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The way in which Mordechai worked and which brought him to his final station in the land, to the United Kibbutz,^[1] and to the world of thought of the ideology of the Labor Party,^[2] testified to his special uniqueness.

Son of a religious family, he absorbed a rich and systematic Torah education, and with independent effort attached to it a general and broad, multi-branched education.

His spiritual world was rich and vibrant, and he was always open to ideas that he knew how to process and integrate into a highly disciplined moral melting pot of ideas.

He hated fragments and slogans and did not admire the combination of various “isms” even if they were wrapped in romance or interesting shapes.

The truth of the measure of Mordechai's discernment of the path and his world view stood first and foremost in the personal ethical discernment and in the translation of the idea into a committed way of life. Despite his hot temperament and emotional manner, he had clear thought that penetrated to the depths. The characteristics that he absorbed into himself from his Torah learning sharpened his expression and made him a gifted teacher.

Since the day that his foot stepped on the land of Israel as a member of Kibbutz Shachariah, he did not see the kibbutz as a separating framework between him and the nation as a whole, but rather as a center radiating onto its surroundings. And indeed, not many days passed from the time that he lifted a hoe and went out to the orchards of Chadera, and already when he became integrated into the communal life of the workers and was chosen by them as their representative at the workers committee.

Members of Kibbutz Shachariah admired his kindness and his measureless devotion to helping others. They said that a reputation went out to the public for Kibbutz Shachariah, and they streamed to it from near and far in order to see educated youths of Israel, and these boys from good families at hard manual labor.

There was always the problem of putting up the many guests overnight, and Mordechai was always the first to vacate his bed. And indeed, they almost don't remember if some time he got to sleep in his bed. He always acted to take care of the guest, and, after midnight, he would make his bed of straw in the corner of the room in order to get up at dawn for the day's toil.

Conquering manual labor was the first of his desires even if he never stood out in excellent health. His physical weakness did not prevent him from being for all hard work, and the efforts of his friends to direct him to the easier work were always ineffective.

The short years of his life in the holy land were dedicated to hard work in the daytime hours, and public service in the evenings and days off. He always was occupied with the matters of others as a lecturer, teacher, doing the mission of his group and the mission of the working public in general.

After the first settling into Chadera, together with his friends he moved for a year of training with the farmers at Yavniel and from there to Migdal. At that time in Migdal they began penetrating discussions about the future of the group, and Mordechai, due to his connections and his past in the movement, was appointed over the men of HaPoel.

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As he was great in the Torah and Chassidut, and was known for his great intelligence, they turned to him in matters of arbitration of the laws of Torah.

His father the Admor esteemed him greatly and used to say about him he was a man who was alive, and active, and emphasized the “alive,” since he was wise and honest. It was usual to say about him that he inherited his wisdom from the middle Admor, Rabbi Dovid from Kotzk, may the memory of the righteous be for a blessing, who was known as a wonderfully wise person. He used to consult with him about all the general matters; many times he sent his chassidim and admirers who came to him to consult about complicated topics to also go to Rabbi Moshe to listen to his advice and his opinion. They also sent matters of Torah laws to him, and indeed he excelled as the best of the arbitrators. With his great wisdom he knew how to aim for the truth, and to stand up to acts of fraud. House owners in Sokolov, without distinguishing between Chassidim and Mitnagdim^[3], Charedim^[4] and non-Charedim, would come to ask his advice, and they accepted his opinions. The people of the city respected him greatly, and those who were close to him surrounded him with great admiration, and therefore when his father, the Admor and Av Beit Din^[5] in Sokolov, got sick and spent most of the year in a place of healing and wanted to lighten for himself the yoke of the rabbinate, he suggested that they crown his son Rabbi Moshe as Rabbi in his place. This suggestion was accepted with sympathy and in the year 5695 [1935] he was accepted as the Rabbi of Sokolov. Shortly after his appointment as Rabbi, and he was in the best of his days, a serious heart disease attacked him. His heart that was sensitive to any trouble or distress was unable to carry the trouble of the young masses. He grew close in the land to the world of thought and way of the Kibbutz HaMe'uchad and used all of his power of persuasion for the sake of the side of the kibbutz.

With those decisions, he took an active part in the life of workers in Migdal, and he was elected there too as a member of the cultural council of the workers' community.

In the short period of his life on our farm, “Givat Chaim,” the best of his virtues were revealed: he was kind to others, hurried to help everyone, worked diligently on the youth farm, and after a hard day of work he would walk for a long time in the dunes in order to organize a cultural activity for the workers of Chadera. He was involved in all of the problems of the kibbutz and the society, was prominent for his principled approach to very problem, and stood his ground firmly but pleasantly.

Mordechai rejected every attempt to make his life easier and sometimes they were forced to be helped by the authority of the doctor in order to force upon him greater financial support and vacation days.

His sudden death from heart disease came down like a heavy blow on his friends, who wept and eulogized him as after one of the precious ones of the community, and as a bearer of the future for himself and for the nation.

Mordechai's memory is kept in the heart of all his friends who were fortunate to be found in his presence, and knew to draw strength from the power of his will and the light of faith that emanated from him.

His memory is blessed.

1. HaKibbutz HaMe'uchad, The United Kibbutz, was a union of kibbutzim in Israel founded at a conference in Petach Tikvah in 1927 by the first “large” groups of settlers, established primarily by pioneers of the Third Aliyah. Return
2. Achdut HaAvodah, the Labor Union, was a Zionist Socialist Labor Party in Palestine founded in 1919. Return
3. The Mitnagdim were the opposers, referring to those opposed to the Chassidic movement. Return
4. Literally, “tremblers,” referring to the ultra-Orthodox. Return
5. Head of the Rabbinical Court: the district rabbi of a large community. Av Beit Din designated the principal of the yeshiva who made halakhic rulings and participated in communal administration. Return

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Before his departure with his family from Warsaw to be carried on the platform of a freight cart progressing heavily in the direction of Sokolov, his friends in the house of the Chassidim guided him: immediately upon his arrival in Sokolov he should turn aside to the house of the Dayan,^[1] Rabbi Mordechai Halbershtat. He is one of “the ten idlers” of Breslov Chassidut. It was not clear to him the meaning of this phrase, or where it came from. Up until that time he had never heard anything about their existence. On the contrary, he knew that in Breslov Chassidut there was no appointment or authority, or arrogance of one Chassid over his friend. Indeed, in every group of Chassidim there would be found one or two or three members who were accepted over the group, and they are the ones who would read the books of the Rabbi in public and clarify and expand the words according to their way. But in no way is there in this any naming or tenure, and they are nothing but like one who passes before the ark,^[2] since everyone is appropriate for this according to Halakhah.^[3] Those “ten idlers” that he now heard of were described to him therefore as in the image of the men of mystery that are scattered on the face of the “world,” one in the city and two in the state, hidden from the eyes of people, who do not see in them anything special, and only in the inner sanctum^[4] of the secret of the Chassidim of Breslov do they know about their existence and about their status in the “world.”

Once the wagon reached Sokolov and the heavy baggage was unloaded, it was the first of his deeds to ask for the dwelling place of the Dayan. His apartment was in the yard of a house in the “little market,” next to the new “Beit Midrash”^[5] (it is known that in almost every Jewish town there were two Batei Midrash, the old Beit Midrash and the new Beit Midrash, and in every town the old Beit Midrash was newer than the new Beit Midrash, since its previous building, the really old one, which was built out of wood, went up in fire in “the big fire”- which was also was a fixed part in the history of every Jewish town, and was built anew, and it turns out that its building was newer than that of the new Beit Midrash). Inside the apartment there was restrained and subdued cleanliness, as if by force and with a special effort it stopped the smells and desolation of the outside from bursting into it. There was a table next to the window, and a bookshelf next to it, and sitting at it and reading a book was a middle-aged man with black hair and beard and eyes, thin and appearing tall even while sitting. The peace of the room was bathed in light, and the serenity of the man, who was also bathed in light farther inward, made an impression on the one who came in that he had escaped from the hubbub and confusion that struck in waves outside to an island of peace and rest, an illusion, an island of Jewish advancement, within the sea of the hustling and bustling present life that surrounded it.

