of grass grew along the edges of the pasture which the children picked for their mothers to cook a shtshav (sorrel borsht). Such a borsht, eaten cold with mixed-in sour cream, tasted of paradise. With a new potato in it, what more needs to be said?

The Warsaw Highway split behind the pasture. One road led to the center of town and became on of the main streets. The kantselarye, the city hall with all its administrative branches, the police, the prison, etc. were all there.

To the north, the street was densely built up on both sides with better houses. Larger stores were there, like Abraham Fayvel's wholesale business, Leybl Khayeles glass and ceramic store, Esther-Khave's store, the large pharmacy, Abraham-Leyzer's iron store and many others up to Feyge-Dvoshe's general store where one could get all sorts of articles from sewing notions to clothes and shoes.

In many respects, the economic situation in Ryki was similar to other villages: there were a few rich people, a small group which did not live badly, a middle class that did not need to depend on anyone. After them, there was the part for whom the weekdays were not profitable, and who were happy if they had something to prepare for Shabbat. And lastly, the poor people who were in a desolate condition.

Ryki differed from other villages in that the shtetl was surrounded by more prosperous farm villages and thus the fairs were very successful. These were held every Thursday and helped ease the poverty in the shtetl.

Ryki had the only import business in the entire county. With certain goods the Ryki import business was able to compete with Warsaw and therefore many merchants from other cities used to come to Ryki to buy goods. Ryki was also an export center of

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grains to Germany, and shipped pigs and sugar to England, but the main customer for cattle, poultry, eggs and butter was Warsaw.

A normal market day Lejbusz Gorke, a hat maker in front of his stand

Ryki had a proportionally large number of wholesale merchants. There were also better stocked shops and stores that made their main income from the surrounding area and from the fair on Thursdays. There were many more smaller shop owners who sold textiles, cloth, kerchiefs, and clothes and all sorts of peddlers who also drove out to

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other shtetls where the smaller fairs were taking place. Such fairs occurred on Mondays in Markuszew, on Tuesdays in Gniewoszów, on Wednesdays in Dęblin. There were more than a dozen Jewish slaughterers in Ryki who made a decent living. Some of them used to travel to the surrounding villages to buy their cattle and this way were able to get them cheaper than buying them at the fair. They took them home by themselves, slaughtered them ritually, and sold the kosher meat in their butcher shops. Others used to buy the cattle at the fair or from travelling merchants. These were the more prosperous butchers who could afford to sell the meat for a smaller profit.

Ryki also had the so-called zitzerkes, mostly widows or women whose husbands were sick and unsuccessful. The zitserke occupied a place in the marketplace where she sat at a table with fruit and vegetables. They did not make much income, but they would not go hungry either. There was always some fruit to help support oneself.

There were a considerable number of shops with open doors, but empty shelves, without goods. These shops served only as a pretense to cover up extreme poverty. Their owners were mostly pious Jews who were more interested in Hasidism than in business. Among them, there were also severely poor people who could not stand the competition of the spulka, the Christian cooperatives whose aim was to eradicate Jewish stores. Some shopkeepers switched to teaching in a cheder.

Among the poor were the inhabitants of the huts and of the kapituła, the inhabitants near the bath and the slaughterhouse. They were partly skilled craftsmen, some sick people, or simply idle people who had to feed a lot of children in their homes and who did not know what to do. In this category there were also itinerant peddlers, those who used their ‘skills’ in the village houses, and others who carried around the ‘shops’ on their backs hoping to trade them in for produce. For an entire week these Jews starved and consoled themselves with the hope of earning enough to avoid an embarrassing Shabbat meal.

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No matter what the situation was, the Jews of Ryki made sure that no one should, God forbid, be hungry, and they helped out in times of need.

Typically, the responsibility for Jewish cultural life was with the cultural-social activists whose work benefitted the city and its inhabitants. Often activists from professional societies worked in cooperation with distinguished business owners on philanthropic activities. Differences between Hasidism and Maskilim, between members of different parties who were usually close to killing each other during any discussions, were eliminated. Everyone participated equally in the visiting of the sick, the marrying off of orphaned or poor girls, in collecting money for the needy or for a lawyer who was needed to defend a Jew in court who had gotten into trouble with the law.

Ryki also had a loan bank to which the wealthy contributed in order to help out the peddlers and other needy with 0 percent interest loans. In general, people paid back their loans. I do not remember that the loan bank every lost the distributed money.

Politically, culturally, and in terms of Hasidism, Ryki was a reflection of Jewish life throughout Poland. All types of Zionist parties, right and left leaning socialists were represented with their activities. Hasidic groups from all the rabbinic courts in Poland were also in Ryki.

