The Aliyah of R’ Joshua Benjamin Baumkuler
(Recorded by
Israel Levinsky from the description given by his son)
When my father, R’ Joshua Benjamin
Baumkuler ז״ל, decided to go to the Land of Israel – he came to
the Bet HaMedrash on the Sabbath, ascended the bima,
and announced: I am taking my leave of you, after the forty
years during which I have lived amongst you. I will be traveling
to take up residence in the Land of Israel. If I owe anyone
anything, let him come to me, and I will pay him off. He made
this same announcement in all the houses of study and the
synagogue.
On the following day, in the
morning, Nachman the Shammes came and called my father to
the Rabbi. What is the matter? Abcheh Frumkin has a complaint:
He helped my father to sell his house – and he is owed a
commission, even though he was not present at the sale. The
Rabbi made a compromise – and my father made the payment
[required]. Other small claims materialized. One person came and
claimed: it was because of my father that he had to pay a fine
because of unsanitary conditions. The Rabbi ruled: if you want
to travel to the Land of Israel, without any encumbrances – pay!
And so forth. My mother then mixed herself in: what are you
doing, you will be left without so much as a groschen to make a
journey to such a faraway place! However, he did not heed her.
On once occasion, he deposited his golden watch with the Rabbi.
When he did not have the ready resources to make a payment, and
one time he even came back from the Rabbi, on a cold day without
his fur coat – he had left it with the Rabbi as security.
In the end, he paid out all the
people to whom he owed money, and everyone went along to escort
my father and mother on their journey to the Land of Israel. He
would say, it is better to be in Jerusalem on a Festival Day,
when he radiated out of joy, than to be in Zambrow – in a
formidable building, with a store full of clothing merchandise.
Benjamin Kagan
He was the son of the Rabbi
of Zabludow who married Shlomo Tuvia Sziniak’s sister in
Zambrow, and took up residence in Zambrow. He was a
refined young man, a scholar, and knowledgeable in
worldly education. He was an ardent Zionist, and illegal
Zionist meetings would take place in his house, and he
would fight against the fanaticism of the Rabbi and the
Hasidim. He was a salt merchant.
He immigrated to America in
1924, to Brooklyn, to his children, Hona, Yankl-David,
and Michael. His family – was exterminated.
His granddaughter Penina
Hildebrand saved herself and came to the Land of Israel,
this being the daughter of Esther Abkewicz,who had left
Warsaw in 1939 and arrived in Israel after
extensive wandering, being in Bet-Shemen, and then
moving together with her husband to Kibbutz
Kiryat-Yearim, in the Jerusalem corridor. |
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Benjamin Kagan |
Yaakov Shyeh Cohen
A
scion of Tiktin, enlightened, and a man of broad acquaintance
with the Talmud, knowing the Tanakh, grammar and
the language, also knowing Russian, and a man of good deeds. He
ran his own business – an ironmongery, in a sensible way, and
successfully. His wife – Malya from Courland, was a relative of
the Rabbi, and she too, was enlightened, to the extent that it
was difficult to find a peer to her in the entire area. She was
fluent in German literature, read books of poetry and song her
entire life, floating in aristocratic circles, and could not
acclimate herself to the provincials in the town. Yaakov Shyeh
was respected in the community, his words were heeded, and he
was even selected more than once to serve as the head of the
community.
He had two sons: Eli-Mott’l and
Asher. Eli-Mott’l was a philanthropic man, studied in yeshivas,
and also absorbed the precepts of Enlightenment, helped his
father in the store, the ironmongery, but he also
worked with the progressive element of the young people. He was
dedicated with his entire heart to the public library, which made available
the concepts of the Enlightenment to the masses. He was its
librarian for a number of years, and it was not to receive any
prize, and everyone praised him. He married a woman who was the
daughter of his uncle, and immigrated to Argentina. Asher – died
in Poland, before his time.
The Cynowicz Family
By Rachel
Salutsky-Rosenblum
My father’s grandfather, R’ Chaim-Hirsch
Cynowicz ז״ל, was a righteous man and a scholar. He was engaged in Torah
study day and night. After several hours of study in the
morning, when he was enfolded in his tallis and
tefillin, he would take out shards of pottery from a crack
in the ceiling, and put them over his eyes – in order to bring
one’s day of death to mind. He fasted for intervals, and ate
usually after the afternoon prayer. For a while, he studied at
the yeshiva in Zambrow. From much stress, his body was broken,
and he died before his time. His wife assumed the burden of
making a living for all her life in the business of
manufacturing.
He had four sons: (A.) R’ Shlomo, a
wondrous scholar, who spent all his days in Torah study. His son
Nachman, who was taken in the bloom of life, was intellectually
exceptional, and one of the best of the students at the Lomza
Yeshiva. (B.) R’ Joseph-Abraham, who was the headmaster in Ostrow
for twenty years, and for the next thirty-five years – in Lomza,
a rabbi, well-schooled, wise and good-hearted, one of the first
of the Zionist rabbis in Poland, devoted to constant study,
enlightened and progressive. (C.) Noah – A merchant and creator of
bleach for washing, lived in Brok and then returned to Zambrow.
(D.) Mott’l – An enlightened scholarly individual, energetic and
lively, a writer of ‘requests’ and an expert in the law. The
farmers of the vicinity would throng to his door and ask his
advice, as if he were a lawyer. He liked to tell the legends of
Rabbi Bar Bar-Hana, and was a man of humor.
Lipman Slowik
By Kh. B.
Six- and seven-year-old boys, and even older ones, studied in the
cheder of Meir Fyvel. From all of the children that were
members of this class, one image stands out in my memory, like a
contrast to a dark cloud, a boy always chosen by all of the
children to be ‘the king’ of the class. He was a pale, tall boy,
who stood straight. His name was Lipman Slowik, the son of David
Rokaczer. In remembering him, and talking about him, the power
of his influence over all of his classmates rises in my mind. It
never occurred to anyone to contest his orders, much less what
he had to say. It never occurred to anyone to propose anyone
else to be ‘the king.’ I do not recall the source of his
influence: his penetrating eyes, his age, his height? – No, and
no! It was precisely children of this type who they liked to
ostracize and call names. But not Lipman: he did not intimidate
with his frail body, and he did not instill fear with a strong
hand. His voice was low, and he spoke gently. He was moderate
and composed. A pernicious disease subverted his health from
early childhood onwards, and it was as if he sensed that he had
no time for the distractions of childhood, and therefore behaved
like an adult. When he grew up, he learned the art of
photography from Gordon. However, death claimed him in the bloom
of youth.
Baruch Sorawicz
[He was the] son of Ephraim and
Fradl, a grandson of Mikhul’keh Finkelstein. He was enlightened,
and a modest, taciturn man, son of R’ Baruch of Tiktin, who gave
his children a secular education, in generous quantity. Baruch
studied in a number of cheders, and afterwards, in 1912
approximately, entered the high school of M. Krinsky in
Warsaw. He did not see any reward from his studies, even though
he was an intelligent person. He returned to Zambrow and was one
of the leaders of the progressive young people. He possessed a
good mood, was alert and prone to action. He had a family home
that was exemplary. At the time that all the Jews were taken to
Auschwitz, he could have escaped and remained alive, but he went
after his child, who had been taken from him to be killed, and
he too was lost. He was forty-two years old when he died.
Abraham Rosen
He owned a store of woven goods
and a house on the marketplace of the city. His origins were
from the vicinity of Ostrolenka, because he was called ‘Krup,’
this being the name of the farmers who are there. He was the
son-in-law of Shlomo Tuvia Sziniak, and brother-in-law of
Benjamin Kagan, He had three, enlightened daughters. He was a
loner and tended to keep hidden, and he didn’t pay much attention,
leading to him being branded as a miser. But people erred in
this assessment. He was a wondrous scholar, enlightened,
completely fluent in modern literature, astronomy and
mathematics – but he didn’t want to be visible, and only few of
his closest relatives knew his real worth. The books that he had
in his bookcase, among the volumes of the Shas and
Poskim, among the books of the Enlightenment and science –
could be found to be full of ideas and explanations and
references to other sources. And all this became known.... after
he died. His young daughter, Sarah, being of good intellect and
also enlightened, was active in Tze‘irei Tzion, a member
of its Committee, and dreamt of going to Israel her entire life.
Elyeh Rudniker-Goren
No personal community initiative
ever took place in which he did not have a hand, and in which he
wasn’t one of those putting in an effort. He came from the
Rudnik territory, where his father Ber’cheh came from, who was
the land agent. Elyeh was tall, handsome, an enlightened man and
a man of ideas. If a dispute erupted between partners, of a
family quarrel that came to light, or like matters – Elyeh Rudniker
was the one who intervened and restored the peace. He was the
only arbitrator in court cases and disputes, and was successful
in finding a compromise, and a way of preserving the honor and
tranquility of the opposing parties. He loved to visit the sick,
and fill them with good tidings, and occasionally with deeds.
When the cholera epidemic erupted in the city, and the flour
mill of Moshe Schribner was configured to be a hospital for
those infected with the disease – Elyeh Rudniker was among the
leading organizers of first aid. He was among the excellent
masseurs, who took his life into his hands in order to perform
massages, and the delivery of all manner of help to the sick,
paying no mind to the possibility that he might personally
contract the disease and be laid low. He was the firstborn son
of a firstborn, and he know the secret of ‘whispering,’ and
because of this, he was summoned to the ill, especially
children who appeared to have been struck by the "evil eye" – to
remove all sickness from them. He had a difficult time making a
living, in a partnership in a factory that produced soda water
and kvass, and he was an agent for ship tickets to the
United States, for those traveling illegally, meaning those who
were compelled to leave the borders of Russia because of
political harassment, compulsory military service, etc. Because
of this, he was once seized and was punished by the régime by
being ‘exiled’ to the town of Sokolov. But even there, he didn’t
hide his hand, and he engaged faithfully in community affairs.
After the First World War, he returned to Zambrow, and during
the time of Polish hegemony, once again immersed himself in
community affairs. There was a Gemilut Hasadim Bank in
Zambrow, which supported the granting of small loans to
small-scale merchants, craftsmen, in order to enable them to buy
merchandise or work materials, and to sell their goods on fair
days and in the markets. However, the bank was perpetually short
of funds, because of the plethora of loans that the needy
required, and Elyeh Rudniker would literally pass over all of
the doors of those that had the means to gather donations, both
small and large, for the benefit of the Gemilut Hasadim
Bank. And on Saturday night, once again, the needy would enter
his home, to begin with the wish for ‘a good week,’ and Elyeh
would allocate the small loans, take in notes, and turn a blind
eye on those occasions when their were loans due according to
their notes, ??? ‘aid to the poor.’ And he had yet another
endearing quality: he was concerned about the Jewish soldiers,
and arranged to have them accepted into Jewish homes during
Festivals, or to organize a separate kitchen for them.
He was assisted in this work by
Yankl-David the Hasid, the son of the Gatch shoemaker.
He was a lover of Zion and a member
of ‘Mizrahi.’ He urged the young people to make aliyah
to the Land. He did not permit his son, David, to travel to his
brothers in Argentina. He waited and said to him, Your time
will come to make aliyah to the Land of Israel, and you will
build there, and make aliyah with me. In the last years, his
fortunes declined. He was one of those who worked on automotive
transportation between Ostrow and Bialystok, by way of Zambrow,
Rutki, or by way of Wysokie Mazowieckie, Sokoly. However, the
Polish authorities confiscated the rolling stock and
transferred it to the P.K.P. (the railroad authority), and Elyeh
and his partners were left with no way to earn a living. His
son, Dov, made aliyah to the Land of Israel during
Aliyah Bet. However, he was unable to get his father there
along with him. Together with the holy Rabbi, he too was taken,
at a time when he was over seventy, and taken away to an unknown
place in a freight truck, from which he never returned... He
was killed in the aktion near Szumowo together with the
Rabbi.
Dr. Joseph Feinzilber
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He was the
youngest of the three brothers: Yochanan, Chaim and
Joseph. He ran away from home, with the help of his
teacher, R’ Israel Levinsky ז״ל, to Odessa, and he
worked and studied there.
