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{Page 224}

A Bundle of Memories

by Dr. Shlomo Horowitz, Haifa

Translated by Jerrold Landau

 It was the beginning of the summer of 1903. There was unusual motion on the streets of our city. From every side, people were streaming to the Great Synagogue in haste. Out of curiosity, I pushed myself into the overflowing crowd that filled the old synagogue to the brim, although I was still a child. Suddenly the crowd was quieted, and the rabbi of the city Rabbi Nathan Lewin stood up, ascended to the lectern and began to preach. I did not understand the words of the rabbi, but I was able to make out the words “pogrom” and “Kishinev” that were repeated in his sermon. At times, the voice of the rabbi thundered strongly and at other times it was choked with emotion. When his hands were raised aloft, it was unclear if he was begging for mercy or chastising towards Heaven. I felt the trembling that passed over the audience like an electric wave. I heard brokenhearted sighs of those reciting petitions and chapters of Psalms, and I saw tears welling up in the eyes of many. I did not know why the crowd was so emotional and stormy on a day that was neither Yom Kippur nor Tisha Beov. This was the first time that I witnessed adult men weeping bitterly and this is an experience that I will never forget…

 A year passed. In the heat of the summer, when the Tammuz [1] sun beats down and burns the head, I went out into the street. It was not as it was previously, with Jews wandering about in groups. The look on their perturbed faces testified that something terrible happened. I returned home perplexed, and I found my mother weeping bitterly. When I asked her for the reason, she answered me: “Herzl died!” I did not then understand the fateful meaning of those words, but this was the first time I saw my mother weeping – and this etched very deeply upon my heart. Later on, when I grew up and understood the history of the Zionist movement and its founder, the tears of my mother over his death served as an eternal testament to the mighty impression that his personality had upon his community of followers. Who knows if perhaps these tears were the fundamental reason for the great enthusiasm with which the soul of the youth cleaved to the national movement…

 Another year or two passed, and I was a student in the “Teudat Yisrael” Hebrew School. One day, a young teacher entered the class, full of energy and self-confidence. He turned to us in Hebrew (obviously with the Ashkenazic pronunciation) as if it was self-explanatory, and as if we had to understand his words. We were perplexed, although simultaneously enchanted. The novelty was not only the living Hebrew that the young teacher Meshulam Davidson brought with him from Russia to our city of Rzeszow, but his entire educational methodology and attitude: he chased away the frozen spirit that prevailed in our school at that time. He chased away the dryness and boredom, and turned teaching into something alive, light and attractive to the heart. He led choral singing and games during the recesses that were between classes (songs and games in a Jewish school of that era!). He himself took an active part in both activities, that is to say he conducted the singing and directed the games! All of this, in addition to his joyful and bubbly personality, exuded energy and praise from his young eyes, and made him into a revered personality among his students. When he left our city after a brief period to continue on to the Land of Israel (Rzeszow for him was only a temporary stop on his route to the Land!) a heavy sorrow descended upon all of his students. With him, the lively spirit that he instilled in the school departed. Students began to leave the school, and it finally closed permanently. Meshulam Davidson who was among the early activists of the Second Aliya that paved the streets and built the houses of the young city of Tel Aviv, returned to our city after several years to which he had become attached with his whole heart and soul already from before, and he turned into a veritable Rzeszowite. He jumped into communal affairs of the city with the complete enthusiasm of his stormy temperament. Due to his fanaticism and his hot temperament, he became someone who instilled fear upon every Zionist meeting (he was a member of the Poale Zion faction!). He returned to the Land of Israel after the First World War. He lived at first in Tel Aviv, and at the end of his life in Tel Amal, near the family of his son who was a member of that Kibbutz. He died here on Rosh Hashanah 5621 (1960) at an old age. His eyes had witnessed the establishment of Israel, and his children and grandchildren rooted in the land of the forefathers.