The first meeting between the Dayan and the shy hesitant young one, who came from a distance, is not sufficiently clearly remembered by him. Probably he said hello and asked where he came from. But a conversation did not connect them. Because the man spoke little, like no other. He was silent. But he was not really silent. It seemed like he was having an exchange of words with his soul, speaking, but his speech does not come outside, it is whispered inside, into some exalted internal depths, that he tells them his thoughts and listens to the echoes that return. And it is hard for him to stop this conversation of depths and to turn his attention and his words to start talking to the outside, to a person from the outside. What do they have with one another at all? He had not yet finished with himself, what would he say to the other? And generally, the other is surely engaged in a conversation like this, with his soul and with his world, and what is he that he would disturb him with speech from outside?

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Nevertheless, without saying and without speech, a closeness occurred between the two, and it was hovering in the space of the room. Touching and not touching. With all the muteness in the silence a feeling of inner partnership wound around the young one, a partnership rooted in one spirituality, in one love, the spirituality and love of Breslov. Each one will talk to his own soul, into his own soul. Somewhere, in the internality of Breslov Chassidut the lines of conversations of the two will meet, and the point of the meeting is the root of the life force.

Instead of a conversation the Dayan indicated to the young one to take out “Chiddushei Hari'm”^[6] which stood among the books, and pointed out to him a place in the book to study and repeat it before him. The young one did so. He studied and repeated what was written into the ears of the master of the house. He did not say anything, showed no sign of appreciation, nothing positive or negative. But it seemed like these one-sided exchanges of Torah set the status of the visitor as a member of the family, that there was no need to “take care” of him again. And so it was. From then on the young one would enter the Dayan's house every day, take out “Likutei Moharan”^[7] from among the books, read in it while standing, and walking around, without them exchanging a word or half a word. Only from time to time would the Dayan return and face the young one, asking him to take out “Chiddushei Hari'm,” to study it and repeat the innovation before him, with an explanation of the sources that were mentioned and to discuss them. That was the only explicit conversation between them.

In the new Beit Midrash, the young one was seeing the Dayan from afar and accompanying him always with his eyes. His gait was thin and upright, silent and black. Elevated and separated from everything around him, and turned entirely inward. Really like that same hidden image of those “ten idlers,” as they were described for him then. All those rushed and urgent people surrounding, whose time is lost and whose prayer is brief, who cling to the land and the needs of the land with all their hungry senses do not sense at all who it is that is walking among them and standing in prayer with them – this is the silent transforming figure, like a kind of pillar that connects the land of their lives to the heaven of the heavens, connecting their living land to the skies of heaven. And on the other hand, he, the young one, knows this, and there was a feeling of pride in this knowing, and more than that, a sense of inner partnership, in the same abstinence from the surroundings and that same silent striving for the lofty depths.

Over the course of time it was as if those lofty depths became farther than they had been, and he, the young one, has gotten tired of striving for them. The ropes of the days returned and held onto him, his visits to the Dayan's house grew fewer and fewer, until they stopped. Later he moved away from the town, returned to the city, and would visit the town sometimes when he was invited. He refrained for some reason from a meeting with the Dayan. The promised line of meeting became bent somewhere, and it was no longer so certain or wanted. Only one time, while he was standing next to the oven in the new Beit Midrash, the Dayan chanced upon him. This was apparently a special effort on his part to go out of his way and draw near and open a conversation. “Do you still sometimes study the Talmud?” was the question. “We are busy, hurried” was the evasive answer. “From where, then, do we draw a little vitality?” was his question for the answer, and he turned and walked away, tall, silent, collected in his depths.

And so it certainly went in that calamitous and cataclysmic time. Horrors all around, and he is silent, darkness all around, and he is illuminating within, death all around and he is living every minute a changed life, inward and in the inner sanctum. And such and such were the Jewish lives that were cut off, changed lives, lives before lives. Who will count their numbers, who will relate their virtues, who will measure their depths and their heights.

1. Judge. Return
2. “To pass before the ark” means to lead the Amidah, the standing prayer, also known as the 18 benedictions or the Shemonah Esray. Return
3. Jewish law. Return
4. This phrase also refers to the Holy of Holies in the Temple. Return
5. Study house, plural Batei Midrash. Return
6. “The Innovations of Rabbi Yitzchak Meir,” by Rabbi Yitzchak Meir Rothenberg Alter, 1799 – 1866, the founder and first rebbe of the Ger dynasty. Return
7. Likutei Moharan, The Collected Works of Our Teacher Reb Nachman, is the great work of Rebbe Nachman of Breslov, 1772-1810. It is a collection of his formal lessons. Return

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I cannot remember how the trusted friendship between us was formed; if in one of his appearances at the Zionist assembly or at a party of friends, when he sang Chassidic songs. Not the age and not the status as a man with a family divided between him and those younger than him, for a youthful spirit pulsed in him, a spirit that shook off from him and from those who came into his presence the dust of the everyday reality.

His origin was from a working Chassidic family in Shedlitz, which is in Poland. In his parents' house he absorbed the Chassidic cleaving [to God]. In his youth he learned Torah from his grandfather, the Rabbi from Nowy Dwór, and in his adolescence he was drawn to education and Zionism and was among the guests at the house of the great Zionist activist Dr. Heartglass, may his memory be for a blessing, a man of Shedlitz.

Chaim's, may his memory be for a blessing, Zionism was a blending of Chassidic cleaving, the love of Israel, and love of Torah. Those three virtues left their mark on his way of life.

His Chassidic enthusiasm, his oratorical ability and his communal understanding made a significant contribution to shaping the face of Zionism in the city. He gathered around him the Zionist youth and the first groups of the layers of the foundations of the Zionist organization in the place.

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When in my early adolescence I joined the Zionist organization, I found the house of Zilberman a meeting place for public Zionist activity, and principally a house which became a Zionist Beit Midrash. There, we the best of the activists, and the intelligentsia in all its forms, would assemble for clarification of and inquiry into problems that stood at the heart of the Jewish world. More than once the voices of the debaters, out of passion, broke through the windows of the house, but Chaim, may his memory be for a blessing, knew how to inspire those present with his mild and calming temperament, and the debate would be concluded with words of Chassidic or folk song, with him managing it.

Chaim was a man of halakha and the Zionist deed. He dreamt about aliyah to the land, even if the circumstances of his life prevented him from realizing it. He also acted with intensity in all areas of the Zionist and public activity in the city.

I remember that on the day that the agitating news arrived about the death of Chaim Arlozorov,^[1] may his memory be for a blessing, he closed himself up in his house and cried for a long time.

The religious adherence that he carried in his soul and the longing for the ascent of the soul also demanded their satisfaction. Also, in Zionism he sought the “melody” in it, the soul “harmony” that arises from within its bearers. He was frequently drawn after religious experiences, and only those who were closest to him and knew him from within could understand the meaning of the strange contrast within him: how secular consciousness and secular ways of life could dwell with him in one basket with an attraction to communal prayer and learning a page of Gemara.^[2]

Chaim was a man of spiritual amazement; a man for whom the profane and the holy both served. He did not know, as most people did, how to put up partitions between them. As one of his friends that were closest to him, I used to visit his house frequently, and more than once, I found him immersed in serious family worries. In order to not be a burden to him, I would get up to go, but Chaim in his feeling my discomfort, would jump from his place and call towards me “Chaim, where are you going? Don't I have a new melody!”

In a moment he became another Chaim; Chaim of Shabbat. We would sit, and for a full hour we would go over the new melody.

Indeed, in that melody he gave expression to his desires for a world that is entirely Shabbat.

His fate in the ghetto was the most tragic. When the invasion of Hitler's troopers into the city, he was torn from the members of his family and was left in the ghetto alone and abandoned, lacking all, until the last bitter day – until he was murdered by the Germans in the labor camp in Kortzov.

His understanding was an obstacle, as the Holocaust writer S. Polikivitz, who lived with him in the ghetto in Sokolov, transmits. Chaim used to reject every delusion related to the future of the Jewish people under the Nazi regime. The Germans, he would say in his painful conversations, will destroy us. In general, it was hard then to draw him out, for he bore his pain and anguish in silence.

With his murder, a man of inspiration was uprooted among us, a spiritual and moral image of the generation of dreamers and believers in the resurrection of Israel.

We regret that the faithful friend didn't get, and we didn't merit, that he would live among us here in the land. But we have limited comfort: Chaim's dream for aliyah, may his memory be for a blessing, was realized by his family members.

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His wife Masha, his daughter Leah, and his son Moshe, survivors of the Holocaust, ascended to the land and they are rooted in it in lives of work and creation.