He was not
particularly gifted, but he had a strong will to learn.
He struggled in Odessa for many years, until he got his
diploma in university study of medicine. He completed
his studies during the First World War, at the time that
the Germans occupied the Ukraine – returning to Zambrow,
and practiced there as a Doctor of Medicine.
He fell ill
with typhus, and his weakened body succumbed. |
Berl Ptaszewicz, and his wife, who were buried alive by
the Nazis in the village of Szumowo, in August 1941. |
Lighting
Candles of the Spirit
By Chaya Kossowsky
At this time, let me light several candles of the spirit for my
parents, my sister, also my brother and friends, all who dreamed
of reaching the Land, whether living at home, or in the process
of training, some in the military and others in battle along
with the partisans. They dreamed and fought, dreamed and fought,
about the enchanted land that they did not reach. They dreamed,
and are no more....
My grandfather Zalman Kossowsky,
was one of the founding elders of the city. His building, made
of concrete – in the center of the square, contained the police
station, stores, and residences. His manufacturing store was
known in the entire area.
My father Israel, his firstborn
son, was not drawn to commerce. Rather, he showed talent for the
law and was expert in the law and its regulations. People would
come from near and far to seek his counsel, to clarify issues
concerning inheritance, commercial transactions, matters of
distress, overstepping, etc., etc. In a number of instances,
when there were land disputes between villagers, my father would
travel, do measurements and set boundaries, and all the
interested parties heeded him, and accepted his judgment.
People streamed to him for the preparation of applications on
their behalf to the ruling official, or the head of government,
the supreme court and the like, and in many cases for lack of
ability – he did not want to take a fee for his effort. His
penmanship was exemplary in its beauty, and he was a Zionist –
but did not believe in the concept of a Halutz. He was
opposed to my brother Aryeh, making aliyah to the Land.
He found it difficult when I left, the daughter he loved most.
‘If you are making aliyah to The Land,’ he said – ‘it is a sign
that I also will follow you there.’ My father was beloved by all
of the people in the city – no one dared to challenge my father:
they accorded him the respect due to a learned Jewish man.
During the last Russian occupation – he worked as a financial
auditor.
My mother, Esther, was a scion of
Lithuania, the daughter of a wealthy family, aristocratic, a
refined soul, and indulged. She acclimated herself to her
constrained life, and educated me to be independent and to be
oriented towards work. She was knowledgeable in Hebrew and urge me
to affiliate with a youth movement.
I am indebted to my brother
Yitzhak for being able to make aliyah to the Land. It
was he who influenced my father to send his little sister to
receive training and then make aliyah. He was both
active and alert to the concerns of the kibbutz, and
worked a lot for HeHalutz. He studied a lot of Hebrew and
also general knowledge, and was a living, walking encyclopedia –
to the point that the Polish students and officers would stand
amazed and unmoving – before his extensive knowledge. He wanted
to make aliyah but could not because of military treasons. The
movement itself also detained him: they needed him.
At the outbreak of the war, he was
in the Polish army. From the time he returned home, after the
retreat of the army – he too worked in the accounting
administration, under the oversight of the Russian authorities.
After this, he went over to the partisans... and was lost.
My brother Moshe, was a
revolutionary in his ways. He studied at the Polish gymnasium
and excelled. However, as a consequence of the open
anti-Semitism – he decided to abandon hi studies, to study
carpentry. My father objected with all his might and wanted him
to complete his gymnasium studies, but he held his ground. He
joined ‘HeHalutz HaTza‘ir’ and he was the light of the
group. He moved to Warsaw. He wanted to travel to Bolivia, and
from there to the Land of Israel. The household members opposed
him, and he remained in Poland. He entered the Polish army,
suffered for being a Jew, and was severely punished for his
resistance and rebellion against anti-Semitism. Despite all this
– he excelled in the army, and even received promotions. He
attempted to leave Poland, my uncle in America undertook to send
him an invitation – but the war broke out, and he remained stuck
in the ghetto. He fled that location, and hid himself as a
Christian. Riding on a horse, and having grown a mustache, he
would steal into the ghetto and bring sacks of food for his
relatives. However, it appears he was killed by Poles...
My sister Yenta was the
oldest in the house. She assisted my mother and us. She was
educated and loved to do community work. She loved literature,
music, and dreamed of making aliyah to the Land, and to
change her name....
My brother Zalman belonged
to HeHalutz HaTza‘ir. He studied a trade at a place that
was considered enlightened, which our father had already
consented to – times had changed. In the year 1938, he wanted to
make aliyah as part of Aliyah Bet. It is perhaps
my fault that he did not come at that time: I wrote home – to
shed some light on the difficult events that had overtaken me
and my brother Aryeh at Bet-Shemen – indicating that this
younger brother should continue to stay with parents and
concentrate on his studies, and then the war broke out. During
the way, he was among the partisans, and rose to be the head of
a division. He knew no fear, and not once put his life in
danger, and prevailed. He was full of confidence that he would
stay alive. When the city and its environs were destroyed, he
saw himself as the last of the Jews. He was able to joke, even
while being in the shadow of death: After the war, ??? in a
museum – a survivor. He was captured and taken to Auschwitz. He
died of dysentery – because of malnutrition and unsanitary food. Koszczawa, a scion of our city, was with him to the last minute,
and he even was able to convey his last words to me...
Let me put a limit to what I have
to day... this concluded the tribute to our family. Let me now
light a number of candles to the memory of friends.
Male and female friends. Who
will count them?
My female friends of the
neighborhood: Feiga Sosnowiec, Lieb’cheh Granica, Zvi
Tykoczinsky, Chaya-Faygl Dzenchill, others, and others...
My male and female friends of
the movement: Kanowicz, Litewka, Raszutszewicz, Lakhovar,
Sztupnik, Ukrainczyk, Zisk, Krulik, Chaimson, others and
others...
My male and female classmates:
Peszka Furmanowicz, Rothberg, Kozacky, Gittl Zisk,
Shayn’tzeh, others and others.... young and good, pursuers of
what is good and just, [taken] before they could taste life,
enveloped in hope for the future.
Chaya-Faygl Dzenchill – was
planning to make aliyah after training in Czestochowa. Peszka Furmanowicz, came of age in the Bialystok kibbutz
and was among the first of the fighters in the Warsaw Ghetto.
All held out much promise to their
people, their families, They were exemplars of a budding younger
generation, who pass by the camp and offer a salute. All
were prematurely cut down...
May my words serve as a Memorial
Candle to glorify their souls.
Work & Industry
Small-Scale Industry in Zambrow
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Isaac Koziol the baker |
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Moshe-Aharon Biednowitch the builder |
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Abraham Moshe, the
mortician, with wife and grandchildren, Chaim ben-Dor |
Today [after the Holocaust] the
Poles pride themselves on the level of industrialization in
Zambrow. The barracks have been transformed into a large
kerchief factory. It was here that hundreds of kerchief-weaving machines were dragged from the Jewish kerchief industry
in Bialystok, and in bringing them built up an enormous
kerchief factory employing hundreds of workers. The new train
line, Czernowy-Bor – Zambrow conveys raw materials and takes
away finished goods.
At one time, without the
involvement of the government, and with their own primitive
methods often with the resistance of the authorities, a
small-scale Jewish industry grew in Zambrow.
The Jewish steam mills purchased
grain from the peasantry and distributed sacks of flour to the
surrounding cities.
Jewish windmills on both borders of
the city, on the Ostrow Road (Moshe Schribner) and on the
Bialystok-Czeczark Road (Leib’keh Millner, Abraham Schwartzbord,),
would turn in the wind and grind the grain for the peasants.
Jewish kasha mills, smaller ones,
larger ones, would bang away in the early morning hours grinding
kasha, griczenie, hoberna, orkusowa ????. etc. The kasha would
go from Moshe Kashemakher. from Abraham Tzedek, to the train, to
Tyszowce and from there further on.
Jewish oil makers pressed and
squeezed oil from flax seeds for the entire vicinity. Shmulkeh
Cohn squeezed oil, Hona Wierzbowicz fabricated oil, as did Joel
Gerszunowicz, Meir Yankl’s son-in-law, and Yossl Cohen.
Yoss’l Cohen would also ‘burn’
pitch. Every summer, gypsy caravans would come from Hungary and
buy up the pitch.
Kvass and soda-water were
fabricated by Chaim Velvel Tyszkewicz with Dov’cheheh Smoliar,
Leibusz, and later Leibusz’icheh Levinsky, and others.
Years ago, the Jews distilled
whiskey and dealt with the spirit merchants of Czeczork and
other nearby villages.
Jews of Zambrow fabricated bricks,
and to this end, Shlomkeh Blumrosen and Danziger built a large
brick works in Gardlin on the road to Bialystok. Abraham Schwartzbord also built himself a brick kiln on the Czeczork
Road. Everyone around then built their houses out of these
Jewish bricks.
The dyeing plants in Zambrow were a
substantial undertaking. It was the Jewish dyeing houses who
would do the dyeing for the peasants.
And so, Jews, with Berish Kreda at
their head, built a dyeing plant – the Polusz, beside the
river, not far from the bridge. There, machines clanked away,
and there was a constant stream of raw materials coming in with
wool, etc. Gershon Srebrowicz, Koczak from Jablonka and others
[were involved]. After the First World War, it passed to the
Prawda brothers – these were nouveau riches and very diligent
people. The gentiles from all sides would bring their skeins of
linen to be combed and dyed.
The Zambrow shoemakers would
provide between seventy to eighty percent of the boots for the
entire area. More than twenty shoemakers would sew cheap and
military grade boots. The same was true of tailors and hat
makers.
Chaim Yagoda, the Smith, with
his brother Chone-Leibel
and sisters Frume and Rachel, over mother's tombstone
The Three Flour Mills
A.
Meir Zelig Grajewsky
Grajewsky was one of the ones who
enabled the expansion of the limits of the city, and the growth
of the Jewish community. R’ Meir Zelig hailed from Grajewo. He
came to Zambrow full of vigor and ambition. He surveyed the
market days and the fairs in the city, and he found that the
farmers bring a surfeit of grain, wheat and ???, and that there
is a way to exploit this it the best of all ways: to built a
modern flour mill near the city, which will accept this surfeit
of grains to be milled, and to then supply the entire vicinity
with flour. Flour came here from far distances, and there was
the potential for a local flour mill to capture the flour
market. Windmills, called ‘wietraken’, ground small
amounts of flour, and it was coarse, and not particularly well
suited to ???? When the notion of the construction of such a
steam-driven flour mill ripened in his mind, Grajewsky looked
around the area and found the Ostrowo Road, on the right, over
the river, suitable to his purpose.
A man of action, imbued with a good
commercial sense, he succeeded in organizing funds that were
derived from cash on hand, and the remainder through loans of
varying tenor, and he constructed a steam-driven mill that was
pleasant in appearance and whose millstones pounded away day
and night. The farmers inundated the market with grains, and
tens of Jews, family men, found a handsome living from this:
they bought sacks of grain from the farmer, returned, and
brought them at a small profit to the flour mill, and Grajewsky
paid them handsomely in cash, and notes, and from a number of
merchants he even did this on contingent payment.
B.
Ze’ev Goldin
When the Jews saw that Grajewsky
had created a gold mine – they grew jealous of him. And one, Ze’ev Goldin, from Ostrow-Mazowiecki or some other city, came to
Zambrow with a sum of money in hand, and he set up a mill right
across from Grajewsky, on the left side of the road, this being
a steam-driven flour mill that was even more modern, with newer
machinery imported from Germany, with an electrical transformer,
etc., etc. The competition was great. The number of grain
merchants in the city grew, and their income became even more
secure: whatever Grajewsky would not buy, Goldin would, and vice
versa. Farmers from quite a distance, close to Lomza or Ostrow
– planned to delay their travel to reach the Zambrow market day,
because they knew they could sell their grain easily and for a
good price. Grajewsky and his three sons: Shaul (Saul), Noah and
Abba. could not withstand the competition, and the shortfalls
grew and debts got larger. Grajewsky married off his eldest son
Shaul to the daughter of a very rich man from Radom, R’
Yankelewsky, who invested his large and substantial dowry into
the business. but it didn’t help much. This persisted until one
day on a Friday toward sunset, when Grajewsky was out of the
city, a fire broke out and his mill was entirely consumed in
flames. Grajewsky got the insurance money from two Russian
companies and from a third French company and emerged
unscathed from the business, and he was left with yet a
substantial sum of money...