 The Hebrew school closed, and I became a student of the government Gymnasia. Despite this, my father ensured that my Jewish education would not be neglected. Aside from a Talmud teacher, he engaged Reb Abba Apfelbaum of blessed memory, the founder and principal of the Hebrew school, as a Bible and Hebrew teacher for me. He was a fascinating personality, who intermingled a devotion to the Haskala and a love of Zion with the observance of the commandments and a fear of Heaven – a type of personality that had become rare at the beginning of the 20th century. He was an expert historian (he wrote historical monographs on several Jewish sages of Italy, such as Reb Yehuda Aryeh Muscato, Reb Moshe Zakut and others), an exemplary publicist (one of the participants in “Hamagid”, “Hatzefira”, “Hamitzpe”, and Yiddish newspapers of his era), and an engaging speaker in the style of the “nationalistic preachers”. He was a devoted servant [2] to Hebrew. His love of Hebrew was equaled by his love of Zion – and he instilled both of them to his few students to whom he gave private lessons in his house. Each of these lessons was an experience for me, whether it was a chapter of Isaiah or Psalms (his translation was in German, along the lines of Mendelsohn's commentary!), “The Investigation into the World” of Reb Yedaya Habdarashi, “The Four Cups” of Shlomo Pappenheim, an essay of Achad Haam, or a story of Mendele, the yearly magazine “Hapardes” or a “Hashiloach” pamphlet – I swallowed up everything with hunger; everything nourished the brain and enriched the soul. These lessons were particularly nice during the winter. Reb Abba Apfelbaum's house was located at the edge of the city, and one could see a view of the wide fields from the window of the room in which we were sitting. Outside, ice and a blanket of snow covered the earth, and inside, the heater was burning, so it was warm for the body and warm for the soul. The youth was lifted on the wings of his spirit from the enchanting view of nature to the distance of generations, and became inspired by the creations of their spirit and with the depth of their thoughts… These lessons remained with me until today among the most precious memories of my life!

 From here to other lessons. There was a non-insignificant number of Jews in the Polish Gymnasia, but for the privileged among the gentiles there were special classes without Jews, a form of Polish “apartheid”… During that time

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Jew-hatred was strong in the newspapers and on the street. It prevailed even in school as a venomous serpent surrounding us, sometimes hidden from the eye but for the most part open and brazen. The word “Zyd!” always echoed from one side of the class to the other, as it issued from between the lips with a special enunciation, and was accompanied by a glance of hatred and disdain. Even some of the teachers were not free of this animal hatred. I remember one who instilled the fear of death upon all of his students. He would correct a minute error in Greek grammar with the course, disparaging expression: “blood of dogs!”. However, he especially derided his Jewish students – even though I and my friend Moshe Wald-Yaari were awarded by him with the honorary nickname, so to speak, “Great Rabbi”…

{Photo page 225: The Teacher Meshulam Davidson with Pupils at the first Hebrew School of Rzeszow. First row, standing from right: Teller, Leibl Cohen, Shlomo Horowitz, Nathan Apfelbaum, Shaufel, --, Teller, Dreiangel. Seated from right: Binyamin Grinspan, Kuba Glasberg, Mondek Zinnamon, the teacher Meshulam Davidson, Elbaum, Berek Grinspan, Avraham Teller, Schneeweiss. Third row seated: Elbaum, Lunek Kahane, Gleicher, -- Dreiangel.}

 With such a burden upon the soul, I left Galicia when the First World War broke out. It was this that determined my attitude toward my “native” Poland: I nurtured a hatred for it in return for the hatred, and I never picked up even one Polish book or newspaper during all the years that passed since then. Poland bestowed upon me only two things, and these I will carry with me to my last day: its natural landscape, and “Pan Tadeusz”… those wide fields, covered with a sea of growing sheaves in the summer, or a sea of snow in the winter; those forests in which a youngster sought privacy and shade in the summer, when he would lie on a light mattress of needles and breath the wonderful aroma of sap into his lungs; those rivers in the Carpathian mountains, flowing quickly, sparkling like crystal, lapping with a unique sound, calming, removing the chill, and restoring to the soul – for these my soul pines in our Land that is parched by the sun and blasted by the east winds. Regarding “Pan Tadeusz” of Mickiewicz, this creation, as if it was etched in marble – its wondrous stanzas still sing in my soul with a wondrous melody. This is the one and only cultural heritage that Poland bestowed upon me…

 As I have stated, in school we lived on foreign territory, and out lot was hatred, scorn and constant derision and ridicule. Even in the narrow space that the gymnasia permitted us, that is in the realm of religion classes, the situation was very poor. Twice a week, during the time that the Christians studied Catholic catechism with the clergymen, the Jewish students studied “religion lessons”, in which a Jewish religion teacher taught a little bit of reading from the Torah (in Polish translation) and a very small amount of Jewish history (in the language of the state) – this was all the “Jewish education” that the government gymnasia granted to its Jewish students! What was worse than this was that the religion classes served for the assimilationists and ordinary mischief makers as an excellent opportunity for pranks, mischief, and shameless ridicule of the religion teacher (in our case, he was an elderly Maskil of stature by the name of Zygmunt Kamerling, and even his command of the Polish language was not worthy of praise). The hearts of the group