But this comfort too is not really full, because his oldest son, Yosef, the author and the journalist with promising literary abilities, active among the “She'airit HaPleitah,”^[3] ascended to the land, but became ill and died, leaving his family members and everyone he knew with deep sorrow.

May the memory of the father and his son be blessed.

His origin was from a Chassidic house, the son of the exalted Chassid and Torah scholar, Rabbi Mendel Tikolski. Like his friends in the Zionist group, he joined the movement in his early adolescence, and all his days he was among its active and unconditionally devoted members. Zionism became his spiritual and moral essence.

Yaakov, may his memory be for a blessing, was not counted among the debaters, because his Zionism was embedded in him as an axiom, as a thing that there is no need to contemplate. Therefore, he bore enmity for its opposers, and especially for those who from their source suckled his Judaism, the love of Israel - the groups of the Charedim who were alienated from the movement for the return to Zion.

In his activity in the movement and the city's institutions, he distanced himself from power, however he was not reluctant to fight for his truth, for in his ways he was a man of truth. However, his ideological zeal and his serious attitude about values did not harm the essential quality in him, the quality of the joy of living. The joyful smile did not come off his face, even when serious worries bothered him.

I saw him on his deathbed, from which he never again arose, while he was happily conversing with his visitors.

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And if comradeship and personal friendship prevailed among the people of the Zionist group, then Yaakov, may his memory be for a blessing, had a big part in that. He infected those that came into his presence with optimism, the joy of life, and love for others.

All his days he struggled hard for his existence, and his livelihood was not always found in his hand. Nevertheless, he kept his integrity in negotiation, like one of the few in his profession.

At the cost of his life, he was attacked by the sudden illness that doomed him to die.

His early death astonished all who lived in the city that knew and respected him as a person who was faithful to his people and walked a straight path.

Just after his death, all of their family ascended to the land and struck roots in it among its creators and builders. His daughter, Luba, who on the eve of the outbreak of the war traveled to Warsaw for a visit, perished with her daughter. May their memory be blessed.

The Zionist movement in Sokolov, as in most of the towns in Congress Poland, was mainly a youth movement. A group of founders, layers of the foundation of the Zionist organization, whose beginning at the beginning of the present [20^th] century, did not, for various reasons, succeed in broadening its influence and strike deep roots in the life of the Jews in the city. The main reasons are a lack of national Hebrew education, the socialist and nationalist delay of the Charedi groups that were the majority of the population, and the hostile stance of a large part of worker groups towards Zionism.

The Zionism in Sokolov was, therefore, Zionism of the young man and the young woman who worked outside of the walls of the parents' house, and not of the entire family. This was Zionism without the atmosphere of family life and retirement home.

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Few were the family houses in Sokolov that could be called a Zionist house, a house in which the connection to the movement was a part of its spiritual and moral content.

The house of Chaitza and Avraham, may their memory be for a blessing, was counted among these few houses.

In my Zionist activism in my youth, I found their house open to everything that was called Zionism; donating with a generous hand and raising money for assemblies and consultations. I found a house ready for every national communal task, and not only that, their house was open to every weak and needy person.

Avraham, as an honest and decent man, was a fulfiller of mitzvot, and bearer of the yoke of both the society and the individual; and all this he did from within his special modesty. Chaitza, may her memory be for a blessing, was involved among the people, an activist, and her noble manners were exemplary. She was among the first women in the city who were active in the movement.

In the year 1934, they realized their dream and ascended to the land. This was the first family in that period for whom material well-being did not prevent it from making the daring effort at a mature age to leave the members of their family, their abundant livelihood, their tidy house, and begin everything anew. They ascended and their desire was strong to become accustomed to the conditions in the land and become rooted in it.

But the integrity of their way was an obstacle for them. They were tripped up by people who lacked a conscience, and in partnership lost most of their savings that they brought with them for their arrangements in Israel. This was a hard blow for them. A material blow, and no less, moral. But they withstood the hard test and continued in the life of hard labor in order to be modestly supported.

They never complained about the land, and they accepted, with love and humility, the tribulations of their acclimatization. But the years of suffering and the tribulations of absorption shortened their days and years, and they both died before their time.

This was a Zionist family who realized the dream of the return to Zion within suffering and tribulations. They sowed in tears but did not get to harvest in song.^[4]

May their memory be blessed.

Mendel's height was taller than average, he was slim and had a thin face. Silent in his nature, entirely collected within himself. His conversation was short and matter of fact. He spoke almost in hints. He walked with people easily, and jokingly, and this endeared him to them, and they called him by the pet name Mendele.

His origin was from a house of Chassidim. In his early adolescence, he joined the Zionist movement. He was counted among the first of the group of founders of the Zionist organization in Sokolov, which he served with all his passion until his last day.

Mendel almost never appeared in public and did not try to force his way into being chosen to the public institutions. Compared with this, he worked diligently and acted out of responsibility and devotion for the sake of these institutions, behind the scenes, in limited committees, and his considered opinion was accepted by the community.

Mendel also had great influence with a great many workers, even if he was not counted among the socialist Zionists. For in his humble life, he was close to them. He was one of those who was satisfied with a little

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and did not complain about the difficulties of livelihood, even though it was very constricted. He divided his worries into two; part for the public and part for the Zionist education of his children, out of hope of realizing his dream of the return to Zion personally.

When a dispute broke out among the members, Mendel would put out the fire. He knew how to silence, to bring hearts near; and by means of this, he acquired many friends, not only in the party, but also beyond it.

We all knew Loshitzki as having a cool temper and a subtle sense of humor, who knew how to use it in a struggle with his opponent, without hurting his honor. But it was the cover for the passion that was within him, for the zealous passion that he carried within him for the Zionist idea and the belief of the return to Zion. And woe to the one who hurt his feelings about the most precious thing, this faith. Here was revealed another Mendel, the furious Mendel who stood by his opinion.

With the conquest of Poland by the Nazis, he escaped to Russia, and from there he was expelled to a labor camp in Siberia.

The people of the town that lived with him in the expulsion, tell that his devotion and adherence to the idea of the revival of Israel did not dissipate, even in the terrible conditions of the labor camp in Siberia. However, his poor and devastated body could not withstand all the troubles that came upon him, and on the way to liberation , he became ill and died.

We lost a loyal friend and neighbor who served his people without boundless devotion.

Loshitzki too, may his memory be for a blessing, like Chaim, merited that his children, survivors of the Holocaust, realized his dream. They ascended to the land and became rooted in it in a life of work and productivity. May his memory be for a blessing.

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His origin was in a house of Chassidim, son of Rabbi Moshe Lustigman, may his memory be for a blessing, Head of the Community Council over the course of many years.

While he was still learning at the yeshiva of the Rabbi of Sokolov, he “went astray” to Zionism and was in the Zionist underground at the yeshiva, at whose head stood Yaakov Grinberg, may he be set apart for a long life, today a member of the Knesset on behalf of the “Hapoel HaMizrachi.” The work of the underground was not easy in the yeshiva. Those who were suspected of Zionism and spoiling their religion were condemned to persecution, and if they were caught, they were condemned and expelled from the yeshiva. Against this background there were more than a few tragedies between fathers and sons.

However, despite the severe anti-Zionist suppression and monitoring that prevailed at the yeshiva, there emerged from within it, some of the best in the city in all their factions.

One of them was Yaakov Lustigman, may his memory be for a blessing.

He was bound to the movement with every fiber of his soul, vigilant for every call to action.

All his days he dreamed and strove to be ready for aliyah, and in the year 1926, he ascended to the land with the first olim from Sokolov. The crisis of those days in the land hit him hard, and with no chance to bring up his family, he was forced to leave the land.

But Yaakov did not rest or remain quiet about aspiring for aliyah, and in the year 1932, he realized his dream and ascended to the land again, this time with the decision to become rooted in it at any cost.

Despite his having heart disease, he did not flinch from moving to physical labor as a steeplejack.

I met him many times returning from his hard work, dragging his tired body, however, not once did he complain. The opposite, he was happy with his lot.^[5]

Frequently, he would emphasize with satisfaction that he succeeded in learning a profession and being an effective worker in the land. After a short time, he brought his family up to the land.

However, the ill heart could not withstand the hard work, and during the work on a building in Givatayim, he fell and did not get up again, leaving a wife and 2 daughters behind.