Goldin’s flour mill stayed in
business for some time. ‘Goldin’s Mill’ had quite a reputation
in the city. From time to time, Goldin expanded his facilities:
he put up one building after another, improved and renovated,
and lived well in the residence that he constructed beside the
mill. Tens of families made their living thanks to the flour
mill, and about twenty Jewish employees worked inside it.
For a while, a competitive shadow,
in the form of a German gentile whose name was Pfeiffer, stood
in his way as we shall see later on. But Pfeiffer’s mill burned
down one night at the end of the summer, and once again, Goldin
remained again as the only one in business, and he dominated it
with force.
As Goldin grew old, and his sons
did not want to continue in his business, he sold the mill to
Meir ben Mordechai Aharon Meizner. Meizner, a handsome Jewish
man of good disposition, progressive, even though he was no big
expert – sold off his clothing store, which he had owned on the
corner of the ‘Wadna’ gasse, beside the marketplace of
Mr. Gottlieb. He took on several junior partners, and among
them one of the managers of the workplace, the son-in-law of
Alter Somowicz, and they made some renovations and improvements
to the mill, paved the road that connects the mill to the Royal
Highway, and the flour – developed quite a reputation throughout
the length and breadth of Poland. During the course of several
years, the mill passed through a number of hands, and its
partners changed. However, the revenue stream from it was very
steady, and it was always a source of income to residents of the
city.
C.
Pfeiffer’s Mill
Pfeiffer was a German gentile, who,
it appears, was sent here by his government as a spy. He started
out – with a modern Prussian bakery, run by machinery, which he
first put up on [ulica] Kosciolna beside the house of R’
Mendl Rubin. When the revenues and the farmers increased, during
market days, the number of people coming to buy bread from him
would grow as well – as a result of this, he set up a large
flour mill, run by water. To accomplish this, he was able to
acquire a parcel of land outside the city for quite cheap near
the horse market, where the Zambrow River comes to an end. He
brought in an engineer and an expert from Germany, and that one
planned to raise the level of the river and put a large and
wide dam across it. The surplus of water trapped behind the dam
would course through the channels of the dam, and noisily
descend like a waterfall, and their force would turn the
millstones. The dam was called ‘Der Stav.’ Using water
power, Pfeiffer was able to eliminate the costs of oil, and he
was able to compete in the market in the sale of flour. His
operation was also a clean one, and his flour – of the finest.
Pfeiffer was an old bachelor, and enjoyed wiling his time away
in pleasures, keeping company with the Jews, and he had an open
hand when it came to assisting the indigent. In several
fund-raising initiatives by the community, he too would
participate, and not only once did he donate sacks of flour to
charitable institutions.
The business manager was one named
Kaspar. He also was a German by birth, handsome, tall, and he
had the face of a Teutonic Knight. Kaspar ran the flour mill
and also led the bakery and the sale of bread. He took part in
the general community life and was the Vice Chairman of the
Fire Fighters (the Chairman was his neighbor, Skarzynsi, the
Polish pharmacist). Since Pfeiffer had no heirs, the flour mill
and the bakery passed into the hands of Kaspar. A short time
later, on one of the nights of Tishri or Heshvan, a fire broke
out, and even though the flour mill stood beside water, it was
totally consumed. The dam continued to do its work for many
years afterwards – beside the burned and destroyed flour mill –
and the water continued to flow and fall with force and loud
sound. When the First World War broke out, Kaspar was suspected
of espionage on behalf of Germany, and together with a number of
other German families in the vicinity, like Kaufman, the Dog
Killer (Koyfman der Rocker) and others, were exiled to
the interior of Russia.
D.
The Windmills (Wietraken)
For many years, several windmills
turned on the Ostrowo and Bialystok Roads, whose four huge
sails, in the form of a cross, would move for periods of time.
They were owned by Jews, and they were: Moshe Schribner, on the
Ostrowo Road, and Zelig Miller on the Bialystok Road. These
mills served for decades in providing flour and ??? to the
farmers, and also served as weigh stations, and as a place of shade
to strollers on the Sabbath, we went out of the city to get a
breath of fresh air. During the time of the cholera epidemic,
the mill of Moshe Schribner was converted to a first aid
station. The sick were brought there, and here they got help,
and from here the dead were brought to their burial.
Craftsmen
It is interesting to note the place
occupied by craftsmen starting from the beginning of the city.
Among the gabbaim in the synagogue was Chaim the Tailor,
from the Kosziuszko gasse. Among the prominent gabbaim
of the Chevra Kadisha was Mendl Rubin, the Hatmaker, and
Moshe-Zelik the Hatmaker. The Torah reader in the synagogue was
Binyom’keh Schuster. Later on, his son Alter performed
this role. Among those who led services were: in the synagogue,
Alter the Smith; in the White Bet HaMedrash – David the
Wagon Driver, Moshe Zelik the Hatmaker, and Chaim Kalman the
Butcher; in the Red Bet HaMedrash – Fyv’keh the
Shoemaker, Abraham Schneider.
Among the cantor’s choir singers – tailors and shoemakers. Yudl
Shokhet has two such singers on the High Holy Days: Yankl
Hittlmakher, and Jekuthiel Katzav. The Shoemaker
from Gatch and his sons, all shoemakers, were the leaders of the
Hasidim of Sokolov. One of them, Yankl David the
Shoemaker, was the ombudsman and provider for all the yeshiva
students. On the Yatkowa gasse, was Ber’cheh’s wooden
house, where the Schuster Rabbi R’ Abraham Shlomo lived.
He was a shoemaker for his entire life, a scholar and an
observant Jew. Among the gabbaim in the Hasidim-shtibl
were Herschel Tscheslior, the father of Yeshea the
Melamed, Moshe Aharon Mulyar, Mysh’keh Fischer,
and others. In charitable institutions, and later on in
political parties, the craftsmen took the lead.
Opinions about the cantor, an
interpretation of a preacher’s sermon, an idea about the study
that took place in the Bet HaMedrash, was offered only by
the working class Jews, the craftsmen. Every day, you could hear
the stirring in the street: the rising of these decent manual
laborers to say their morning prayers, to get in a ‘day’s worth’
of Psalms, and sometimes also a page of the Gemara.
Between afternoon and evening prayers, they would fill up the
long tables in the Bet HaMedrash and engage in study.
The Jewish Proletariat in Zambrow
By Lejzor
Pav
(New York)
|
Meeting of the
Zembrow Society in New York. In the center -- Mr. Louis
Pav, President. |
|
Zambrow had no factories. There was
only one steam-driven flour mill in operation, and it employed
about ten Jewish and gentile workers, and later on the dyeing
plant. From time-to-time, a small oil processing facility would
arise, from which a blind horse and an oil worker and a couple
of workers would derive their sustenance. There were several
small kvass and soda water factories, where an owner and
his wife and children, together with a couple of relatively
cheap extra hired hands, worked during the season in the hot
summer months.
Despite this, Zambrow had a fine
working class. On Saturday, before nightfall, the ‘Pasek’
was full – this was the center of promenade in Zambrow – the
Ostrowo Road, this way, until the iron bridge on one side, and
the Bialystok Road – literally as far as the brick works on the
other side: Jewish workers, the mature and students, masters and
apprentices, dressed in their Sabbath finery with their wives
and children, with their loved ones and friends, walked about in
a pleasant manner and inhaled the fresh air of the Sabbath day
of rest.
There was no lack of women workers:
tailors and seamstresses, stocking makers, wig makers,
‘salesladies’ in the stores, cooks, servant girls who would
meet with their young men, who were makers of galoshes,
apprentice tailors and shoemakers, drivers and smiths, bakers
and cabinetmakers, and they would get together to heartily pass the
time together on the nice and one free day of the week.
In time, all of these
‘proletarians’ and ‘lamplighters’ united and organized
themselves into professional unions, strengthened their economic
positions, declared themselves to be professional and socially
oriented, with each affiliating with a political party, began to
read books, a newspaper, signed up for workers education
courses and participating in partisan discussions.
It was in this manner that a nice
Jewish proletarian class lived and developed, in the little shtetl
of Zambrow – which had no factories and didn’t mass produce
anything. If a speaker arrived from somewhere or another – the
hall was packed with hangers on, with party members on one
side, and the opposition on the other side. In the shtetl,
there was roiling and tumult – by Jewish Zambrow it was tranquil...
The communists, in Poland today,
boast of the fact that Zambrow is an industrial center, where
thousands of workers are employed in textile factories, which
had been liquidated in the former Jewish towns around Bialystok,
and their machinery was transplanted in Zambrow. Machines clank
away on the grounds of the former barracks, with smoke and soot
belching from factory chimneys, and the song of workers are
carried – but not ours! The voice of the Jewish workers from the
quiet, not-industrialized Zambrow was cut off, and permanently
silenced. Their heirs, not local people, often times with blood
on their hands, now make a living in Zambrow.
R’
Tuvia Skocandek (The Candle Maker)
A scion of Jedwabne – he married
the daughter of R’ Moshe Hersh Cohn Slowo. He inherited
the name ‘Candle Maker’ from his father-in-law who engaged in
candle making, especially ‘soul’ candles ??? from inedible fat.
He was short in stature, self-effacing in his demeanor, entirely
holy, being always at one with his Creator. He did not engage in
making a living – this was the work of his wife. He sunk his
entire being into the study of Torah, and was not distracted
into conversations about secular matters. He was a handsome man,
with curly side locks and sunk in his own thoughts. The
synagogue was his steady place to be. Early in the morning, upon
arising, he would study at home. His sweet voice captivated
souls. The sing-song of Gemara study broke from his house into
the heart of the night, and carried for distances. His second
station was the synagogue itself. Prayer went on for hours, and
when he returned, he would eat a piece of bread in the manner
of a Righteous Saint. Those who were ill would turn to him to
remove ‘the evil eye’ from them. In the evenings at the White
Bet HaMedrash, he would sit with tens of the balebatim
and craftsmen at the side of a table, with a copy of the Mishna in their hands, and he would teach them
and explain a chapter, utilizing all the commentaries.
Complete silence reigned around the table. His explanations
enchanted the soul, and attracted listeners. He was held in
esteem by all his students, by virtue of his integrity, the
goodness of his heart, and the faith that was attached to it. He
did not engage in politics. It was even difficult to engage him
within his own family. It was only the give-and-take of Talmudic
casuistry and argument, which would bring him out of his reverie. He was
fastidious in all his manners. In the wintertime, he would go to
the river, and in the most extreme cold, he would immerse his
body and bathe in the water. In the year 1930, when I came home
for a visit from the Land of Israel, the entire family gathered
in my grandfather’s home. I sang songs from the Land, and he sat
for the entire time, focused and listening, and his entire being
was suffused with joy, and his face shone. He communicated his
desire to make aliyah, and took an interest in the
condition of religious observance there. He joined the
supporters of the Mizrahi, and contributed to them.
However, the righteous R’ Tuvia,
the man of integrity and modesty, was not privileged to achieve the ambit of his desire. He even did not have the privilege of
dying a natural death. He was one of the first of the martyrs of
Zambrow.
Elinka
|
|
Elinka was one of the more
attractive personalities who became endeared to the
community. He originally came from Jablonka. He dressed
as one of the simple folk, with a large tallis katan
under his kaftan, and a broad hat of velvet on his head.
He constantly had a small sack thrown over his shoulder.
He was of average height, a split white beard, with
pleasant, dreamy eyes. I never once saw him get angry,
and never once saw him idle. He would cover all of the
villages on a daily basis, to sell needles. The farmers
saw his countenance as that of a man of God, and they
would entreat him: Rabbin Elinka, go and tread on
our fields and may you leave God’s blessing there,
because every place that you walk becomes a holy place!