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of nationalists and serious people among us were sore at the insult that was perpetrated by these wild people at the remnant of “autonomy” so to speak that the Polish School authorities left us. It is no wonder that our souls pined for our own “home”. To this end, we set up a group called “Jordonia” (the Polish form of “Yardenia”), which was affiliated with the “Tzeirei Zion” youth group of gymnasia students. It had its center in Lvov, and branches in all areas of Galicia. The aim of our group, as for all of the branches of “Tzeirei Zion” was to perfect all aspects of the Jewish enterprise, in particular by the study of Hebrew, the history of our people, and the knowledge of the Land of Israel. All of this activity was conducted by the members themselves. The older ones endeavored to bestow their knowledge upon the younger ones. Once a week, on the Sabbath, one of the members would deliver a lecture to the community of friends. I remember well the first lecture that I presented to this group, when I was about 15 years old, on the topic of Don Yosef Hanasi [3]. I prepared it appropriately, but in the manner of inexperienced lecturers I was very lengthy, and I wearied my audience without mercy – until the chairman of the group (at the time Tzvi Koretz of blessed memory) came to their rescue and to mine, and urged me to finish my words in whatever manner… I should point out that the lectures that we gave were not only in the realm of Judaism, but also on general topics. Among us, there was a young man who possessed broad general knowledge (Feniger was his name), who knew how to lecture in a deep fashion on matters of general literature. Even though his voice was somewhat husky, he succeeded in holding the interest of his audience from beginning to end. The size of the audience was in general not more than 20, even though on paper, double this number were registered as members of the organization. For the most part, it was necessary to make efforts from one person to the next so that they would show up for the Sabbath meetings. It is needless to state that the courses during the week were run with very few people. All of the activity was conducted in secret due to the general ban on students from belonging to any organization that was outside the walls of the school. Indeed, the teachers, and certainly also the authorities, knew about the existence of the group and the identities of those active in it, but they turned their eyes away and acted as if they did not know anything. Therefore, we were also able to convene a national convention of the “Tzeirei Zion” organization in Lvov during the summer vacation on an annual basis, in which we would review the situation of the previous year and plan the program for the coming year. These meetings served as a meeting place for the best of the Jewish studying youth, and a wonderful training ground for the education of presenters and orators. I participated in several of these conventions, and they left an indelible impression upon me. The convention that took place in the summer of 1914, a few weeks before the outbreak of the war, was particularly interesting, and had a great number of participants. I participated in that convention along with Yaakov Alter of blessed memory and Moshe Yaari, may he live long. However, the joy of that meeting with like minded friends from all corners of Galicia (among others, I knew Eliezer Riger of blessed memory, and Naftali Nussenblatt may G-d avenge his blood who both later became close friends of mine) was disturbed by the sudden appearance of the police. We never found out what caused this. It seems that, due to the great political upheaval, the civic government became more vigilant regarding any public gathering, especially ones conducted underground. In any case, we somehow managed to scatter in haste in all directions and to destroy the papers that contained the records of the meetings and the decisions of the committee…

 In summary, I should state that it is difficult to over estimate the value of the “Tzeirei Zion” organization, although it only included a certain percentage of the studying youth in the country, but that portion of the youth were the most astute and effervescent of the youth. The best of the intelligentsia came forth from “Tzeirei Zion”, who fought with strength and pride in the national struggle for their people. The organization also served as a kernel from which the “Hashomer Hatzair” movement later sprung. That movement was created in Vienna during the time of the First World War by a merger of “Tzeirei Zion” and the “Hashomer” Jewish scouting organization. With the passage of time, this movement branched out and encompassed the finest of the Jewish youth in Galicia and Congress Poland, and later sent waves of thousands of chalutzim to the Land of Israel. They formed an important part of the stream of the Third Aliya.