In praise of the Jews of Ryki, one needs to say that all the political disputes as well as the quarrels among the Hasidim of various rebbes were always conducted on a decent level for the sake of heaven. These people had not lost their humanity.

At one point, there were special libraries for Zionists and special ones for the left leaning members in the labor unions. Later on their merged and created a large library where the works of Zionist and Marxist theoreticians were housed together with the literary works of the Yiddish writers.

My brother Yechiel

It was a time of upheaval, World War I, the Polish Soviet conflict. In addition, the shtetl suffered from frequent fires. All of this disturbed normal education, and like many others I had only self-education. By learning from chance events and from people who exerted a strong impression on me, my education gained some direction and formed my young spirit and developed my sensibility.

From my childhood, I admired, even adored, the boldness of my brother, Yechiel Derfner. In those difficult times, fighting bitterly for a bare existence, he never lost his sense of humanity. His heart remained tender and pure. His hand was always extended out to help others. During the German occupation of Ryki and the Austrian occupation in Dęblin, smuggling used to go on between the two sides. They were smuggling cigarettes from Ryki to Dęblin, and from Dęblin they would smuggle oil to Ryki. My brother Yechiel was considered to be a daring guy, and I remember how some young people offered him a percentage of their income, if he would take them with him smuggling. He agreed to take them with him but refused payment.

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This was the first impression that became engraved in my memory, and which planted in me respect for reliable relationships and boldness.

Jechiel Derfner's family

A great turmoil ensued until my brother Yechiel came running and he “honored” the impudent farmer with forceful blows, so that the others dispersed and no one disturbed the wedding anymore. It is understandable that the police tried to identify the thug who had so seriously injured the farmer, but they did not succeed. They could not get a word from anyone.

In the beginning of the 1920s, we were trading grain and had a part of it ground at the Skalski mill. This flour we sold to the bakers. The flour was ground to different degrees and one had to mix it well. To this purpose Skalski had a gigantic vat, which contained large metallic blades that turned automatically and mixed the flour.

Skalski's oldest son, Mietek, was a stubborn antisemite and he bore a particular hatred for my brother Yechiel. He could not stand his proud posture. On a certain day, when the machine vat stopped mixing the flour and the work had been finished, Yechiel climbed into the vat to gather up the remaining flour. Mietek locked the door and set the machine into motion. Yechiel grabbed the fast-moving metallic blade and was screaming for someone to stop the machine. This would have certainly ended in disaster, but the old Skalski heard Yechiel's desperate screams and forced Mietek to stop the machine.

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When he got out of the vat all bloody, Yechiel went to Mietek, spit him in the face and left the mill with proud contempt. We did not use it ever again.

My parents Gershon and Chava Derfner. Even now I am looking for the warmth of my old home, and I highly value the richness of my parents' hearts. More beautiful than all songs are the still psalms sung by our fathers and grandfathers.

Although I am not ashamed of my other brothers and sisters, I want to emphasize that Yechiel was the one who exerted the strongest influence on the development of my character, on my intellectual formation through his pride and boldness, his deeply human compassion and modesty.

Unfortunately, I do not remember her last name. I always regarded her as the main in-law at the weddings of poor brides. She was dressed in a black, nicely crocheted Belgian shawl, which covered her head and shoulders. She was the ornament of those gathered at the chuppah and lent beauty to the wedding, which took place in the open, in front of the old synagogue.

This event was carved in my memory: This was during my early childhood years. My father used to, along with other businesses, rent potato fields from the farmers. When the potatoes were ripe, he hired peasant women to dig up the potatoes, which he then exported abroad. I used to accompany my father to the fields. It was a kind of entertainment for me, and I often noticed the black Rivkele and how she would pile up a few potatoes, put them in a small basket, and take them away with her. My father told me that she took the potatoes to poor people so that they should not suffer from hunger.

This image had a strong influence on me I've always looked at her with great respect.

I remember him as a cantor in the synagogue, especially Friday nights, when he stood at the lectern and prayed the Maariv. His “Lecha dodi” would lead me into the celebratory atmosphere of Shabbat. The moment he started singing, I felt how the week disappeared, how the weakliness was wiped away and how we are all enveloped with the holiness of Shabbat.

He used to pray with warmth and heart. His voice sounded very beautiful in my ears and it was too bad when he finished chanting the prayers.

I used to look at him as a person with extraordinary strength, bringing holiness and dignity to the worshippers. At the same time, I admired his modesty, as if he was grateful to the community for allowing him to be the cantor.

Itche Shoichet belongs to the same category, if not to an even higher one.

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I was probably 10 years old then. I was never a great student and repeating the same prayers day after day bored me. The piyyutim and yoytsres we chanted during the holidays were too long for me. But I loved to go to the synagogue, especially during the Days of Awe, when Itche Shoichet prayed the Musaf at the lectern.