He would always walk alone, lost in his own thoughts,
with his lips whispering from the Psalms which he knew
by heart. He would rise early, pray ‘Vatikin’
???, study a chapter of the Mishna, come home for
a morning repast, and set out to the villages.
Periodically, he would return from there with a quarter
of corn grain over his shoulder that one of the farmers
would have sold to him cheaply, or compensated him in
kind for his merchandise. In the city, he was regarded
as one of the ‘Lamed-Vov’ righteous men. |
It would be said of him – ‘He
is a secret Righteous Man.’ He would fast at intervals during
the Ten Days of Repentance – sitting in fast until evening. He
was a reliable man, and once his wife made an error and
poured fuel oil into a plate of potatoes that was on the table,
instead of edible oil. ‘There is nothing bad in this,’ he said:
‘whoever said that edible oil is to impart a good taste, he will
also say this to the fuel oil, and if The Holy One, Blessed Be
He wants it to be so – I most certainly will not come to any
harm! He then proceeded to eat it, and nothing happened to him.
He educated his sons in Torah, to work, and to perform acts of
charity. In old age, he resided with his son-in-law, Abraham’l
ben David Velvel Golombek. His daughter, Chaya Elinka, looked
after him with great love, and his son-in-law showed him great
respect. So long as Elinka will be with us – the simple folk
would say – no evil will befall us.
My Father R’ Moshe Aharon the Builder (Mulyar/Bednowicz)
By
Chaim Bender
It is appropriate, in my
view, to begin with a few lines concerning the origins
and childhood of my father
ז״ל, not only as
a firmament for describing his personality, but also as
an extension to the description of the life of Jews in
the towns of that time.
My father
ז״ל, was born – according to my calculation – in
the year 1850, in Wysokie Mazowieckie – close to
Zambrow, or in its vicinity – in a village or on an
estate – to his father Baruch Yitzhak, who was leased a
brick works, from which he derived only a meager living.
My father was the youngest of the family. I knew of two
of my father’s brothers, the older – Israel Hirsch, who
also lived in Zambrow during my days there, and was the
overseer of the firing of the bricks at the brick works
of R’ Shlomo Blumrosen; the second – Issachar, who was a
ritual slaughterer and meat inspector in Wysokie, an
ardent Jew of pleasant disposition; and a sister,
Miriam Mindl, who it seems was the oldest. I know only a
little about the childhood and youth of my father, |
|
|
Chaim Bender |
and even this little I happened to
overhear by chance and garnered from snippets of conversation.
It was in this way that I once heard from him that his
brother-in-law used to carry him as a child to the city, to cheder, in a sack thrown over his shoulder, especially on
the cold winter days. This was an indication that his father did
not have the means to send him in a separate wagon, from the
village where they lived to the city. On one Saturday night, a
conversation ensued among us about birdcalls. My father told me
about the various birdcalls that he heard while walking through
the thick forest all night. He came to this forest after his bar mitzvah year, when he had left the home of his parents
and ‘exiled himself’ to a place of Torah study (I think it was
Biala). With one shirt, and one meal in his left hand, and a
staff he carved by himself in his right, he went the entire long
distance on foot, a walk that took several days, to reach the
destination of his choosing. How many years did he spend in this
Torah study pace, and in other such Torah study places? How did
he support himself there, and when did he return home? – I do
not know.
He took a wife from a good family
in Sokolov, near Siedlce, she being my mother
ע״ה Sima (in his letters
to her, when he was outside of the city, he wrote her name as
Sima, but also sometimes as Cima) of the Tanenbaum family (she
died on 11 Tevet 5692 [December 21, 1931], after having a life of
sixty-two years with my father). My mother’s father – Shimon Tanenbaum – leased a fish pond. Also regarding this family, all
I know is that it was related to the Rebbe, R’ Elimelech
of Sokolov. Both my mother’s brother in Sokolov and her brother
in Wysokie have sons named Elimelech (Melech). It is possible
that among the four brothers I had, who died before I was born,
there was also one with this name, but it was not the custom to
speak of those whose lives ended before their time (of the
twelve children that my mother bore for my father, my mother
ע״ה, would occasionally
recollect her son ‘Berish’l,’ her favorite, who died in his Bar
Mitzvah year. At times like this, my father would look into her
face with his soft eyes, both threatening and pleading at the
same time. as of to say: ‘Don’t you know that one does not speak
of sons that God has given and God has taken away, and do not
open your mouth...’ Immediately, my mother would fall silent,
with a deep sigh).
After they married, my parents
lived in ‘Wysokie’ and my father attempted to engage in
commerce. On one occasion, he lost all that he possessed as a
result of a bad event. He had invested his capital in goods that
were transported to him in a hired wagon. On the way, the
wagon-driver was ‘attacked’ and they ‘took’ all the merchandise
from him, without leaving so much as a trace. When this bad news
reached him, he traveled to Lomza – the provincial capital, to
see if it might be possible to salvage ‘something,’ but he
returned empty-handed just as he had come there. On his return
by way of the Wysokie-Zambrow road, the wagon driver stopped to
rest and feed his horse. This pause took place on the street of
the synagogue that leads to the way to get to the horse market.
Across from them – near the place where, in our time, stood the
house of Czybulkin (that is, after the First Great Fire in the
town), a large wooden house that was built at that time. Mt father,
ז״ל stood there – with a
heavy heart, looking at the house being built there. The owner
walked over to him, this being one of the founders of the city,
R’ Shmuel Wilimowsky, faced him [and said]: 'Why are you
standing and just looking, are you perhaps a brick maker, and you
are thinking of setting up your ovens here?’ ‘Yes’ the answer
fell from the mouth of my father, as if it was forced out of him
against his will, and he immediately regretted it. The homeowner
would not let him go and worked on him over and over again to
quote his price, and my father was embarrassed to reveal the
truth and attempted to change the subject, but to no avail –
having no way out, my father quoted him a price, by prevailing
standards, and the latter immediately consented (it later became
evident that the price drove my father to this goal). In the
meantime, the wagon-driver came up to them and started to bug
my father, because the hour of departure had arrived. And so, my
father parted company from the homeowner, and the latter reminds
him that in a few more weeks the house will become the center
for the work of ovens. When he returned to his city, he told his
father that he did not have any luck in trying to salvage
anything of his assets, and he continued by adding: ‘I really
don’t know what’s going on with me. As I went through Zambrow, I
fell victim to a ???, and I am ashamed of it even for myself,’
and my father went on to explain the incident in Zambrow. My
grandfather proceeded to comfort him: ‘What’s all the worry? Did
you cause anyone harm, God forbid? On the contrary – maybe
something will come of it?’ On the following day, once again,
his talk returned to this issue, and to the issue of making a
living in general: ‘If I had any idea of some sort about
building, I would return to Zambrow and ‘set up’ such ovens
there.’ Grandfather opened by saying: ‘And what are your
thoughts about this? That you think this is so sort of profound
skill! Involving esoteric concepts? Take up a hammer in your
hand, and a little at a time, take apart the oven in my house –
after all, it is summer now – and you will gain an understanding
of this great wisdom.’ Together, they began to dismantle the
oven, one brick after another, and my father learned and
understood what went on in the interior, and began to restore it
to its original condition. In the proper time, he returned to
Zambrow and completed his work with great success. Immediately,
his reputation as a consummate craftsmen spread, and work was
offered to him from all sides. And it was in this way that he
came to take up permanent residence in Zambrow. It is known
that after the First Great Fire, they re-built the entire city
almost entirely out of brick, in contrast to the remaining towns
in the vicinity where homes were largely constructed of wood.
Several times I heard my mother add to my father’s words: that
her father in Sokolov did not know about this ‘transformation’
for a long time. One time, he came to visit them. Immediately
upon entering, he said: ‘It is almost an hour that I am looking
for your house. Every Jewish person I encountered said: ‘We do
not know any Moshe Aharon, a merchant, but we do know Moshe
Aharon the Builder,” and showed me his residence, and my eyes
now tell me they were right.' Upon hearing this, my mother burst
into intense weeping, and he (her father) calmed her with the
words: ‘Why are you crying, my daughter? Had I heard them refer
to Moshe Aharon the Thief, of Moshe Aharon the Swindler, you
would then have cause to be ashamed and cry, but Moshe Aharon is
making a living from the work of his own hands, and he is
therefore an honor and not an object of shame.”
His reputation as a ‘master
builder’ also spread outside of our town. He received from the
government – I don’t know exactly when, or on what basis – this
previously mentioned ‘title’ and all that comes with it. He was
invited not only to build government buildings, but also to pave
bridges with brick stones. I remember the construction of a
large bridge of this kind, and the work got delayed to such an
extent that it did not stop even during the cold winter days.
The mortar that used to warm him was frozen in his hands. More
difficult than this was provision of kosher food for the Jewish
workers, who worked with him and were received as guests in the
homes of the farmers in the nearby village. I remember my oldest
brother, Nachman Ze’ev – one of my father’s sons who learned
the building trade from him– would oversee the food
provisioning, me and the hosting. They would come home every
Friday. In the construction of one bridge, my father and the
supervising architect who was overseeing the work had a
difference of opinion over reading the plans for the bridge. On
the plans that had come to them from the Ministry of Railroads
in Petersburg, the two overpasses of the bridge, relative to the
two roads it was supposed to go over, had not been specifically
marked. My father refused to accept the opinion of the
architect until the chief engineer arrived, who was responsible
for the drawings, and he ruled as my father had indicated.
In general, all of the architects
in the provincial capitol (as his workers of the same faith, and
not the same faith, all his acquaintances and friends), treated
him with great respect ( his patriarchal appearance also
commanded respect. I recall those days, when my father would
come to visit me during those days when I was studying at the
Yeshiva of ‘Breinsk’, and my classmates would ask me after seeing us
walking together outside: ‘Who was that Jewish man of such
height and magnificent appearance that we saw outside?’). The
architects would depend on him and would always carry out his
notations and modifications that he would enter on their plans.
When they came to our city, they would visit at our house, sit
with my father, and immerse themselves in details, and at the
same time, would enjoy the ‘repast’ provided them. As a
testament to my father’s expertise – and the respect that was
accorded him by his peers – let me cite an additional fact and
conclude with that. During the days of the First World War,
almost all construction work came to a standstill: new buildings
were not built at all, and the builders, as was the case with
the members of other trades, suffered from lack of work. My
father suffered from the lack of work more than his employees
who had learned their craft from him, because those were
generally invited to do repair work, rather than my father,
because no one had the nerve to offer him such petty jobs to do.
During these ‘difficult’ times, we
received a visit from the Chief Builder – Kablan from
Czyzew, near our city. Because of the ‘war’ and the various
‘fires’ that ensued in its wake, many houses were burned down
and ruined, among them also the ‘Bet HaMedrash.’ Having
no alternative, the balebatim decided to minimally
re-build their house of study, and gave the contract to this
builder. The good fortune was indescribable. Here, the Chief
Builder comes to us, and proposes to my father that he consent
to be a partner in this construction project. On one occasion, I
asked the builder to explain to me the reason and thinking
behind his offer to take on my father
ז״ל as a partner, at a
time when work was so hard to come by. That very builder, Kablan,
replied and said: ‘How can I explain this to you? Believe me
that from my part, I could have done without R’ Moshe Aharon
touching a brick or a building tool, because it would be
sufficient for him to show up once or twice a day, for less than
an hour, to the construction site, and simply cast a eye about,
to share his opinion, because what R’ Moshe Aharon can grasp in
one glance, other distinguished experts couldn’t fathom in many
days.”