We never got to have Yaakov, the alert and vibrant person, the loyal Zionist, and the devoted friend, be with us in the State of Israel. His wife, too, who was devoted to her family and to the land, was not able to withstand her suffering and died a short time after Yaakov's death. Their memory will not be forgotten among the builders of the homeland.

1. 1899 – 1933. Chaim Arlosorov was an important leader of the Labor Zionist movement in Palestine. In 1918, he co-founded HaPo'el HaTza'ir, and when HaPo'el HaTza'ir merged with Tze'irei Tzion, he became one of the leaders of the new Histadrut. After his arrival in Palestine in 1921, Arlozorov represented his party in the Histadrut. Return
2. A rabbinic commentary on the Mishnah. The Mishnah and the Gemara together comprise the Talmud. Return
3. This is a Hebrew term from the Books of Ezra and 1 Chronicles, referring to those who survived the Babylonian exile, and used after the Holocaust to refer to the more than 250,000 Jewish Holocaust survivors living in Displaced Persons camps after the end of the Holocaust, and the organizations they created to act on their behalf. Return
4. Psalms 125:5 “They who sow in tears shall reap in song.” Return
5. Pirke Avot 4:1 “Who is rich? He who is happy with his lot.” Return

The Rabbi Reb Moshe was the 4^th Generation, one son after another, of the holy grandfather from Kotzk and son of the Admor from Sokolov, may the memory of the righteous be for a blessing, and Chaya Hinda, the daughter of the Rabbi the Chassid Mordechai Shinfeld from Pintzev, may his memory be for a blessing. He was born in Pilov in the house of his grandfather the Admor from Pilov, may the memory of the righteous be for a blessing, in the year 5652 [1892].

He was educated and raised on the knees of his ancestors, the Geonim and righteous ones. From the dawn of his childhood, he excelled with his wonderful abilities, with rapid apprehension and a wonderful memory.

At the age of 18, he took to wife Mrs. Feigele, the daughter of the Rabbi Reb Avraham Mordechai Alter, the Av Beit Din of Zichlin, may the memory of the righteous be for a blessing, and the granddaughter of Rabbi Shlomoleh Alter, the righteous Rabbi, may the memory of the righteous be for a blessing, the brother of the “Sfat Emet” Rabbi Yehudah Aryeh Leib Alter.^[1]

A unique personality, and incredibly sublime, was Rabbi Moshe. Besides his greatness in the Torah, he had superior qualities, mental integrity, wisdom and understanding. His appearance matched his inside. A noble face, fine lines, an impression of descent from rabbis and Admorim were imprinted on his face. Everything about him said respect, good heartedness, gentle temperament, pleasant to people. Every embittered man found an attentive ear in him, a loving facial expression, and an open heart. He was as kind as a father to them, and he had an open heart. Because of them he was beloved in all echelons of the Jewish population.

He was a businessman and a man of deed; acting and motivating those with the influence and the ability among his father's chassidim and among those in the city who had the ability to help, with the best of their ability, those needing help and support.

His opinion was accepted in all echelons of the community.

He established and elevated to a high level the Talmud Torah in the city; saw to the plan of learning, the teachers and the students, food for the children, a budget, etc. etc.

After his marriage, he sat at his father-in-law's table^[2] in Zichlin for four years. After he returned from Zichlin to Sokolov, he established the “Beit Yisrael” yeshiva, with the help of his father the Admor. Named for his grandfather, the Admor Reb Yisrael from Pilov, the yeshiva that became known as one of the biggest, most famous yeshivot in Poland. About 150 superlative and talented students from the city and all parts of Poland learned in it. He directed it and dedicated all his energy and time to matters of the yeshiva. This was hard work and a responsibility to carry this heavy burden. He invested much effort; for every student he was like a father and benefactor. They all knew his devotion in heart and soul to the issues of the yeshiva, and especially to the students to help them raise their honor and their respect in spirituality and materially. They were, therefore, fond of him and appreciated him. After his brother, Rabbi Binyamin, may the memory of the righteous be for a blessing, returned from his father-in-law's house to Sokolov, he also joined the yeshiva's administration.

In the year 5680 [1920], the days of the war of Poland and Russia, when the Polish army expelled the Russian conqueror from its borders, there were days of distress and hunger for the Jews of Poland. The Polish army abused the Jewish people, wreaked havoc on them. Many Jews fled from the places they were living before the Polish army entered, because of the oppressor. Jews also fled from Sokolov but some of them found their deaths on the roads at the hands of the victorious army, and eight Jews remained killed in the fields a few kilometers

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from the city. The Jews of Sokolov sat confined to their houses. They were afraid to come outside because of the revenge of the army that caught Jews for work, many of whom did not come back alive. Because of that, the bodies of those who were killed remained without burial for a few days in the fields next to the city, as food for the birds. Besides the fear of mortal danger on the roads, the slain began to rot, and there was also mortal danger from a health perspective in taking care of them. But Rabbi Moshe, the son of the Admor, who was as tall and as powerful as an oak, broad-shouldered, a violent man with the strength of a lion, courageous and strong spirited, knew no fear, risked his life and went out alone with a wagon and, with his own hands, collected the corpses of the slain and brought them for Jewish burial. The matter made a strong impression on all the residents of the city, and he was crowned as Honorary President of the “Chevrah Kadisha”^[3] in our city.

He had independent inclinations. He was firm in his opinion and a courageous fighter for the Kotzker truth. He did not flinch, he was astonished by no one, when the matter touched on the slightest deviation from the truth.

His views on the problem of the land of Israel were like his grandfather's the Admor from Pilov, who wrote “The Peace of Jerusalem.”^[4] He advised and encouraged young people to ascend to the land of Israel.

He was a sociable person, and his opinion was involved with those around him. His house was a meeting house for the wise of all echelons. He brought all of them near and his house was wide open to all those afflicted by fate. There were many who knew how to take advantage of his generous heart and his degree of hospitality for his guests, and they always congregated in his house to dine. His righteous and goodhearted wife, Mrs. Feigeleh, may her memory be for a blessing, was a helper by his side. I remember when his children requested to not allow Yudel Flinder to enter, for a bad smell wafted from him. He reprimanded them severely and explained to them that the mitzvah was a great one, and that it was worth it to suffer for it. His speech was gentle, and because of his knowledge of the Torah and riddles, and because he was known for his great understanding, people turned to him with arbitration matters of the laws of Torah.

His father, the Admor esteemed him highly. He used to say about him that he was that he was “Ish Chai” [a living man], and energetic. He would emphasize the “Chai,” that is, wise and honest. He would regularly say about him that he inherited his wisdom from the middle Admor, Rabbi David of Kotzk, may the memory of the righteous be for a blessing, who was known as wonderfully wise. He consulted with him on all the general matters; many times, he would send his chassidim, his admirers, who came to him to be advised about complicated matters, to Rabbi Moshe also to hear his advice and his opinion. He also sent matters of Torah laws to him, and indeed he excelled as the best of the arbitrators. With his great understanding he knew how to aim for the truth and to stand up to acts of fraud. Landlords in the city of Sokolov, without a difference between Chassidim and Mitnagdim, Charedim and non-Charedim, would come to ask for his advice and accepted his opinion. The people of the city respected him greatly and those who were close to him surrounded him with great admiration. Therefore, when his father, the Admor and Av Beit Din in Sokolov, became ill and spent most of the year in a place of healing and wanted to lighten for himself the yoke of the rabbinate, he suggested that they crown his son Rabbi Moshe as Rabbi in his place. This suggestion was accepted with sympathy, and in the year 5695 [1935] he was accepted as the Rabbi of Sokolov. Shortly after he became Rabbi, when he was in the best of his days, severe heart disease attacked him. His heart, which was sensitive to every trouble or distress, was unable to carry the trouble of the young masses. He grew close in the land to the world of thought and the way of the Kibbutz HaMe'uchad and used all of his power of persuasion for the sake of the side of the kibbutz. For a certain period, he was adjacent to the cradle of death in Sokolov, and at the end, in Warsaw. Even on his death bed, he followed everything that took place in the yeshiva and in the city, and responded to everything with wisdom and understanding, as was his way.