 Let us return to the days prior to the First World War. As stated, the number of members of “Jordonia” was small, and even so, most of the members were ignorant in all matters pertaining to Judaism. I, who was diligent in my studies of Judaism for all my days, yearned for an environment of people involved in Torah, and therefore I was attracted with enchanted bonds to the “Hashachar” organization, whose members were students of the Beis Midrash, the children of the most Orthodox families, who peeked and were damaged [4]. Very secretly, they sneaked to the room of their movement in order to spend a brief period in discussion of matters that were of the pinnacle of the world of Judaism. “Hashachar” as well was affiliated with the national Zionist organization of Yeshiva students. The chairman of the secret organization, Moshe Weisenfeld [5], was one of the founders of that organization, along with the writer Dov Kimchi and the teacher Naftali Zigel (all of them passed away). I found in “Hashachar” what I was missing in “Jordonia”: young people who had absorbed the aroma of Torah and were thirsty for Haskala and knowledge, and for whom Hebrew and its literature were the joy of their lives. I will never forget the winter Sabbath afternoons that I spent with this interesting group, and which were filled with Jewish warmth and imbued with the sublime national pining. These Sabbath afternoons of “Hashachar” supplemented the time that I spent during weekdays in the home of Reb Abba Apfelbaum of blessed memory…

 My character was forged in a decisive manner in my own home, in which all the good and benefit of the patriarchal style of an old fashioned Jewish family was intermingled with the values of progress and the Zionist movement, which was in full blossom at the time. These were “days of storms and breeches”, the time that the young movement was engaged in a bitter struggle with the stubborn Orthodox on one side, and the limited areas of “progress” of the impetuous assimilationists [6] on the other hand. Our family, the Horowitz family from father's side and the Cohen family from mother's side, served as a fortress of strength for the nationalist movement. The younger generation of our family fought its battles with strength and dedication. I remember longingly and sorrowfully my mother's brother, Shlomo Cohen may G-d avenge his blood, a fine young man, good looking and peaceful in his character, for whom Zionism was the breath of his nostrils and his lifeblood. I will never forget the days when all of the members of the younger generation of our family gathered together, including me as a young lad, and listened with trembling and holy solemnity for literally

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hours as the protocols of the meetings of the congresses were read aloud, as printed in special editions of “Di Velt”. Uncle Shlomo would read this material with intent and festivity, as if he was the prayer leader conducting services… Throughout the weeks, other names and ideas echoed through the house, such as Wolfson, Warburg, Oppenheimer, and P.L.D.C. (“The Organization for Improving the settlement”), cooperatzia, etc., which stood at the height of the world of Zionism. Father's brother, Uncle Moshe Horowitz, was of a different character. He possessed a wide general knowledge that he obtained through his own efforts (he knew how to recite entire pages from Homer in German translation). He was a master of the anecdote and had a wonderful sense of humor. He knew how to tell stories endlessly, which literally hooked and hypnotized his listeners. As opposed to quiet and level-headed Uncle Shlomo, Uncle Moshe had a stormy personality. He was a visionary and a dreamer. In the eyes of my grandfather, Reb Yehuda Halevi Horowitz, a G-d fearing scholar who spent his days with Torah and Divine service, and in the eyes of my pious grandmother, he was obviously considered to be an Apikorus (heretic) and an eccentric, especially since to their sorrow he never married a woman, and never succeeded in forging a path in life for himself. There was something in him akin to the wandering poets of the Middle Ages. One fine morning he left the house and started wandering from place to place. He studied in a teachers' seminary in Germany and worked in business in Vienna. He served in the army of the Austrian Empire, fought on the front and rose to the rank of captain. Immediately following the war, he made aliya to the Land of his dreams, which he had already visited previously (the first in our city!). He lives there in his old age to this day.

 The central figure in the family was mother of blessed memory, Feidza (or Fanny as she is called in the vernacular), nee Cohen, who was revered by everyone on account of her fine traits. Her seal was truth: truth in thought and deed. Her guiding foundation was her heart – her wisdom also came from the heart, if it is possible to say so. She did not possess the worldliness and the diligence that Jewish women were known for in previous times, but she had rather a simple understanding of life that was imbued with deep human emotion and love of her fellow men. She loved every human created in the Divine image, in particular everyone who was downtrodden and distraught; she did not occupy herself in charitable pursuits for the purpose of fame, but rather secretly supported everyone who was poor and needy. Her personality caught the hearts of everyone who came in contact with her, for she knew how to talk to everybody with the simplicity and enthusiasm that were unique to her. She also knew how to discuss matters of literature and society, for thanks to her natural intelligence and desire for knowledge, she was able to widely broaden the horizons that she obtained from her poor education that was given to her in her youth in the style of Jewish girls. As time went on, there was not one good book, particularly in the realm of fiction that she did not read, and that she was not able to discuss along with the issues raised by it.