As I mentioned previously, my
father ז״ל, was not in
the habit of saying much about his family and origins,
only at infrequent intervals, mostly during the nights after the Sabbath
when his relatives in the city would come to our house, like his
oldest brother R’ Israel Hirsch, his sons and grandchildren,
Nathan the Dyer and his family, and others. A number of workers
from Wysokie would sometimes come to our city to work for my
father, and they would live in our house (at our location they
learned the building trade, and he educated a ‘generation’ of
Jewish brick makers). They started as unskilled laborers, and
those among them who acquired the skills were gradually
selected for the skilled work with, understandably, my father’s
encouragement. These too, would come and join the Saturday
night festivities, and it then fell to these ‘guests’ to
preserved stories that he told about his origins... And a number
of details became known to me also from the tales told by these
previously mentioned working men: it was not only the art of
building, but all that he had learned he had done on his own.
One time, during the years I studied the Gemara, he
reproached me for neglecting my studies of Holy Writing. I tried to
defend myself by saying that in the cheder they minimize
the study of Tanakh (and in the two years before my Bar Mitzvah,
they didn’t cover it at all). He said to me: And you have to
wait for your teacher’s instruction and depend on him? At your
age, I would regularly read ten to fifteen chapters of Tanakh
before morning repast, yes – even before morning prayers... but,
as I said, he did not spend much time talking about himself, and
during my youth I did not have to temerity to approach him with
questions of this sort. It appeared to me, at that time, that
this was not the proper thing to do and did not constitute
respect. When I went off to centers of Torah scholarship – the
yeshivas ‘Breinsk’ and ‘Slobodka’ – and we would be frequently
exchanging correspondence, I refrained from being bold enough
to ask such questions. After I had grown up, I once made a
request of him, in a letter, that he make an effort to put down
in writing some of his origins and past, about his forbears and
their predecessors. In his answer, he replied to me: ‘As it
happens right now, it is hard for me to write because my hands
tremble and spasm from old age,’ and after this, I did not have
the temerity to remind him of this, or attempt to persuade him,
and I lost the hour. In the process, I missed out on asking him
why it is that he does not read from the Torah, notwithstanding
the fact that he had a ‘franchise’ to read from the Torah, in
the prayer house, only after the morning service of Rosh
Hashanah.
When he was free of his business
activities on Sabbaths, Festivals, etc., or on winter days
during which building activity came to a halt, he would always
sit down to study the Gemara. In the bookcase that was in
our house, apart from the Babylonian Shas (as well as a
Shas in a miniature format with small print, in a heavy
binding, and suitable for use when going on a trip), there were
many other books: The Zohar, Commentaries, the books of
God-fearing men, and of ‘Hasidim,’ etc. Ponderous prayer
books of various kinds (such as the prayer book of the AR”I, of
the YAAV”TZ [R’ Yaakov Emden]), and others, and he would look
into these while eating, upon retiring to bed, and at whatever
opportune hour. Ordinary study for him was restricted to the
Gemara and its Commentators. It is understood that every
Friday, he would read through the portion of the week ‘twice in
Hebrew, once in Targum (Onkelos).’ Before each
festival holiday, he would set time aside to review the rules
and regulations of that holiday festival, especially in the ‘Shulkhan
Arukh,’ of the ‘Rav’ (R’ Schneur Zalman Schneerson,
the progenitor of Chabad Hasidism). Mostly – when there
were no people in the house to disturb him – he would study at
home. However, before dawn, and even in the dark of the night,
in the long winter nights, he would arrive early at the Bet
HaMedrash (the Red one), to study there. When he would wake
up, in order to get out of bed before the doors of the Bet
HaMedrash would be opened, he would read the ‘day’s worth’
of Psalms and various chant verses, sotto voce, and
occasionally when I was awake in bed I would listen to the
pleading voice of his. I especially remember the impression made
upon me on one occasion, when I was listening to him ‘sing’ in
his plaintive voice, as if he were imposing himself on his
Father in Heaven: ‘Yedid Nefesh, Av HaRakhaman....’
returning again, and again to the opening refrain of this
famous chant, which had been included into a number of prayer
books, to be recited before the start of the morning service.
He prayed in accordance with the
Sephardic tradition. On Sabbaths and Festival holidays, when
the time of morning prayer arrived for the ‘Ger Hasidim,’
he would leave the Bet HaMedrash, and go to their prayer
house (the Ger shtibl), to pray, because he was one of
the Ger Hasidim. By and large, he did not travel to Ger,
as was the custom of the Hasidim. In my days, I did not
hear anyone ask him why this was the case, and he himself did
not speak of it. When the Rebbe of Ger passed away,
Yehuda Aryeh Leib, who was called ‘Sfat-Emet’ after the
name of the book he wrote, my father would look into the book on
occasions between the afternoon and evening prayers, and during
other periods of recess in the Ger shtibl. On one
occasion of the first day of Rosh Hashanah, when the Hasidim would gather to go to
Tashlikh, he was
reading this very book, as was his custom. On the way to the
river, he would say to those walking alongside him: Our Sages,
of Blessed Memory, were correct when they said: The righteous
become greater in death than they were in life. When they looked
at him with questioning eyes, asking for an explanation of what
he said, he added: ‘It is now possible to recognize, through his
book more than through his life, the Rebbe, of blessed
memory, because he could grasp what it was that his soul relied
on!’ He would go to see nearly every Rebbe of Hasidim
who would come as guests to our city, taking me as well, to
hear the lore they dispensed at their Sabbath repasts, and after
the Sabbath I would escort him to the Rebbe ‘to receive
a blessing’ from him. I remember the Rebbe from
Novo-Minsk, and especially the many visits we made to the Rebbe Nahum of Bialystok, who was the
Sandak when I
was entered into the Covenant of our Father, Abraham. Always, as
I was taking leave of him, he would slip me a coin, in order
that it bestow a blessing on me from him. On one summer day,
when my father was busy and could not go see him during work
days, he sent me to receive a blessing on his behalf. The Rebbe gave me wine to drink from his cup, asked about my
studies in cheder, gave me a coin, blessed me, and then
expounded effusively to his Gabbai in praise of my
father.
During periods of recess, the Hasidim in their prayer house would engage in conversation
about worldly matters, and not in ‘Hasidic talk.’ The
house buzzed like a hive especially on later Friday afternoon
between the afternoon service and the evening service to welcome
the Sabbath. At this time, amidst a deafening noise, my father
would sit and immerse himself in a book. His fellow group
members, and people who knew him were accustomed to this
‘peculiarity’ and did not pay him any attention. Never did he
complain about the secular din before the welcoming prayers for
the Sabbath, and he never criticized anyone because of the
common discourse taking place in a sanctuary on a holy day. And
even on the evenings of Simchas Torah, before the
concluding evening prayer ending the Festival when the dancing
‘burned’ with passionate fire, he would sit and peer into his
book. From time-to-time, he was pulled into a circle dance, and
he would go around for a few minutes, get out of the way and
immediately return to his book; ‘after all,’ he was no big
dancer and singer, it would seem for all of his days, but why
did he refrained from participating in the secular discourses
during recesses? Was it only because of his ‘thirst’ for the
book? Many times, on the second night of a Festival, and
especially before the Hakafot on the nights of Shemini
Atzeres and Simchas Torah, on the night of Simchas
Torah, my heart went out to the fortunate members of the shtibl,
to their dances, the ??? of the inflamed Hasidim, and
there I would sit practically expiring, waiting for my father
to shut his Gemara and to go with me to the Maariv
service because where would I find the nerve to urge him to do
so? ‘Why is he different from all his Hasidic friends?’ –
I would ask myself, and the thought of not waiting for him, and
going by myself never entered my mind at all at that time. On
one occasion, when I reminded him that it was time to go,
instead of saying: ‘Immediately, right now, in a little bit, we
will go,’ he said to me: it will be good to wait about another
hour, because it isn’t proper to leave your mother at home alone
in the house, and it was in this way that yet another facet of
his behavior was revealed to me, a facet that would not have
come to my attention in the normal ambience of our day-to-day
living.
His Conduct Toward His Sons
I am only able to tell about his
conduct towards me when I was the youngest in the family, and
younger by many years than my two brothers, Nachman-Ze’ev and
Eliyahu, who went off to America when I was six, and he
practically never hollered at me and never raised a hand to me,
much less rebuke me in public, as most fathers would do during
prayer, Torah reading, and similar situations. And he never even
criticized me in front of members of his household because – as
I came to understand, as I grew up – that in everything that he
did, and intrinsic to his conduct, there was a reason and this
included sparing the rod. Apparently, he did not believe in the
utility of hollering, rebuking, striking and hitting, and
throughout my childhood and youth he would often speak to me on
intimate terms. He made an attempt to influence and leave an
impression, but refrained from explicit moralizing, and to this
end he constantly strove to inculcate me in the mitzvot,
without providing an apparent reason, in order that I not
attribute to specific an intent in the matter. From childhood
onward, even before I began to attend Cheder, ( I began to study at age 3 ½) he would turn to me – mostly during our
feasting on the Sabbath or on a Festival – asking me to hand him
one book or another that was on the table, giving me a sign as
to which one or tell me where in the bookcase they were (in the
same room, adjacent to the table where we sat), and if I made a
mistake – he identified my error, despite the fact that the
bookcase was beside the table. And I recollect on one night
when he was sitting in the sukkah, which literally stood abutting
our house, and was engaged in a discussion about Halakhah
with a young scholar, I nearly collapsed under the weight of the
large Gemara volumes, whose names I was able to read only
by a sheer miracle, and by signs that he had given me to look
for (their thickness, their order in sequence, etc.) that I
would bring and convey from the house to the sukkah, and from
the sukkah back to the house. He had a special affection for
young scholars and the ‘bachelors’, with whom he would
socialize at every opportune hour, and it appeared that they in
turn reciprocated this search for friendship with him.
Before Passover and before Sukkos, I would, at his order, take all the books outside,
to clean the dust off of them and to air them out. Afterwards
he would direct me to order them and arrange them on the
shelves of the bookcase: those that he had more frequent use
for, were put in a place that could be easily accessed, and
after that – the others, in accordance with a set arrangement,
in order that he could remember the location of each and every
book.
On the Eve of Passover, I would
accompany him – as was the custom – to burn the leavened bread,
to stand beside him as he koshered the ‘vessels’ [and utensils],
etc. After the noon hour, I would go with him to the wine
seller, and he would ask me to taste all of the wines, and offer
my opinion on their taste.
Our sukkah was built under
the roof of our house, with an opening into the foyer. From the
day that I could think for myself, I helped open up the heavy
roof (the edge to the sukkah), and to remove the ‘skhakh’
that had been resting on the sukkah for all year, to
shake off the dust that was on it, and to cover it anew in
accordance with proscribed ritual. Understandably, there was a
bit of danger in climbing up on top of the sukkah, especially
for a little boy, but more than helping him I disturbed his
tranquility, and at his work, but my father did not ‘pass up’ my
‘assistance.’ After I grew up a bit, it happened that I had gone
off to the edge of the river to play, and because of the
over-enthusiasm of the players I was late in getting home. I
will not forget his keening voice, simultaneously being
self-justifying, with which he greeted me, and his soft look
(maybe he was concerned for my well-being): You are late today
my son, and here I was waiting in anticipation that you would
come to help me in the preparation of the sukkah, and in
the end I was compelled to go ahead and do it myself. Oh, dear,
what a shame that you were late.’ From that time on, there was
never an instance when I was late, until I learned to do the
work by myself, and there was no longer a need for my father to
leave a construction site, since a significant loss was tied up
in his absence from the workplace.
Customs pertaining to education
such as these, I suspect, were carried out in many Jewish
homes. Most of all, I want to underscore especially two such
fundamental customs, two tasks that were allocated to me for
each Friday evening when I was a very little boy, before my cheder
years (when I had ‘grown up’ and was six years old, I
would go out to play with my friends, and I began to neglect
these tasks until they were forgotten), and these were: a) to
clean my father’s Sabbath shoes, and b) to sharpen the knife
that my father used to slice the Sabbath challah.