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On the 25^th day of Mar Cheshvan^[5] 5698 [October 30, 1937], he returned his soul to heaven, and his resting place is in the House of Eternity [cemetery] in Warsaw. He left after him his righteous wife, Mrs. Feigeleh, who was killed by the German murderers on the 17^th of the month of Kislev 1942, together with his son, Rabbi Yisrael Yaakov, who was the director of the yeshiva after the death of his father, and his daughter, Roiza Rachel. His daughter Yocheved, who was married to Rabbi Eliezer Ber, son of the Rabbi from Ozorkov, was killed in Warsaw in Elul 1941. His second daughter, Mrs. Perel, survived the German murderers and was married to Rabbi Aryeh Neiman and lives in Chicago in the United States. His son, Rabbi Mendel Morgenstern, survived the German murderers after he fled to Lithuania, and he lives in Jerusalem, the holy city.

1. Yehudah Aryeh Leib Alter, known by the title of his main work, the Sfat Emet, was a Chassidic rabbi who succeeded his grandfather, Rabbi Yitzchak Meir Alter, as the Av Beit Din and Rabbi of Ger, Poland. Return
2. Was supported by him financially. Return
3. “Holy Society,” in other the words, the burial society. Return
4. Admor Rabbi Chaim Yisrael of Pilov-Kotzk (1840-1905) was the son of the Admor Rabbi David of Kotzk, and grandson of the Saraf of Kotzk, the Admor Rabbi Menachem Mendel. He succeeded his father in Kotzk, and after a fire in Kotzk moved to Pilov. He was one of the greatest Admorim of his time; many came to him for advice and blessings. His book is about the mitzvah of settling the land of Israel. Return
5. This month, Cheshvan, is also called Mar Cheshvan, Bitter Cheshvan, as it contains no Jewish holidays. Return

Reb Sender Rubinstein was one of the prominent figures in our city. He was tall and had a majestic appearance, and expressive eyes radiating the light of loving-kindness and good heartedness which seemed to be looking inward, into his soul; but they see everything around them, and nothing escapes them.

He was gifted with natural virtue - a gentle soul and nobility of spirit, fear of God and love of people, He had kindness and mercy, knowledge and reason, in addition to the qualities and good virtues that he received from the house of his father, Reb Baruch, may his memory be for a blessing, a scholar and a Gur Chassid, and respected mother, Mrs. Feige, may her memory be for a blessing, the righteous one and daughter of a good family, from the house of his father-in-law, the Chassid Reb Dov-Berish Yom-Tov, may God avenge his blood,^[1] from Shedlitz. These were two houses for God and humanity, for Torah and for good deeds.

Grace and loving kindness, harmony, and serenity were spread over the life of his family. He was fortunate that his wife, Mrs. Leah, may she live, was a help to him. He was a good father and devoted, with all his soul, to his four children, three sons and a daughter.

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The ways of these were sickening to the honest and humble Reb Sender, despite his wealth and his lofty lineage. And with this, in his worry for others, in his good deeds, he did not seek greatness for himself; no recognition of good and no publication of his name in public, for he fled from that respect.

He was a faithful member of the “Mizrachi” movement, from the day of its foundation in our city. As one of the founders of the “Yavne” school and as an active member of the education council, he invested much labor for the sake of ensuring its existence and the development of the educational institution, which filled a most honored function in the education of the youth in our city. Likewise, he was chosen on behalf of the “Mizrachi” movement to the Jewish Community Council and fulfilled his role with devotion and great ability. In his public work, he kept himself, and tried to keep others, from dispute and controversy. In every instance of disagreement or difference of opinion, he influenced to straighten things out, to establish peace, and he was always successful in this; for he was accepted by the public, who felt great affection and trust for him. His speech was pleasant and discreet, and he never forced his opinion on others. Rather, he tried to influence with kind words. He never said, “accept my opinion” – but rather, “consider my opinion.”

With the conquest of Poland by the Germans, he escaped with his family to Russia. There, too, his name went before him, and he did amazing things for the sake of the individual and the group. In the unbearable situation in which the Jewish refugees were found, many found help, encouragement, and consolation in his house, which was wide open to the hungry and the sick, the weakened and the pursued. He and, may she be set apart for a long life, his righteous wife, endangered their lives and brought into their house hundreds of youths, students of Zionist youth movements, whose lives were dependent on them due to the “transgression” of their loyalty to Zion. They divided their poor bread with them and strengthened them materially and spiritually. Thanks to this, they remained alive and they are counted today among the builders of the state of Israel.

After wanderings and many hardships, he was able to ascend to the land, together with his family, and establish his home in it. He immediately began to act with the initiative and vigor that were his way, but his protracted illness and his untimely death put an end to his plans and actions. About him it is said: “He gave freely to the poor; his righteousness lasts forever…”^[2]

May his soul be bound in the bundle of life.

1. This phrase follows of the name of one murdered by the Nazis. Return
2. Psalms 112:4 Return

He was born in Warsaw.

His father was God-fearing; he supported himself with hard work and saw to the education of his son for Torah and mitzvot.

He did not stint on his money, in order to give his son a praiseworthy education with teachers who were known as good educators.

Yehuda Hirsh learned at a cheder and afterwards in the shtiebl^[1] of the Chassidim of Grodzisk in Warsaw. He was diligent in his learning and acquired knowledge in Jewish studies.

When the time came, he married the extolled daughter of Reb Chaim, Yossel Rubenstein,

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who was known as a Jew who cherished rabbis and was a gabbai^[2] for many years in the old Beit Midrash in Sokolov.

While still in his youth, he was caught up in the idea of religious Zionism, and when he arrived in Sokolov, he did much in the local “Mizrachi” organization.

The public career of Rabbi Yehuda Tzvi began in the year 1926 with his election to be the chairman of the management of the Jewish community in Sokolov.

The community was already then not an institution for matters of religion, but rather a stage for the national struggle that created havoc on the Jewish street between the various streams and movements.

The parties sent capable men to the community as representatives, and there was a need for aptitude in order to bridge between the different viewpoints so that he would be able to administer the matters of the community effectively. Indeed, he was successful in his role; he dedicated the best of his time and energy.

The chairman of the Community Council, Shachna Radzinski (a member of the administration and may he be set apart for a long life), Mr. Binyamin Rubenstein (the deputy chairman of the Community Council on behalf of the General Zionists), and Mr. Avraham Bululov (the general secretary of the community), helped him greatly in this.

Together with this, he did not neglect work as a member of the “Mizrachi” committee; he participated in their meetings in a diligent way. He also was active as a member of the education committee of the “Yavne” school that was established by the “Mizrachi” in Sokolov.

During the course of time of his service as the chairman of the Community Council, he acquired for himself, a relationship of affection even from the side of his opposers, who recognized his fairness, his integrity, and his loyalty to the general public.

In the month of Tishrei 5702 [1941], when the destroyer arose over the Jews of Sokolov, he hid himself between the walls of the new Beit Midrash. However, the cursed Germans found him and killed him on the spot. He returned his soul to the heavens in the holy place. May his blood be avenged.

1. Shtiebl is the Yiddish diminutive form for shtub, which means house. It refers to a small, informal house of prayer. A shtiebl is not only a synagogue; it also is a place of traditional Jewish learning. Return
2. The term gabbai means “collector.” In this context, it was the title given to a person charged with collecting funds. Return

The Rebi, Rov Mendl Morgnshteyn, a son of the Sokolov Rebi Rov Yitskhak Zelig Morgnshteyn and a grandson of the old Kotsk Rebi Rov Mendele Kotsker, lived in Vengrov. The pious Jews of the town took pride in their rov.

On the morning of yomkiper the Nazis attacked the Rebi while he was standing in his kitl [white gown] and talis praying, and dragged him into the market square. Soon they began to drive all the Jews from the shuln and study houses and shtiblekh into the market space.

The Nazis began to mock the Rebi and, with cat-o'-ninetail whips in hand, forced him to dance for them. The Jews who saw this wept quietly in their hearts. But they were too frightened to say a word.

The Nazi commander began to beat the Rebi with the whip and screamed that he should dance. Every time that he hit him with the whip it clutched the Rebi's heart. The Rebi tried with his last strength to obey the Nazi's order.

But suddenly the Nazi commander stopped beating the Rebi with the whip and ordered him to take off his fur hat and pick up the horse dung that was laying on the square's stones and put in into his hat, in order to put it on his head.

The Rebi carried out the order, without even bending. His lips were mummering a prayer throughout.