 As stated, mother “set the style” in family matters in all areas, including the realm of Zionism. She was one of the founders and later on the president of the “Shulamit” women's Zionist organization. With her magnetic powers, she attracted many of the middle class women into the ranks of the movement. Zionism was not merely a hobby for her, but rather the content of her life. She tied the best of her dreams and efforts to it, and she thought about it day and night. She placed the memory of Jerusalem at the pinnacle of her joys, and every small matter that took place in the Zionist movement in the Land of Israel was for her a great matter. There was no Zionist issue in her time that she did not deal with in her warm and uniquely enthusiastic style in the council of the members of the family. Her reverence for the founder of political Zionism knew no bounds, and I already mentioned the mighty impact that her weeping at his death had upon me. The First World War in 1914 uprooted the family almost entirely from the land upon which it was raised and its natural environment. The family was transplanted to Vienna, the imperial capital. Even in the new environment, in which many of the “refugees” from Galicia abandoned their traditional way of life and nationalist ideals, mother knew how to nurture the flame so that it would not be extinguished. When the youth were attracted to the “Hashomer Hatzair” movement, our home on Bahn-Gasse 15 became a sort of guesthouse, and members of the movement came and went. Mother related in a refined manner to all those who came into the house (boys and girls), filled with feminine tenderness and motherly understanding. When her son went to the Land of Israel as a result of the desires that were imparted to him by the movement, she did not attempt to stop him, but rather supported and helped him, for she understood that in his deeds there was a fulfillment of a living dream. After some years, my parents also made aliya to the Land in the footsteps of their children, and thus was rectified the life in foreign lands. Mother loved the Land in reality no less than she did in the dreams of her youth, and she was excited at every nuance of the new life that was exposed to her eyes, just as she was enthusiastic while still in Rzeszow from reading every speech of Herzl or Nordau. She loved nature strongly: trees, greenery, flowers, and the sea. In her first years of living in Tel Aviv, she spent hours enjoying the closeness of the sea, enjoying its aroma and taking pleasure in its waves. However, the difficult climate, caused her much suffering. Family difficulties and finally an extended illness weighed down upon the final period of her life, which should have been the crowning period of her life. She bore all of these things contritely, making peace with her lot, with extreme strength, and sealed lips, without uttering a complaint or a sigh – only her good eyes gave expression to her great suffering and agony, that her case should be taken up before the Seat of Divine Mercy…

 Thus went to her eternal rest one of the wives and mothers of Israel, may their merit protect us to this day.

 May her memory be blessed.

Haifa- Achuza, 5622 (1962)

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A Heritage from a Reisha Home

by Meir Yaari [7] - Kibutz Merchavia

Translated by Jerrold Landau

 My father was a Zionist even from before Herzl, from the days of Chovevei Zion. He was a sort of “national tribune” in our city. With all this, father was a leader of the intelligentsia in the city. He edited the local newspaper, called “Reisher Folkes Zeitung”. I, who was eight years old at the time, was the distributor of the newspaper. My mother, a third-level descendent of the dynasty of the Baal Shem Tov [8], was a descendent of a family of Admorim.

 My parents were Orthodox, and at the same time tolerant. They trusted us, their children, and never interfered with our affairs. Perhaps due to that their influence upon us was so great. Many of the foundations that I later brought with me to “Hashomer Hatzair” I had brought with me from my parents house.

 My father was an honorary cantor in the town, and he conducted services three times a year as a volunteer. Perhaps due to that, there was the love of traditional song and the cleaving to the national legacy in father's home. When I served on the Russian front during the First World War, I organized a choir amongst the children of the farmers who served together with me in the brigade. In those days I knew hundreds of songs with their lyrics, and the soldiers followed after me with enthusiasm.

 I was born in the year 5657 (1897), in the year of the First Zionist Congress. Three years later I had my first encounter with Herzl. One day, I went with father to a meeting of “Agudat Zion”. There was a large portrait of Herzl hanging on the wall of the meeting room. At the moment I saw that face peering at me from the wall – I literally “fell in love” with the portrait, and I could not remove my gaze from it.

 I received my early traditional education in the cheder, and I absorbed and internalized Jewish tradition from there, and also from the court of the Admor Eliezer Weissblum, whose home was near that of my parents. To complement my traditional education, I was fortunate to obtain a Hebrew, nationalist and Zionist education in the “Cheder Hametukan”, from the expert Hebrew teachers of that era. Later, I studied in public school and gymnasia, and still later at university and the Agricultural Academy in Vienna.