Understandably, at that tender age, I was not able to carry
put those two tasks properly. On short days, my sisters who
were occupied with preparations for the Sabbath, would sometimes
want to relieve me of my tasks, and I would steadfastly resist
them regarding my ‘franchise:’ ‘these are my tasks,’ I would
argue. I was not terribly aware at that tender age, as to how
these two customs came into being, and to this day I have not
heard of such a custom in other Jewish homes. Because of this,
my heart tells me that my father’s hand was in this as well: to
inculcate in me two fundamental mitzvot, that of honoring
one’s father and showing respect for the sanctity of the
Sabbath. When I grew to be a youth, I began to suspect that my
participation on local tasks was not because my father needed
the help. but because of a need to ‘educate a lad.’ [Here is]
another example: In my Bar Mitzvah year, or slightly before
then, I was studying Torah with the Baumkuler brothers, Pinchas
הי״ד, and Abraham, of the first of those of our city who made
aliyah at the end of the First World War, from the mouth of
R’ Abraham Shmuel – the son-in-law of R’ Nahum Lejzor the Shokhet who was a very learned man, having received rabbinic
ordination, and took over the duties of Shokhet in place
of his father-in-law. We learned together in the prayer house of
the Ger Hasidim, and as was the custom at that time,
kinfolk would be taken in as guests that were knocking about,
had been burned out, and for like reasons. The worshipers there,
in the middle of the week, would collect a sum of money, and
these guests would then be on their way. The matter was
dependent on the donor who was willing to accept the obligation
of the mitzvah, and on the number of such worshipers, and
regarding the amount in respect to the capacity of the
participants. And here, the idea took root of introducing some
sort of order and protocol to the process. Accordingly: all the
worshipers will contribute a number of pennies per week,
according to their means, and this would go into a ‘box’
prepared for this purpose, to be available at an hour of need.
They turned to me to be the ‘Gabbai’ of the box. And why
‘me’ – the youngest of the three pupils? This question entered
my mind, because all that happens is natural and simple to a boy
and youth, and there are no questions. Because of this, it never
occurred to me to say anything about this responsibility at
home, and because during the week my father did not go to the
shtibl to pray, I didn’t ask him to donate his share,
just as we did not solicit such donations from all those who
came there only to worship on Sabbaths (those that could, and
wanted to, donated their funds in a lump sum once). And it
happened that one of the ‘Hasidim’ fell ill with a
lingering disease (from which he eventually died), and in a
short period of time was left without food or medicines. It was
decided that all the donor would add something special for this
purpose only, for the benefit of the sick one, until he could
get up from his sickbed. Understandably, it happened that a
number of the donors did not provide their part of the donation
they were obligated to give. I asked among the worshipers what
to do about these laggards, and they responded by saying that it
was up to me to remind, and return and remind again, those who
were obligated. ‘And what if this doesn’t help?’ [They answered]
‘Well hide their prayer shawls – that they were in the habit of
leaving behind in the ‘shtibl,’ and you will delay their
prayers.’ I took this advice seriously, and I hid the prayer
shawl of one of these laggards. He wanted to don a borrowed
prayer shawl, and I began to argue with him. The latter did not
get angry, God forbid, but rather the opposite, it appears that
he took some pleasure in how serious I was, and began to
complain for others to hear: ‘ Look at this, he is not
permitting me to pray. Would you not permit a Jew to say his
prayers? Here, I have a good proposal, give me my prayer shawl,
and immediately after the service I will return it to you. And
we will continue to do this each day until I pay off my
obligation.’ This idea found favor in my eyes, and I related the
incident at home, and when I left the house in order to return
to my studies my father told me to wait a minute, and we left
together. Once outside, he began to inquire about the status of
the sick person – because of the extent to which he was busy
during the days of summer, he knew nothing about it – and
afterwards, he took out a sum from his pocket that to me looked
large, and requested that I take it to the home of the sick
person and to turn over the money to his wife. And I, despite
the fact that I frequently made trips to the home of the sick
person with funds from the ‘kupa,’ was embarrassed to be
a bearer of ‘charity’ offered by a single individual, and I
demurred. ‘What shall I say to her? – I asked. ‘Nothing,’ he
replied. ‘Say: my father offers his blessing to the sick person
for a complete recovery, and give her the money.’ When I
refused, he said in a plaintive and soft voice: ‘Why would you
be embarrassed? Don’t you see that I am very busy, and that I
simply do not have the opportunity to visit the sick in person!’
I continued to attempt to evade the task: ‘Perhaps you should
send the money, not in one lump sum, but rather to the ‘kupa?’
He replied: ‘Why are you acting this way? Better that it does
not become public knowledge, and the sick one will have an added
sum of money.’ After many years, it became clear to me that my
father really didn’t need my help, but rather he wanted to give me
a lesson in ‘Tzedakah’ and in anonymous giving.
While his own father was still
alive (he passed away when I was about eight), my father would
travel to Wysokie several times a year to see him. Always,
almost without exception, he took me along to receive a blessing
from him. This was especially for a blessing for long life,
since my grandfather was then a frail man, and I always found
him bedridden because of advanced age. It is clear to me now
that it was not for this blessing that he took me out of cheder
for a full day (excepting Hol HaMoed), but
rather to inculcate me with the commandment ‘Honor thy Father
and Mother.’ And I recall one occasion, when he went out from my
grandfather’s house, tears began to fall from his eyes. I was
taken aback to see my father cry on a time other than Yom
Kippur. And when his brothers asked him to explain his crying,
he answered while sighing: ‘It is for my sins that I have been
exiled from the city of my birth, and I fulfill the mitzvah of
honoring my father, as it should be done. And I have
transgressed against The Lord all the days (in his idiom – ich farzindik zik myneh yorn). The impact of his words
will not ever be erased from my memory for my entire life.
My
Father, Itcheh Mulyar
(Recorded
by R’ Israel Levinsky
ז״ל,
as told by his son,
Sender)
My father, R’ Yitzhak Szickowicky
(known by the name Itcheh Mulyar), was a simple working man. He
was noted for his integrity, his generous heart, his love
for performing acts of charity, and helping those needy who
approached him. For his entire life he worked, and earned his
living with the effort of his own hands, and when he succeeded
in his endeavors, and with his manual skills earned a
formidable reputation among his craft peers, these same would
come to solicit his advice and assistance.
My father learned his trade from
Moshe-Aharon the Builder after he returned from the army. He
grasped the skill, and went on to round out his capability in
his profession, and his reputation went before him, and he
became renown in the entire area as a great expert in the
construction of baking ovens, which he would construct in the
barracks of the army located in our city, and also in its summer
encampments. And who was it that effected repairs at the
bathhouse, upgraded the transient lodging, put a fence around
the cemetery, and other communal construction projects, if not Itcheh Mulyar, the Builder? As regarding his fee, they arrived
at an agreement easily. He would pay laborers out of his own
pocket. He would say: Zvi and Yitzhak Ze’ev Golombek,
respectable people of standing, come each and every day and put
in effort on behalf of the community, they bring bricks, and
mortar, and clay, not for purposes of receiving remuneration, so
it is therefore permissible for Itcheh the Builder to work
together with his sons, without pay. If a landlord was being
perverse and did not want to repair a broken oven on behalf of
his less well-off neighbor, and he and his family are getting
frozen by the cold, my father ז״ל
would run and do the repair and arrange for peace to
be made between the landlord and his neighbor. Because, who was
it that wanted to start up a quarrel with R’ Itcheh? For this
reason, all the city residents loved him, and when he fell sick,
all would come to inquire as to his well-being and to pray on
his behalf. – a dear man such as this – , they would argue, must
continue to live, in order that he continue to do his good deeds
on behalf of everyone.
Over time, he managed to accumulate
a sum of money, and to buy in partnership with Israel Sokol, a
parcel on the ulica Kosciolna that had previously been
entirely in Christian hands, and the Jews purchased one parcel
after another from them and built houses on them. The parcel
that my father bought remained vacant for many years: its
Christian owner did not want to sell it, however, once ????
himself, a large ??? that was brought from the forest killed,
his widow sold the parcel at a not very dear price. My father
himself planned the building himself, which was built with the
help of Jewish builders from Wysokie. It was a stone house that
was beautiful, not particularly large, but well-appointed. It
was then that he left the street with the synagogue and the
transient lodging facility, his previous residence, and moved
over to live in the new building. Whomever had need of R’ Itcheh
was able to find him there as well. However, on the Sabbath he
would go to worship at his regular place in the Red Bet
HaMedrash, where the Rabbi worshiped. After the second Great
Fire, when he upgraded the house, he set aside a place there for
the Chevra Shas, without charging rent, which became a
place of prayer and study. He also served as its Shammes, and
took care of the oven there, together with Yudl Husman and
Menachem Dunowicz. Thanks to them, important balebatim
came to worship with the Chevra Shas. On the High Holy
Days, R’ Yitzhak Greenberg led the Musaf services, and
after him, R’ Mott’l the Miller.
My father operated in the following
way: He stood by every man in his hour of need, and if someone
needed a person to vouch for them, they came to R’ Itcheh, and
he never turned anyone away empty-handed. He would lend money
without charging interest or taking security. My complaints to
him were of no avail: ‘How can you do this?’ He could not resist
tears or sighing. I remember once, his neighbor, Abraham the
Tailor, a diligent and honest man, but one who was poor and
impoverished, burdened with children and unable to pay rent,
took in a village lad from Szumowo for the purpose of teaching
him how to sew a pair of trousers over the course of three
months, and for this the lad received fifteen rubles from my
father. But the young fellow was not talented in this respect
and could not acquire the skill in so short a time. The Jew
from the village, an arrogant man, didn’t want to accept this
and took him to court for twenty rubles and other court costs.
However, my father ז״ל
implored the village Jew to relent, because the tailor was a
poor man, and he, personally, gets no rent from him – but it was
in vain. They came to a public sale of the tailor’s furniture.
This was on a Friday. The wife of the tailor and his children
sat and wept, because they expected that very shortly the
entire contents of their house would be emptied out. And she had
brothers in the city, Zvi the Dairyman and Mottl the Smith, but
they did not come to help her. Nevertheless, my father arrived
with a packet of money in hand, and bought all of the furniture
and left them in place for the tailor. All of the Christians
there left bewildered: they thought they would get a bargain at
the expense of a Jewish family. They paid off the rich man from
the village his money, with the addition of curses from the
neighbors.
I could not understand my father’s
deeds: how is it that a person spreads around his money at a
time when he has little sons at home, and the previously
mentioned tailor never ever settled his debt.
He never took security, because he
lent without such security. He would give away his last penny,
leaving himself with nothing, giving the excuse: I receive ???
and the public – does not. During the winter, when there was no
[construction] work going on, we would scrimp and deny
ourselves, but in the summer when the work would start up he
would pay off all of his debts. There was an instance when
people came from a nearby city to ask for a favor, because
whatever Itcheh the Builder gives, succeeds, and they paid him
with counterfeit gold coins – my father hushed the matter up and
did not seek legal redress.
After the Second Great Fire, a
dispute arose between my father and another man, involving a sum
of one hundred rubles. The Rabbi ruled that my father needed to
take an oath and then receive the sum, but my father did not
wish to swear, even if it was the truth, and lost the loan.
He had a substantial income,
because there was always work to do, and he would be paid the
amount he requested because they feared that otherwise, he
might not want to take on the job. When my brother ???, who
lived in Jerusalem, sent him a proposal to come and live there,
many balebatim rushed to break their ovens in order to
give my father the work to build them anew, out of a suspicion
that they would not be able to find a skilled builder like him
should he choose to leave the city.