But this was not enough for the Nazi commander, and he further ordered the Rebi to dance for him, with the horse manure and the hat on his head. The Rebi did this as well, he danced again. And Jews tell that they heard how the Rebi quietly whispered, “Master of the universe, may all these insults come before you, may they be an atonement for all our sins and may a redeemer come soon for the Jews,”

In the end the Nazi commander stabbed the Rebi with a bayonet. His white gown was soaked in blood.

Officially he was the secretary of the “Poaley Tsien” Zionist-Socialist pary in Sokolov, but in fact – he was the central figure and leader of the party, organizer of all its cultural undertakings, leader of the rich Brener Library and the standard speaker at all party meetings and other Zionist events in town. Being a person with a full education and a gifted speaker, he quickly advanced to the first ranks of the Zionist movement in Sokolov. He was also in demand by the Central in the surrounding areas as a speaker on party and literary themes.

Henokh Zayants was completely permeated with the Zionist ideal of the Hoveyvi Tsion atmosphere that dominated his home life. A son of the revered and venerated by all Aron Asher Zayants of blessed memory,

[Page 654]

Henokh, along with all Reb Aron Asher's children, was educated in the spirit of Jewish and national values. There were no conflicts between the parents and the children. The blue and white Keren-kayemet collection box was always on the desk at Aron Asher's bookhandling shop. And if someone came into his office to write a “proshenye” to the government or an address out of the country, he did not take any payment for it, but told them to put something into the collection box.

In 1936 he was requested by the Party Central office to work in the Central Committee of the “Frayhayt” movement in Warsaw, and also became a general collabortor in the party organ “Bafrayung – Arbeter Shtime” {Workers' Voice}.

After long efforts on his side he finally managed to arrange aliye to Erets Yisroel in 1938. However the certificate that was designated for him was given by the party to someone else in Sokolov. They promised to give him the next certificate, but it did not seem to arrive…

Henokh Zayants was designated by the Central Committee to work for a certain period as secretary of the professional society of the trade employees in Brisk. The war caught him there and he was murdered in 1941 along with all the Brisk Jews by the Nazi murderers.

Restoring a Yiddish library in Sokolov

Yosl – that is what his parents called him, as did everyone else around him.

A spoiled and mischievous boy, full of fire and impetuous, who could hardly ever sit still in one place. His hobby was horses and wagons. Whenever Yosl could get out of the house they already knew that he was with the horses and wagons in the big market square. There, he wrangled with the wagon drivers to let him ride with them, and the point – to hold the reins of the horses. Perhaps a personality trait for the later development of a dominant personality.

Dr. Zilberman

[Page 656]

So it was natural that Yosl in his early youth exhibited an understanding of and connection to social issues and in particular to cultural questions.

By the time that he was a pupil in the Tarbus school in Shedlets he had already begun his social activity in the youth organizations, where he dedicated himself to the questions of the Hebrew language and literature. After finishing the Tarbus school he went to study in the teachers' seminary named for Sh. Poznanski in Warsaw. There he developed a feverish cultural activity in the Zionist youth organizations.

I often asked my intimate friend, his father Khayim of blessed memory: “Khayim, what do you say about Yosl? Will something ever come of him?” He would say, in order to get a confirmation of his hopes, that “something” would certainly become of his mischievous and fiery son Yosl.

The Nazi cataclysm met Yosl in a very youthful blossom, but his moral and spiritual determination held him up in the terrible years of devastation, from which he came out spiritually stronger, with an accomplished academic education.

And when after an interruption of seventeen years of pain and suffering I saw him again, with us in Israel, the first thought that came to mind was: Yes, “something” has become of Yosl.

His wonderful slender figure, the deep impression of his intelligent personality, the noble appeal and simplicity that breathed out with such human warmth, brought everyone, in the first minutes of meeting him, to want to be near him.

He was a very promising strength for the family and the society, a person with a broad Jewish-human comprehension.

I merited having him as a guest in my home in Gevatayim only a few times. In our talks about Jews and Jewishness he blazed with wisdom and deep erudition. During those discussions I thought: He is the satisfaction of life for his tragically-murdered father, the Zionist romantic, who did not merit seeing Yosl in his wonderful adult blossom.

Rather, a murderous fate had it that the young and so full-hearted Yosl would be torn out from among us so suddenly, leaving us in deep pain and longing.

May his memory be for a blessing.

Khayim Bar-Sholem (Fridlub)

[Page 657]

Son of Khayim and Sasha, born in Sokolov in 1921, a student in the Shedlets Tarbus school, later in Bialystok Hebrew high school and a graduate the Poznanski Seminar in Warsaw. During his time of wandering, he attended the University of Munich.

In Munich he became the founder and chairman of the surviving-remnant Jewish student union and a collaborator in the local Yiddish press, “Landsberger tsaytung”, ”Undzer veg” and“Af der Vakh”.

Before his aliye to Israel in 1950 he worked in the Israeli embassy in Paris.

Dr. Yosef Zilberman died at the beginning of July 1951 at the age of 28, in Tel-Aviv.

It is very strange to write a eulogy for him.

A eulogy, of all things.

I should open the door and he will, as usual, fall into the room, will look at my writing and say, with that constant bitter irony, “Ekh, foolishness.”

That is why the pen trembles so in my hand now, because it knows: He will not “fall into” his room anymore; his critical smiling irony will not stab, not soothe anymore; he will not take part with his thoughts about books, writers, “big” people with small souls; his word will not whip out any more over the heads of the conventional “great intellectuals”; I will not go deeper with him on questions of life and death.

No, all that will not happen anymore, because he himself is dead, dead.

What kind of strange word – to apply to him!

Who could believe it. How could it happen and – why?

I stand by his dead body (how horrifying to express those words) my heart beating like a fist: May it be possible, may I bend over his dead body and say “You were right”.

In his free time, when he was my guest, I took pains to show him that law does exist and that there is judgement here in our land, and that young grass is growing, and that no one dies without a higher order of reckoning.

[Page 658]

But he said, “I was 'shut in' once, wanting to see the practical purpose, feeling it, fathoming to the very end of infinity.”

And now? –

How can judgement still be. How should I just say everything: There is law. When your death disrupted me and screamed: Absurd, absurd.

By your sickbed Bialek's searing words came to me and to my lips: “If there is justice…”

Woe is me, it was not.

Twenty-eight years devoted to a goal, preparing, coming, and now, when all goals are already achieved – you are no more.

A life of difficult journeys through pain, through hunger and wandering, in teaching, studying, education. And then even more than that: your will was to get to the bottom of that which could not be written in black and white.

And now?

Who will comfort your aging mother, where can one find a comforting word for an orphaned mother?

And where is comfort for a bride who instead of standing up a khupe, has placed her beloved in a funeral casket.

You said: I have taken most beautiful bloom from the bouquet. Now the head of the queen bloom is bowed in a waterfall of her own tears.

And brothers, sisters, friends – how can we find a word of comfort!

A wildly savage fate has torn you away in the midst of a new blossoming and it is hard to sing praises for you, and fear your hard-truth critical irony. Because you were not one of those who flattered or who wanted flattery. Your word – spoken or written – was glowing with truth, courageous honesty– as sincere as your suffering.

We will remember you – because we do not have you. And so we will – all who knew you and loved you – with your name in our hearts – bear our lives to you.

(Leyvi – Tel-Aviv, 1951)

One of the survivors, who suffered his grief and his health like all of those

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survivors, and like them too, hoped even there in the German concentration camps to merit a home in Erets Yisroel and begin a new life here.

Suffered, hoped, and merited – and after arriving here in Israel, was felled by a hard, bitter illness. He wandered around the streets of Israel and knew that his days were numbered; and with a clear conscience tallied the accounting that brought him close to the end.

“Perhaps you would take part in a literary presentation one evening for the new arrivals?” I asked him several weeks before his death (and I wanted by this very invitation to demonstrate that we see him as a healthy man capable of these activities, so that he would give a literary presentation…). “With great pleasure! In a few weeks from now; first I want to rest a little, and I will choose a topic.” (And his response showed me that he did not, ostensibly, expect what would happen in a few weeks; that he was calm; he made plans for a literary evening to come.)

He was an intellectual. Gifted with an elevated talent for literary criticism of a wide scope.

The literary essays that he published every Friday in the newspapers for the survivors in Germany had aroused us, thanks to the power of his expression, his light style, abundant knowledge in the area of Old-World literature, and a deep penetration into the author's spiritual atmosphere.