In later years, when I read Sholem Asch's story about the village boy who threw open the locked Gates of Heaven with a whistle, I was taken by the same feelings and a great elatedness in that moment. Itche Shoichet's prayers always came to life within me and made my soul tremble. His unsane toykef was a work of art and cut itself deeply into my heart, healing it with consolation and hope. In later years, when I returned to Ryki, I met him as an older person, but regardless of the difference in age between us and the fact that I was far from being pious, there was still warm closeness between us. I saw him as a person with a big heart and fine artistic sentiments.

When I used to run into him, he always showed a warm and concerned interest, not trying to moralize, just the opposite, he always had a word of consolation for me. He was dressed modestly, but always cleanly and tastefully. His face was filled with tranquility, and his speech was so quiet and pleasant. A conversation with Itche Shoichet really always was medication for a restless mind.

The Hasidim of Ryki, following the preacher of Kozienice, introduced the beautiful tradition of a collective melave malkes. Every Saturday night, after havdalah, they used to gather, every time in a different house, where they celebrate the evening meal.

These were not great banquets; the table was not covered with fancy dishes. It was enough to have a challah and a piece of

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herring, a cabbage borsht with potatoes, and sometimes even some fruit dessert. More important than the food was the atmosphere.

The meetings for melave malke were clearly social cultural in character. The atmosphere was very warm, brotherly. They talked mostly about Hasidic matters, repeated the preacher's comments on the Torah. Sometimes they also talked about secular matters, and they always saw in these a sign of God's will. There, one had the opportunity to raise the weekly drudgery to a higher level.

The central person during the melave malke was Abraham Shloymeles with the stories he used to tell.

When I was a student in the cheder, I used to accompany my father to the melave malkes and would listen to Abraham Shloymeles' stories open-mouthed and breathlessly. He had an extraordinary talent to depict the people about whom he talked in the most vivid colors. His depictions were so realistic that they seemed alive in my childish imagination. I warmed myself in their greatness and I felt them to be so close to me that I wanted to stretch out my hand and greet them.

For sure, Abraham Shloymeles never read a literary work. He probably never tried to write himself. But he possessed a rich imagination and the talent to dress his imaginary people in rich local color, breathing life into them.

So it happened that the person who had no connection to modern Yiddish literature was the factor and that I began to read the works of the Yiddish classic. It planted in me the love of fiction, the urge to read and enjoy belles lettres.

Like all other Jewish shtetls, Ryki had its “respected Jews” who constituted a separate class, and they used to threaten a boy who did not want to study, who had no enthusiasm to sit all day long studying the Gemara: “If you don't want to be

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respectable, then we will give you a way to become a craftsman.” The craftsmen also prayed that their children should be worthy of growing up to become “respected people,” which means scholars who would not have to work as craftsmen.

Aaron Britsman, a sharp-witted, proud person represented with his attitude a slap in the face of the status quo, and this created a wall between the respected Jew and the craftsman.

He was a tailor and at the same time a learned man, and he was as proud of his profession as he was of his learnedness. He possessed an innate intelligence, and he adorned his thoughts not only with Talmudic aphorisms, but also with analogies and proverbs that bubbled with shrewd wisdom and psychological understanding.

People always wanted him to participate in social and political activities. He captivated the audience with his sound logic and realistic approach to problems. He was a member of the community and other social groups, worked side by side with the respected Jews as an equal, and he was looked upon as a person who was blessed with leadership capabilities.

Very frequently one would see people gathered around him in the middle of the market to listen to his interesting conversations, to his logical analysis of the news and events.

To me, he was the embodiment of Yohanan the cobbler. I knew that he came from a “respectable home” and I used to wonder why he became a shingle maker. His father, the old Srulke, had a patriarchal white beard and his posture was aristocratic.

As a young man, Yankl Srulkes used to study in the synagogue and at the same time he was close friends with the “Maskilim.” This did not stop him from studying and people would often see him participate in discussing a difficult passage in the Gemara.

My oldest brother Hershl was very close friends with him. Therefore, I knew him well and felt friendly toward him.

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When I was a student in cheder, I was very puzzled that he had become a shingle maker. It seemed to me as if he had betrayed his class and it was hard for me to understand why he had done that.

After a while, I got used to it. He himself did not try to make a virtue of his work, and I slowly began to understand that this was the result of a sound logical decision to be a person who lives from his own work; that is it more honest to work, to labor in order to feed one's wife and children than to go around idle, to spend time in thoughts.

Yankl Srulkes excelled in his modest stance. His work did not disturb anyone. He was not ashamed of it, nor was he excessively proud of it. To him it was a natural thing, and that is how others in the shtetl accepted it as well.