Abba Frumkin was the contractor for
providing flour to the barracks, and my father did the building
of the large bakery ovens in Zambrow and afterwards at the
summer camps in Gunsirowa. When the provisioning franchise was
turned over to a certain ethnic Russian who had rented a
residence from Moshe Finkelstein, he also turned to my father,
ז״ל. When he saw that my father had hired himself out for
a hundred rubles one week, it aroused
envy in him, and when he was obliged to set up an additional
oven at a summer camp, he came to my father and said that he
would not pay the previously set fee, but rather quite a bit
less. My father said: ‘On the contrary, I want more, because on
the outside I have larger expenses. The Russian ‘katzap’
became incensed, uttered a Russian oath, slammed the door and
fled. He gave to work to a gentile builder. It turned out that
the work was quite lucrative, and there was a requirement to do
work on public facilities: In the bathhouse, the transient inn,
etc., as usual without compensation. When I asked him why he
had demanded more money, he replied to me that he was certain
the ‘katzap’ would revert to him, because he will not be
able to find a craftsman comparable to him. And as it happened,
after three weeks, the Russian returned with a smile on his
lips and said: ‘So, do you still want the set price that you
quoted, so much money? – ‘Well, have you done the work
already?’ my father asks, – ‘No, I have not done it, and I am
compelled to give you what you want, and I will convey you
(myself and my father) on my wagon, and all your room and board
will be at my expense.’ Astonished at this miraculous change in
attitude, we came to Gunsirowa during the night, the summer
military camp. He brought us to a Jewish lodging facility and
ordered that we receive the best of everything of what we asked
for. We arose to pray, and the Russian departed. I heard the
children talking among themselves and saying to their mother
that we were Jews, and that it was necessary to tell us what is
going on here. The woman begins to tell us what had happened,
and implores us to leave and not to work because the builder
who had constructed the oven, a well-known Christian craftsman,
was killed in an attempt to take out the internal support
boards that served as a sort of closing, and nobody wants to
work there – because demon spirits abide, it was said. This
mater had already cost the Russian a considerable amount of
money, and she advised my father to leave the place. I whispered
to my father that we should get out of here. But my father said:
‘I have to see this demon for myself first.’ In the meantime,
the Russian came back and says: 'So, let’s get to work!’
With a pounding heart I followed my father, and we saw the
broken oven, with blood stains on the bricks. ‘What is this?’ –
my father asked – ‘Why did you deceive me?’ The Russian said:
‘You refused, demanding a large sum, and it was on me to build
this oven. Now you are getting more, so just do it.’ To my
amazement, I saw my father go over to begin working, bringing
workers to clear away the debris, and he finished the oven in the
course of two days time because the foundation of the oven had
remained from the part that had fallen. People came from all
over town to watch how my father was going to take out the
support boards. The Russian advised that they be burned out, in
order not to ruin the oven, and the boards were brand new. My
father sent him out of the house. and I remained to help my
father while my heart pounded inside of me out of fear and
terror. My father pulled the boards out intact, and in good
condition, and I hauled them outside with glee. The Russian
entered. He saw that all of the support boards had been removed
from the oven, and he fell upon my father’s neck and began to
kiss him and paid him twenty rubles for the boards. They came
from all sides to see this magician of a Jew, who miraculously
can drive out demons, My father was an expert at this. It was
for this reason that my father hired himself out at a handsome
rate, and others also derived satisfaction and learned from him.
R’ Nachman Yaakov (Rothberg) – The Wagon Driver
By
Israel Levinsky
The town of Zambrow sits in the
middle of paved road that lies between Lomza and the
Warsaw-Petersburg railroad station at Czyzew. The rail network,
during the time of the Czar was limited and did not have
branches. On almost the entire right side region of the Vistula,
there were practically no other rail lines except for the one I
just mentioned. Connections were haphazard and not orderly. The
merchants, storekeepers and just plain ordinary folks in need of
transportation to Warsaw were exposed to all of the difficult
vicissitudes of travel associated with the large freight trains
that served as the means of connection between the cities. Zambrow, sitting between the two cities of Lomza and Czyzew,
served at that time as a sort of transfer station for
passengers and freight, from Warsaw to Lomza and its surrounding
towns, and from Lomza and its environs to Warsaw. The result of
this was a proliferation of wagon drivers in this town who
found a means of making a living this way, and in better cases
among the more successful, they even became wealthy. There
appeared to be a sort of agreement among them, to divide up the
day driving and the night driving. The day drivers had the
mission to convey passengers and freight that arrived early on
the morning train from Czyzew – from Zambrow to Lomza, and the
night drivers would transport the passengers who came at night
from Lomza to Zambrow – and further on to Czyzew. In Zambrow
the travelers would transfer from wagon to wagon, stretch out
and straighten their limbs from having sat in cramped quarters
in the train car. They would pray, eat a quickly snatched meal
in a restaurant, and transfer to a new wagon, that would convey
them to the district to which they were going. Each of the day
drivers had a designated night driver to whom he turned over his
‘people,’ and not to any other. This was also the case the other
way: the same night driver would turn over his ‘people’ to his
[designated] day driver. This custom was set and kept properly,
and no man sought to disturb it or have the nerve to undermine
it. Even in regard to the time of day, this was carefully
monitored, observing each individual franchise, meaning that a
day driver would be careful to drive during the day and not at
night. And the night driver knew that it was his place to drive
at night, and not to compete with the day drivers.
The Zambrow wagon drivers were not
better than all the other drivers in the Jewish Pale of
Settlement in Russia. There means, conduct, and relationship to
passengers are well-documented in the works of our great
literary personae, like Mendele, YALA”G[1],
and others. They too, would cram in their ‘people’ like salted
fish in a barrel, one on top of the other, and if the sitting
board was knocked out of its place by pushing and shoving – one
fell on top of the other. Also, in the way they spoke there was
no great difference in their mode of speech: it was laced with
cursing, awful imprecations, insults, shameful remarks, and
quite gross and salty expressions. The renown among them were: Ziskind-Itzi Malicky, Chaim Shmuel Levinsky, Berl Levinsky,
Mordechai Lifschitz, Leibusz Levinsky, Issachar Jablonka, and
Nachman Yaakov Rothberg and his sons, about whom I am devoting
special attention, because if he was indeed a wagon driver, he
was not an adherent to their customs and behavior. On the
contrary, he could easily serve as a wonderful example to others
and to fulfill the expression, that it is not the occupation
that debases the man, but the opposite, it is the man who
debases the occupation. Shoemaking and wagon driving became
stained with a bad reputation and thought of poorly because, in
the main, it attracted boors, people of no substance and
flighty types.
R’ Nachman Yaakov Rothberg (earned
the honorific R’) was a respected and worthy man, well-attuned
to his surroundings, loyal and honest, and a competent
businessman. R’ Nachman Yaakov was short in stature with broad
shoulders. He came from a well-connected family in Sniadowo, an
enlightened man, a respected businessman, a doer of good deeds and an official of the town. Also, his son, R’ Nachman Yaakov,
was a Torah scholar and would study Mishnah and Ein Yaakov on a
daily basis with the ‘Torah Scholars,’ and he would look into
the books of the pious, such as ‘Sheyvet Musar,’ ‘Menorot
HaMaor,’ and others. He had a not insubstantial
Torah-oriented library of his own, and he would guard these
beautifully bound books with great care.
Nachman Yaakov was orphaned while
still young, and because of this, he was unable to attend a
yeshiva and was compelled to find himself an occupation. When
he was seventeen years old he married Rivka Gittl Levinsky of
Zambrow, the daughter of a respected and important man who had
given a beautiful education to his daughter in the spirit of
those times, and she knew how to read the Teitch-Chumash,
prayers and tekhines[2]
and the like. As it evolved, R’ Yaakov had no profession, and by
chance after the wedding, he became a wagon driver in Zambrow.
He bought a wagon and horses, and he hired a person to drive
them and traveled from Zambrow to Lomza. Quickly he acquired
the reputation of an honest man of loyal spirit, and he earned
the trust of the merchants and storekeepers of Lomza, and they
would exclusively give only him their loads to be conveyed from
the railroad station at Czyzew. It was in his hands that they
would transfer substantial amounts of money in order to release
goods that had been received on security, and the Zambrow
storekeepers would send money with him to pay off their notes at
private and government banks, or to receive a bill for new
goods and the like. His honesty was renown. On one occasion, a
package of valuable knitted goods was either lost or stolen from
his wagon – and he did not wait to be summoned to a religious
trial or a court of law, rather out of his own good will he
approached the merchant and persuaded him to allow him to pay
for all the damages in question. And yet on another occasion,
one of his sons found a large package of money that had been
lost by a Christian passenger upon transferring from one wagon
to another that was traveling to Czyzew. When the Christian
returned the next day to inquire if the package of money had
been found in the wagon, he did not tarry an instant and
returned the lost item to its owner, not swayed by the
temptations of one’s inclination, refusing even to accept a
reward from the person who had lost the package. The Christian,
who was a wealthy merchant, donated a sum of money to a Jewish
charity – in recognition for the loss that was returned to him.
Because of his loyalty and honesty,
the rebels of the 1863 Polish uprising also placed their trust
in him. He served as a liaison and communications vehicle
between them and would provide food and provisions to their
soldiers who would be hidden in the think forests between Lomza
and Zambrow, such as the ‘Red Forest,’ which was well known. He
was once seized, according to what he told me, by Cossacks
because his wagon was full of food, casks of strong drink and
other supplies. The Cossacks detained him, and cast suspicion on
him, that he had some connection to the rebels, and they brought
him to their command. There, they buffeted him about and beat
him cruelly, to get him to reveal the place where the rebels
were hiding out, but he took the beating and told them nothing.
He argued that he was innocent of any wrongdoing and was simply
conveying merchandise to Lomza. He fell sick from the beating he
received and was bedridden for about a month. The nobility knew
to value his loyalty and supported him during his illness, and
they also gave him a set amount of money with which to feed his
family. As he then continued to tell, only he, who was hale and
strong, survived the beating by his torturers – from where no
one else emerged alive.
All of the balebatim in the
city respected him and welcomed him. He would come and go to
the residence of R’ Lipa Chaim kז״, and also the home of his son-in-law, the young
rabbi, R’ David Menachem Regensberg ז״ל.
As to his four sons: David,
Yehoshua, Yitzhak and Berl, he gave a traditional education and
did not spare any money in putting them into the hands of good
teachers. All of them committed themselves to the same
occupation as their father. All were loyal and honest like
their father. Sums of money were turned over to them that had
not been counted – and never did they ever put their hand to
assets that did not belong to them.
R’ Nachman Yaakov invested all of
his love into his only daughter, Zippora, who was pretty, and as
was not usual in those times was literate, and had studies
Hebrew with the well-known teacher Ber’cheh Sokol, read Yiddish
literature, knew how to read a little Russian and Polish, and
excelled in handicrafts, sewing and weaving.
When the time came for her to
marry, R’ Nachman Yaakov sought a yeshiva student for her hand
from a prominent family, promising a substantial dowry, food and
lodging in one of his houses. When the author of these lines was
proposed to him as a potential groom, he took the two
sons-in-law of his sister from Sniadowo and traveled to assess
me. It was only after such an assessment that he decided to
engage the parents of the groom in regards to a union, and the
conditions attached.
He passed away at a ripe old age,
with a good name, in the year 1915.
Goldwasser, the Shoemaker from Gatch
[He was] one of the unique
personality types in Zambrow, and among Polish Jewry in
general. A father with sons, a dynasty of shoemakers, used
merchandise sellers, that fabricate simple, crude shoes for the
peasantry and would travel to market fairs to sell them.
The father, however, was an
educated Jewish person and stood at the head of the fanatics of
the city. He was a Hasid – who set the tone for the Hasidic world. The sons worked for the father, and later
went on their own – were, like their father, very ardent Hasidim, living from their craft.
They were all poor, barely
able to make a living, but – full-hearted Jews with a warm heart
inclined to help the other person, and they served God with their
entire heart and soul. But they were intense fanatics: they
fought against every new development, believing that they were
doing this for their God and His Torah. If someone opened a
school: whether he was an observant teacher or not, whether he
taught Hebrew or Yiddish, boys and girls together, or
separately– it was not satisfactory to them: they immediately
went off to the Rabbi, raised a fuss, and mobilized forces to
combat the school, to threaten parents that send their children
there, etc. If a speaker would come to town, a group would make
an evening event out of it, with a presentation, or if a library
was opened – The Shoemaker from Gatch and his sons no longer
rested, as if the entire fault for this had fallen on their
heads. Also, the Shoemaker from Gatch was among the daily
contributors in the ranks of the Hasidim, and his opinion was
taken into account. Few cities could take pride in having this
type of an individual. Frequently, he would be called ‘The
Rabbi’s Hetman,’ meaning: an officer of the Rabbi’s ‘Cossacks,’
referring to all the fanatics who grouped themselves around the
Rabbi.