We were inspired: A literary critic, an essayist, was also growing in the camps in Germany – since not every literature is so blessed.

That beautiful talent was torn apart in the beginning of its new blossoming. And it is the debt of all of us who knew and treasured his literary powers, that they should collect his literary heritage, which is dispersed in the newspapers of the survivors, and publish them here in Israel. So that the name of a blessed talent, who disappeared from among us too soon, does not disappear.

Dr. M. Dvorzshetski, Tel-Aviv, 1952.

An oven in a corner of a house, which is engraved in the memory and embellishes all the memories of your youth; a broken step that you stepped over, up and down, every day of your life, the sign of the snack shop that you used to hop into to buy a big lollipop or a newly-arrived kind of red “ice”, or nuts, with the nickel you begged from your father! Real ones that crack merrily between your teeth, and small, round ones that roll into the hole by themselves; an picture of a girl – the first time signing with a shaking hand; an old-fashioned wall-clock that strikes with a homey familiarity in the long winter nights. All these are parts of one's own life.

Various things, moveable or unmovable, of metal, wood or paper, various colors, you live with, they serve you for years, braided into your life.

Things, just like people, have their fates. Good and bad times; they are new, they give joy, they become tired and die, get torn or are broken.

Rokhl'ke is charmingly dark and lovely. In the creases between her large dark eyes there is a Jewish charm, a kind sense of sharpness. Rokhl's head is adorned with a black “corona” and her face is always alight and open.

The fresh breeze at the Jewish“dacha” where we are meeting is far from fresh. Thousands of paper bits and clouds of flies hurry around, swarming from the people in the sparse woods where Jews prepare the dacha.

But rye grows around the edge, and sways playfully in the evening and among them winds a narrow footpath. The sun sets red, and we sit for hours along the narrow path and read Yekhiel Lerer's “A heym” about Friday evenings and havdales; as people lie back softly and comfortably. The red ball of the setting sun among the rye seems so close, so close, and Rokhl takes her hand and goes smoothly, evenly, over the fields up to there, not far, where she, the sun, lies almost on the ground.

Rokhl is young and restrained. She has heard that things are

[Page 661]

not going smoothly for me in the big city where I am studying. People say that I was thrown out of the student dormitory; they say that the gold buttons of my school uniform twinkle in the late evening hours in the dark streets of the shtetl during the holiday visits home. They say, they say…

But other people bite their lips, eyes close passionately, hands fold themselves into arms.

Now it is Shabes afternoon, a blinding sun pours out over the roofs and hedges of the little small-town houses in the empty market square. Everything is dreaming the Shabes afternoon nap, from the panes over the greenish curtain, slanting toward the polished floor, thousands of dust bits play in the sun's rays. The clock tick-tocks over my sofa.

Rokhl arrives at night. How quickly it gets dark, one can ride out on a bike to the train station, which the tsar has just built close to the town. And then – so many impressions to detail, so many to tell about, so many “huge” little nothings.

Pinkhas-Yankev, the father, is not angry. His reputation as a good grain merchant and a clever Jews is not for nothing. He is tolerant and has sent his daughter to study “outside”. He sits immersed in a holy book when she arrives in the middle of the night. He barely raises his eyes and says to his pride and joy, “Why did you come on the last train? It's already several hours after Shabes. You could have come at eight-fifteen!” He specially mentioned the train that she really did take from the nearby school town.

The morning is Sunday, a long day, a good Sunday, when Jews take a turn around the market square, hands clasped behind them, and talk passionately about community issues and world politics, when the shops are closed and only at around one or two o'clock can one “look into” one's shop, because people are leaving the Catholic church and a regular customer might pass by.

Then comes a Monday, eve of a holiday, and Tuesday and Wednesday are Shavues and Rokhl does not leave for all of four days. Four days of butter-cookies and guest visiting. So many small-town pleasures, so much of meeting the community activists, the Warsaw lecturers hold their own, and so on.

But my father! He was always agitated, he

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went grey and old at a young age. As written in Bialik's booklet, which he gave him, “The one who has the remaining soul”.

In sleepless nights and with deep sighs, plowed-through days, he always regrets and is sorry, searching unsuccessfully for something and waiting for something in vain. The world becomes coarsened. Everything leads to the abyss. The children are away, hopes are not perceived.

To me he was ever worse and more withered: “I was once educated; not as you are, with money from your father! I did not have any brass buttons, I studied in the cellars, learned in the attics! And you? What will become of you, since you are pulled out by the roots, since you are not nourished by the sap?”

Suddenly, just as I was lying on the sofa, it occurred to me: and as soon as it got dark I went to see Khayim Shlosser. Khayim'l the locksmith is a small, wide-boned little Jew, with a head of thick curly hair, with lame legs and an eternally rumpled jacket.

“A good week to you, Yosele!” he welcomed me. “What? A key to the door? You are going with a girl? You are afraid to go home late because of your father…”

When I ride that evening to the station, I have in my pocket a new metal key; I will take off my shoes in the corridor and unlock the door myself, and I will spare waking my father.

This year it is Shavues again. Today is also a Shabes afternoon. Once again I lie on a sofa. Outdoors a fine rain is dripping and plays out a strange monotonous melody

on the windowpanes. It is sharp and one-toned – outdoors and in my heart. A strange Spring this year, but it is raining.

An autumnal Spring!

In this strange city, on earth that burns under the feet, the sun's rays do not play across the China cabinet. No more the tremble of expectation. The hope of love and happiness and punishing talk from a father, like snakes in an ancient picture attacking a thick-armed hero, so the memories and thoughts attack and gnaw and do not stop.

How many days of my life would I give up to see my father, my grey father, as they lead him in his shirtsleeves over the town with another ten householders to the pit and shout out “Father! I understood you, late – but I understand!”

Of course I must still have a picture, I think. Let me look in the old suit! The suit has lasted for years. German camps and forced labor, horrible moments and foolish hopes for good, that did not come. It was long ago when the suit lost its first color, became short and narrow, often served as a pillow, as bed clothes. But it served.

Let me look in a pocket, there must still be a picture rolling around in there.

Akh! How old the suit is now! And the lining almost falling out from age! Let's try to tear it! Dust! Whole, compact clumps of it, gathered over the years. Just like my bitterness and hate…. Suddenly a metallic clang. Something falls out, that was lying stuck someplace under the lining. What is it?

-– ?

A key. An almost new metal key.,br> A key to a lock, that exists no more.

From “Undzer veg”, Munich, 1948.

Born around 1900 in Sokolov Podlask to far from well-to-do parents. He studied in a kheyder but most of his learning came from self-education groups. In 1916 he began his work as a lecturer and publicist. He visited all over Poland and lived in Lithuania for a short time. He published articles of literary criticism. By 1928, he was in Paris. He collaborated at the “Hamer”, “Morgn-frayhayt”, “Tsukunft”, “Lit. bleter”, “Vokhenshrift”, “Naye prese”, “Parizer dzhurnal”, and was arrested in 1941. He left manuscripts of more critical articles, besides several longer essays about Yiddish literature.

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His countless manuscripts have vanished, important articles that have waited for years to see the light of day. Will they be recovered in a hidden grave, or were they torn up by bloody Nazi-paws?

What we have managed to search out up til now – a few numbers of the Warsaw “Vokhenshrift” with Vinogura's works, a set of the “Parizer dzhurnal”, a couple of issues of “Bleter” (both journals were published under his editorial collaboration), a series of his articles in the pre-war “Naye prese” which were hard to successfully transcribe at the Paris National Library – are only a small part of the creations of Borukh Vinogura, the name of a spokesperson in Yiddish cultural Paris.

Vinogura's childhood and youth was hard, just as in his whole life his struggled then too with his material situation. A son of religious, poor parents, he was drawn into the political left (“Poaley tsion”). He was a good speaker, and his political articles attracted notice with their clarity, pertinence and elegance.

Along with the political questions, he began to be even more interested in literary and cultural issues. After his coming to Paris around 1928, he was involved almost exclusively with literary criticism.

His critical works about the classic Yiddish writers, his handling of Visenberg, Ash, Opatoshu, Glazman, Markish, Fefer, Itsik Kipnes and dozens of other older and younger writers, made a name for him. He excelled in his thorough analyses and demonstrated that in concise, spare sentences; he brought out the essence of the writer and his works. He did not use any flowery language, any standard phrases, he always had to say something special, something that had not been said before. He saw the writer through the prism of his time and environment. He took the trouble to establish the social sources from which the work was drawn. Thus his literary criticism approached scientific analysis, progressive education.