In later years, I was frequently drawn to his house, to watch how he used to cut shingles while having a conversation with the friends who used to visit him and who loved to talk with him about both Torah and secular matters. After some time, he embodied the respected Jew and the craftsman in one. Young people used to envy him for his courage in combining the synagogue with craftsmanship., torah with shingle production. On the other hand, the other craftsmen took pride in him as one of their own, yet a good student at the same time. He himself behaved as if he did not belong to one particular group and did his work with the same diligence and ability as if he was studying the Torah.

One anecdote: This was in the early 1920s. Yankl Srulkes used to give me lessons in Talmud one evening every week. When I came for the lesson one frosty winter evening, I saw that they were eating dinner. The old Srulke, a widower, ate with them. The dinner was dumplings with peas. The room was warm and pleasant. After dinner, the old Srulke wiped his beard and moustache and said in a good-natured way to his son:

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“Yankl, you hear? It seems to me that the frost is over.” Everyone around the table started laughing. It was really pleasantly warm in the room.

I only remember him from my early boy years, when I used to see him in the synagogue, where he had a seat next to my father, at the Eastern wall, close to the southern corner. On Shabbat and holidays, during the Torah reading, there were some who talked among themselves about profane matters. One time the conversation was about silver dishes, about prices, about the new fashion to use forks and so forth, Suddenly the old Meir Mekhls souted the following:

“Did you hear, Jews? I don't care about your stories about the forks. I want to eat from a bushel and take it with a pitchfork, as long as they are kreplech.” I am telling this anecdote only, because it just came to mind. He was an interesting person.

He was a broad-shouldered man with a large head and a long beard, and thick eyebrows. He was also blind. He owned a notions store, but he himself did not deal with it very much. His wife was the merchant, and his work was in the courts. He was a typical hedge lawyer and actually very successful. In spite of his poor vision, he widely corresponded with clients and courts. He was well-versed in the laws and the court proceedings. In the synagogue he talked about his experiences with clients and their particular problems, about difficult cases. To me, these conversations were like echoes from a vast and interesting world, where only a few chosen people were allowed. There were times when his stories took up a large part of my childish imagination.

In the course of time, I developed a growing great respect toward him. My growing curiosity in the intriguing court cases and the ability to logically interpret the laws was certainly due to Meir Mekhls' influence.

I have listened to my memories of several characters in our shtetl. Were they the only ones? Absolutely not. I happened to be in close contact with them and they have made a strong impression on me. For sure, there were many other interesting personalities and others will write about them who knew them better.

Did the Jews of Ryki consist only of very saintly, pious men? I don't know. However, there is a deep conviction within me that even those who were not very appreciated in the shtetl possessed a spark of elation.

I am seeing in front of me the simple Jews who possessed so many noble sparks and heroism. Now I am seeing Pinchas Falke before my eyes, at a fair that happened to take place the day before Shavuot. The peasants were somewhat or completely drunk. They were displeased that the Jews had begun to close their stores early for the holiday. The younger peasants began sitting around the closed doors and it looked like a real pogrom was looming. The Jews became shaky and discouraged.

At that moment, Pinchas Falke came running to the marketplace, tore out a pin from one of the peasants' wagons and began hitting the unruly, gentile, impudent boys over the heads. Seeing Pinchas's audacity, other Jews came out to the market and helped him chase the peasants out of the shtetl. Thinks to Pinchas, a bloody pogrom was avoided.

Many years have passed since I was in Ryki, and since then I have travelled through many countries and cities, have made close friends and acquaintances. But if I happened to meet a landsman from Ryki, regardless of whether we were once close or just acquaintances, I soon began to feel a closeness with him, a true warmth that is much stronger than

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the closeness and friendship with others. A feeling of being closely related and a love toward the Jews of Ryki lives inside me.

I always have the strong personalities of Ryki before me. They devoted heart and soul to their friends. The connection between Diaspora and Redemption was fated and was the origin of the spiritual values of generations of Jewish creativity.

Every day of my life, I am looked at by the eyes of those closest to me, eyes that were closed shut so early when they died a horrible death. They ask me, along with the voices of millions of martyrs during their last thoughts in the ghettos and gas chambers: “Did only you, among all the others, survive?”

Deep within me I feel a duty to connect with them in my thoughts, to walk with them through the quiet streets of our shtetl, to look through the empty windows from where the pious Shabbat lights of our mothers would shine on Friday nights, our mothers who made these young boyish hearts happy.

Ryki is now deserted. Evil winds are blowing and silence the old melody of eykho yoshvo boded hoir raboti am. The empty Jewish streets are crying out the melody and I, together with them, my Jews of Ryki, want to weep like this every day of my life.

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