 In those days, Poland had a young literature that greatly excited me. This was a sort of Polish version of the vision of the renaissance in the style of Bialik. The young Polish literature blended in an organic fashion with the Hebrew literature of those days. During that era, the Poles were also involved in their struggle for independence; and for Jews who had the Zionistic pioneering dream, it was not difficult to relate to the literature that was created by the Polish freedom fighters.

 When I finished the public school in our city, my parents sent me to the big city of Krakow to study there as a technician. For an entire year, I tortured myself with building sketches and other subjects that never interested me. I lived with a tailor on a typical Jewish street. In that house, the first floor was occupied by the Jewish theater. Every evening I would leave my room, sit on a rock, and look into the theater hall through the window. In those days, I knew all of the verses of Goldfaden by heart…

Childhood in Rzeszow

by Anda Amir-Pinkerfeld [9]

Translated by Jerrold Landau

 Even though I was born in Rzeszow, I do not know that city, and I believe that my family did not live there for longer than one year. During that time, my father, Yoel Pinkerfeld, was still a young architect. He worked on the building of the railway lines and the railroad station, and my family was forced to move from place to place. My mother told me that during that period of ten years, she changed residence 18 times, until we finally settled in Lvov in 1909. We lived there from that time until we made aliya to the Land.

 I don't know if my father built only the railway station in Rzeszow, or any other government buildings. I only know that he built a great number of the public buildings throughout Galicia. When I once came to Sambor for a dedication of the civic hospital that he built there, I stopped in the middle of the city and marveled at the beauty of one of the large buildings. I asked my father about the building. As far as I recall, it was the city hall, and he answered me with recognizable satisfaction: “I built that building”.

 My father, a native of Krakow, left his home at a very early age after he was orphaned from his mother, and his father married a second wife. He studied at his own initiative. It is no wonder that he felt himself as a Pole in all matters, for he enjoyed fine camaraderie with his Polish colleagues, and he lived in a progressive and enlightened environment, without any feelings of religious discrimination. He educated us, his children, in that same manner. The transition to Jewish awareness came to us after the outbreak of pogroms against the Jews in Lvov in 1919. At that time, my father still served as a volunteer in the Polish army with the rank of captain. The turning of my brother and sisters towards “Hashomer Hatzair” caused an ideological rift in the family. When my brother and I made aliya in 1920 with the first pioneering group, he did not bestow upon us a farewell blessing, even though my friends saw him and my mother standing discreetly in railway station and weeping over this traumatic parting. Slowly the rift healed, and when the two of us were forced to return home because of the illnesses we contracted in the Land, our Zionist influence had taken root. The patriotic Polish feeling diminished from year to year, and my parents made aliya in 1932. My father was able to work here in his profession for several years, and he built our home. At the request of my mother, they brought the body of my sister with them, and now they all rest together in the Nachalat Yitzchak cemetery.

Translator's Footnotes

1. Tammuz is the Hebrew month that falls in June-July. Back

2. The term here is “”Eved Nirtza”, i.e. a “pierced servant”, referring to the Biblical law that if a Hebrew servant does not wish to go free at the end of six years of servitude, he is to have his ear bored at the doorpost, and then he remains a servant until the Jubilee Year. Back

3. Don Yosef Hanasi lived in Toledo in Spain at the end of 11th century/beginning of the 12th century. He was a Jewish leader and a personal physician to King Alphonso the 4th of Castille. Back

4. A Talmudic reference referring to someone who 'peeks' into forbidden areas, and then whose belief structure thereby becomes damaged. Back

5. There is a footnote in the text here, which reads as follows: “Moshe Weisenfeld was the heartwarming character of a young scholar of pleasant mannerism. Aside from this, he was an excellent orator and splendid writer. He worked for the central organization of the Jewish National Fund of Western Galicia in Krakow, and was one of the well-known personalities among the leadership of the national movement of the youth in that land. Back

6. Referring to their disinterest and antipathy to Zionism. Back

7. Meir Yaari was a very prominent figure on the left of the Zionist movement. He was one of the founders of Hashomer Hatzair in 1915. Later, in 1948, he was one of the founders of the left wing party Mapam (United party of Workers). After the establishment of the state of Israel, he was a member of the Knesset and an important political figure on the left of Israeli politics for many years. Back

8. Rabbi Yisrael Baal Shem Tov, the founder of Hassidism. Back

9. Anda Amir-Pinkerfeld was born in Rzezsow in 1902. She was a poet and a writer in Israel and was known for her books for children. Back

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