As an editor of the “Bleter” and later of the “Parizer dzhurnal” B. Vinogura displayed much taste and insight for the

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organization and publication of a literary journal. He selected each article with great rigor and responsibility, each story, each poem. He labored over the works of his friends with the same care as over his own creations.

He was strict with himself and with others. Even among his friends B. Vinogura was someone who applied the rules rigorously. He made many requests of his writers. He did not make “friendship reviews”. He made no fewer demands of his close writer friends. But when he came upon talent, if a young writer wrote a beautiful novella, a good poem, he found the warmest words to encourage the writer, and introduced him to the literary world.

Borukh Vinogura helped many Parisian writers in their development, gave them learned advice, presented them at the evening events to continue their work, turned the interest of the readers to them and acquainted them with the Yiddish literary world.

The difficult material worries that had laid their stamp on his childhood and youth also accompanied him up to the war. Writing was, from a material standpoint, a sideline business for him. He labored as a knitting worker during the busy season and so was exhausted during the off-season. That without doubt had no small effect on his person and on his health.

With his wife, the painter Khane Kovalska, he took two narrow rooms in Monparness. In that artists' neighborhood they had many friends, writers and musicians, painters and scuptors, Jewish and non-Jewish.

In 1941 he and Khane Kovalska were arrested among the first victims of the Nazis. His residence on the street Fier Leru was sealed off.

So ended the tragic 42-year old life of the literary critic Borukh Vinogura.

(“Yisker bukh”, Paris, 1946)

The deepening of social differentiation in the life the Jewish folk and the increase of the Jewish proletariat have, among a long list of other positive appearances, also broken open the sources of modern Yiddish poetry. The potential creativity that has for long years been imprisoned in the deep earth of the Jewish masses and bursts out onto the surface from time to time in the anonymous folksong, have, with the ripening of new social energies, together begun concrete artistic forms. Instead of the primitive raw material, constructed artistic work has begun to appear.

The outpouring of modern Yiddish poem has taken two principal forms: the folkish (Etinger, Goldfadn, Mikhl Gordon and others), and the social (Vintshevski, Edelshtat, Bavshaver and others). These are two literary directions are very different in content and in character. Those are the two artistic expressions, that are inspired by two different social strata in the Jewish masses themselves: The vast poverty and the working class.

As an expression of the thick stratum of the Jewish working class – which for many years has remained the outweighing majority in the life of the Jewish folk and possesses an established lifestyle with particular forms and specific coloration – folkish Yiddish poetry was an epic of everyday life, filled out with concrete descriptions of things. Everything in the relationship of the artist to the milieu is a negative or a positive, the manner is generally in the style of depicting a narrative and reflects in it the established, enduring lifeways of the poor Jewish folk masses. It is a type of speaking from the heart, unburdening. It narrates about joy and troubles, splendor and hypocrisy, love and hate. Beginning with Sholem Etinger's “Shmates” up until M. M. Varshavski's folkish genre-songs, the whole production of the poetry is almost entirely filled with writer-narrator stuff, as in a kaleidoscope, the whole life of the poor Jewish masses goes through the work.

Being the artistic expression of the same social stratum that has carried out Yiddish folksong, the folkish poetry is formally a direct continuation of the folk primitive.

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It leans on it and carries all the characteristics – positive and negative – from the element. It is simple in form and plain, even to naiveite, in the rhyming.

The parallel and the image – if in general it is there – is taken directly from the mouth of the folk, from its living language.

It possesses a uniform atmosphere and has particular coloration – a “Jewish” one. All of its works are enveloped in the dark grey atmosphere of the poor Jewish masses.

In accord with the mentality of that stratum whose artistic expression that is, the folkish poetry does not possess any concrete, positive ideal to strive to. The highest richness it can hope to reach:

Its sentences are abstract as if to say “human morality”:

“Our life is the ferry,
The river –
The abyss.
People – I do mean you.”

(M. M. Varshavski)

It has no revolt and not even any rebellion it. Lostness and despair emanate from it. The joy that sometimes comes from it does not flow from the same depth, but is mostly a “manufactured”, drunken kind of the “happy pauper” type.

The tangible everyday-narrator's material; the folksy primitive as a formal base; the lack of a positive fighting ideal – these are the three chief moments that characterize the folkish direction in the Yiddish poem.

Exactly the opposite is the material, the form and the character of the social poetry.

The Jewish working class that nonetheless pecked its way out of the eggshell of Jewish poverty, possessed a lot of impetus and gusto, and struck out with endless vibrations. But it did not yet have any clear, vivid face or enduring customs.

The sudden stratification of the Jewish masses, the rapid leap from unproductive drifting to working-class (which was largely thanks to the huge immigration); the unbearably hard living conditions into which they were thrown

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(the American “shvey system”) – caused open revolt, fear and confusion among the young Jewish working class all at the same time, there was no longer any clearly- defined and lasting resolution, everything was in a state of “becoming”. The social poetry that came as a result and echo of that social process was thus not able to be any concrete custom. It necessarily became a rhetorical abstract.

That poetry is not descriptive and it is hard to make from it any clear image of the life-style of the Jewish working masses of that time. The poetry does not sing about the day-to-day life itself, but about the feelings that their hard life calls up. This is not epic poetry, but emotional. Revolutionary impetus and resigned depression go hand in hand in this poetry.

“How can I, brothers and sisters, sing,
With hate and struggle everywhere?
It seems that deep suffering resounds
Even in the nightingale's song.”

(Dovid Edelshtat)

Whipped-up confusion and feelings of loss in the sudden, newly-created conditions of life.

As an expression of a new worldly class in Jewish life – a class whose interests fall together with the interests of the same classes in other peoples – the poets of the social direction cannot base their form on just their own folk creativity but must use the foreign, prepared examples similar to the genre. Nadson, Nekrasov, Heine and others were the models, according to whom the Jewish social poets formed their own work. Not yet possessing any of their own artistic traditions, the first Yiddish poets faced a dilemma of leaning on the folk-primitive or the social direction. Being driven by the worldly international tendency that the class carries within its essence, they – consciously or unconsciously – elected the latter. In the first diversion tendency of the social from the folkish, the current went with an impetus separate from their own. There could be no talk about a synthesis. They easily took from the foreign existing, that was more expressive for the content of their work.

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Because of that, the form of social poetry does not possess the soft flexibility of the folkish poetry. It does not possess the warm atmosphere and particular coloration of the latter. It is mostly hard, cold and stiff.

Therefore, however, their verse is for the most part more fully ripe and certain, and the rhyme higher and more developed.

But if in that material the verse of the folkish poetry is on average of a more significant quality, the social poetry idea stands on a higher level.

The verses of the social poetry hit with a powerful breath of rebellion and revolt.

“World robber, smithy of pain,
Hear my voice, strong ruler,
And may trembling start
In your fat-covered limbs.”

(Y. Bovshover)

One hears in them the cry of a class that is suffering, bloodied, struggling and will in no way make peace with their situation.

The poetry also hits a high tenor of heroism and tragedy.

“The night is dark, no stars to be seen;
The sky is black as the earth;
The sea of human tears roars wild,
Only the sword and hangman rule.”

(Dovid Edelshtat)

It is a poetry that is laid over with aspiration and strives toward a higher ideal – the ideal of liberty. And although both the goal itself and the path that leads to the goal are still, partly – and for the poet himself, for the most part – foggy and unclear it does not change its essential worth as a poetry of a high-idea content.

But disregarding the great formulaic and idealistic differences that divide the two literary directions, there is still a cardinal moment that unites the two. That is the collective local coloration. In both directions the leitmotif and the mover

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are not the individual, someone torn from his social environment, but just – the community, the collective. The “hero” in both styles of poetry is not the lost one, the uprooted personality. With its isolated joys and pains, only – the community. It plays the chief role in both forms of poetry. The individual here has only so much importance, to the extent he is part of the whole collective. Not that which separates him from his social roots but that which unites him with them. Through the prism of the individual the community is seen. It is an art, in someone's deepest perspective, it always sees the life, pains and hopes of the class or stratum. These are not individual creations in the strict sense of the word but collective works, construed through the hands of a single master.

From Yisker-bukh, Paris (edited)

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