The entire family -- this means the
sons and grandchildren -- were decent, honest people, loved to do
a favor, engage in a charitable act, involved themselves in
community affairs with a good and pure intention. He married his
only daughter to a poor scion of a shoemaking family who worked
for him, a son of the ‘City’s daughter-in-law’ (see the write-up
of Meir Zukrowicz), despite the fact that he could have done a
‘good’ match, because of what the Gemara says, he would
say: When your daughter comes of age – set your servant free and
giver her to him as a wife.
This fervent and multi-branched
family was entirely wiped out... only one remained.
Kukawka
The Shoemaker
Yaakov Shlomo ben Moshe-Leib
Kukawka, a shoemaker by trade, was a tall, strongly built
person and was typical of the community activists of the city.
In his youth, he studied in yeshivas, and knew how to learn a
page of the Gemara. He was a Jew who had awareness, was
enlightened and progressive. He made his living from shoes, and
like the other shoemakers he would make up cheap boots, fit for
‘second-hand’ sale, travel to fairs in the nearby towns to
market them, unlike his older brother Abraham Zvi, who was a
master craftsman at shoemaking. He was of quiet temperament,
contenting himself with less, and did not overindulge when it
came to food and drink. One time, it is told, he had returned
from a fair and was hungry and tired, at an hour late at night.
His wife had prepared food for him – something cooked in a pot,
in the oven, and laid down to sleep. However, in the darkness,
he made a mistake and took out the wrong pot, in which water
was being warmed to wash out the burned residue of a cholent,
in which there were twigs for seasoning. Mistaking this for
food, he drank these fatty waters, chewed on the twigs – until
he ate it up, satisfying his hunger, and nearly choked
himself.... he had access to the houses of the enlightened and
the revered of the city. He was a member of Abba Rakowsky’s
household and learned much from him. He was a Zionist and
partook in the work of Zionist gatherings that, in those days,
took place at the home of Benjamin Kagan, or Shlomkeh Blumrosen.
Once a year, he had the job of amusing the children on Simchas Torah. Perennially, he would, on that day, dress up
in rabbinical garb, put on a broad rabbinical hat, put a belt on
his trousers, and canvass the houses of the wealthy to gather
candy, apples, nuts and the like – on behalf of the children –
Jewish children from all over the city.
He would traverse the streets of
the Jewish section and attract tens of children about him.
Suddenly, he would shout out in a weird voice, half-hoarse:
‘Holy Flock.’ And the children would respond to him: ‘Mehh, mehh!’
And then he would take out all manner of goodies from his
trouser pockets that he had gathered for the children, and rain
it down upon them. The children would fall on the candy and the
fruit, and he would stand there and smile, stand there, and
derive pleasure from watching them. He was among the first to
establish the secured lending bank, which was under the
presidency of Abba Rakowsky. He would come to the bank
frequently, check the accounts, arrange notes, and even direct
the younger people in doing the calculations in accordance with
the ??? table. Everyone loved him and trusted him. He was one
of the outstanding members of the fire brigade, and even the
gentiles accorded him respect – because when a fire would break
out in the villages, he would be the first one to put his own
life in danger to rescue others, with all the gentiles after
him.
Binyomkeh
Schuster, the Shoemaker
He was a good shoemaker, literally
an orthopedist. However, you had to tear up two pairs of shoes
running to get to him because he was constantly involved in
doing community work. He came from Goniadz, beside the German
border. He served in Zambrow as a musician, fell in love with a
Zambrow girl, Shayna, and subsequently remained here after his
military service. He lived across from the Red Bet HaMedrash,
where the Rabbi had once lived. He was the Shammes, and
the overseer of Hakhnasat Orkhim, which came along with
his residence, and he was a Torah Reader in the Red Bet
HaMedrash, and later became the Shammes and Torah
Reader at the synagogue. He would look after poor people and arrange plates on the Sabbath for poor folks and ‘days’
for yeshiva students. There was not a community issue that Binyomkeh Schuster (his family name was also Schuster)
would not be involved in. In his last years, he also was a
gravedigger for the Chevra Kadisha. Today, it is possible
to understand the fate of a pair of shoes that someone left with
him. He had two talented sons. The older, Abraham, studied at
the Yeshiva in Lomza and received rabbinic ordination, and for
a short while he was a secretary to the Rabbi and went off to
Berlin to study with R’ Chaim Heller. Later on, he was the Rabbiner
of Zopot, a community near Danzig. He was killed by
the Nazis, who had, at first, extended him privileges. His
second son, Alter – today is found in South America.
Moshe Joseph The Street Paver
By Sender
Seczkowsky
(As
Transcribed by Israel Levinsky)
He was a powerful Jewish man who
himself did not know the extent of his own strength. He paved
the streets of the city and its environs – to the satisfaction
of the régime. He was a taciturn Jewish man, sitting in the Bet HaMedrash during evenings – studying a chapter of the
Mishna and reading Psalms.
Yet, a strange and unusual thing
happened to him once. A nobleman from one of the villages who
had been born in Zambrow, took him to his estate to pave the
roads. He received a fee for each square foot and also food:
dairy products, eggs, bread, vegetables and fruit. Being the
only Jew in that location – after work he would walk a distance
of several kilometers on foot to a Jewish inn that stood
beside the road, turn over the foodstuffs to the woman there
for her to cook him his supper, and he would lodge there. One
time on an autumn day, after a hard day’s work before the
rains came, he came back to the inn exhausted and laid down to
sleep. At that same time, two Russian soldiers came into the
tavern asking for food and drink. The lady tavern keeper
brought it to them. They asked for more and then more, and at
the end of the matter having stuffed themselves and drunk to
excess, they did not want to pay. Being suitably confused, they
even started a ruckus – capsizing tables, breaking vessels, and
began to curse the Jews as suckers of Christian blood, and they
had the nerve to even physically assault the woman. She raised a
hue and cry because her husband was not in the house, and even
the children began to cry. The paver was awakened from his sleep
in the adjacent room, and he entered the place where the noise
was coming from, grabbed one of the soldiers who had raised his
hand to the woman and punched him a number of times with his
fists. The soldier collapsed onto the floor, with no sign of
life in him. The second fled as if fleeing from death itself.
The paver ran after him in the dark, but his spoor vanished. To
his great fear, and the fear of the lady tavern keeper, the
fallen soldier did not rise again because his soul had
departed. What to do? If this became known – he would be
arrested, along with the lady tavern keeper, and who knows what
will be done with them? But the paver remained in control, and
he ordered the woman to keep silent, not to ask too many
questions, and he grabbed the body of the soldier, put it on his
shoulders and vanished into the darkness of the night. The paver
carried him, not on the usual footways as you understand, for
about eight kilometers, until he reached the railroad lines in
the vicinity of Czorny-Bor, and he laid the soldier down on the
tracks... harassed and spent, he then returned to the tavern.
However, he could not lie down and go back to sleep – fearing
that the matter would be discovered. Early in the morning, the
woman found the soldier’s cap in the hallway, in which his name
was inscribed, and his division number. The paver was quick to
throw the hat into the flames of the oven. The woman returned
trembling to her work, and the paver arose to say his prayers.
After some time, a detachment of military police arrived to look
for the soldier, and with them was the drunken second soldier.
The paver explained: yes, indeed, he was here, did not want to
pay for what he ate, and even had begun to hit the lady of the
house and me. When I returned the blow – he fled along with his
drunken comrade, and we locked the door after them. They looked
around and found nothing suspicious, and even the second
soldier – did not deny that they ate without paying, and that
they had even begun to hit the lady of the house, and he was the
first to flee... the police searched other nearby houses and
then went out to search the forest. The paver was uncomfortable
to remain here, and even to return to his work for the nobleman.
He forfeited the money he had earned for his work to date, in
the courtyard of the nobleman, and returned empty-handed to
Zambrow.
After a few weeks, he returned to
the nobleman – but by then the work had been completed by a
different paver, and the nobleman did not want to pay him,
because he had abandoned his work in the middle, and as a
punishment he sicced his dogs on him. After a quarrel and
exchange of words, in which the paver justified his action by
claiming that he had suddenly taken sick and was compelled to
return home and take to a sick bed – the nobleman paid his
share. And from that time on – the paver said, I swore not to
raise a hand against anyone, or to test my strength...
Nosskeh (Nathan) The Painter
On the Lomza Road, opposite
Munkasz’s smithy, there was to be found a large wooden house
with a large courtyard belonging to Nosskeh Wiezba. Nosskeh
enjoyed a reputation in the area as a good painter, and more
importantly – as a painter of carriages. He had very beautiful
daughters, all committed to one another, and diligent workers.
His only son, Israel’keh, left for Argentina years back. Several
of his daughters also got out to America and Argentina. In the
Holocaust, Nosskeh Wiezba and his wife Liebeh were killed,
along with their beautiful and talented daughters: Dvorakeh,
Faygl, Laytcheh and Sheva.
Here is a short excerpt from
Faygl’s last letter to her brothers and sisters in Argentina:
Zambrow. 22
August 1939
...we received your letter today, and I will indeed immediately
respond because we simply do not know what tomorrow will bring.
We are like guests at a wedding, waiting for the groom. Every
minute is decreed, and we anticipate being made homeless. The
important thing is that the situation is so tense that one
does not know what is happening to the other. Please do not be
confused, because whatever will happen to all Jews will also
happen to us. If our fate is to remain alive, then we will
remain alive. At this point I am so indifferent, because having
survived one war, it is no big deal for me to face a second war,
so let what will be, be. It is not possible to think about
America, no papers are being issued, and one has no idea of
which world one is living in. May God help so that things will
change for the good, and that we will have only suffered a
fright, in which case, we will sell the house and all three of
us will set out into the larger world, but in what direction we
do not know: [we assume] it will be in the direction that is
easiest to procure papers. Sheva is asking me to come to her for
Sukkos. Who knows where we might yet end up before Sukkos. People rush about as if they knew what was going to
happen... Zambrow has become like a ghost town. I hope for it to
remain still, and that we will be here to receive an answer to
my letter. We cook, and mother is good, she does not hear... she
does not understand, all she does is ask why we are engaged in
so much conversation? Father sits constantly at the home of
Domek Proszensky listening to the radio. If you go out into our
yard, it looks like after a war – the shire has disintegrated
and the roof has fallen down. But who, at this time, is
concerned abut such things?
Israel’keh
Poyker (The Drummer)
By Yaakov Grabs
He was a short Jewish man with a
small gray beard, perpetually self-confident and good-humored.
He lived on the Kosciuszko Street and dealt in fruits and
vegetables.: he had a table [for this] at the marketplace. On Hol HaMoed Passover and
Sukkos, he would place
himself at the marketplace, near the pump, with a sack of nuts.
Children would put in a kopeck, and take out a number. One out
of five or ten would win a plate of nuts with which to play.
By trade he was a ‘musician,’ a
drummer. He learned this skill from the drafted soldiers when
he did military service. At every wedding, whether musicians
were brought from Tiktin or Lomza, or if a local ensemble played
– it was Israel’keh who was the drummer, and strode with pride
to the wedding canopy beside Gurfinkel the barber, who was the
fiddler, or Goldeh’chkeh’s son with the viola.
On Friday, if there was a wedding
ceremony in town, Israel’keh Poyker would hurriedly
liquidate the merchandise on his table at the market, run to the
baths, wash himself, put on his Sabbath finery, and go off to
escort the bride and groom to the wedding canopy.
During the time of the Russian
régime, Israel’keh Poyker also played an important role
in the shtetl. During the time of fairs, and market days,
important official announcements were read out loud for the
merchants and peasants: information concerning someone who had
lost a piglet, or a calf, someone who had found something,
government notices about ???, the senior military, etc. At that
time, Israel’keh would place himself in the middle of the
market and drum. When a crowd would assemble, the appointed
individual would then call out what he had to, and Israel’keh
would add a ‘bombardment’ on his drum, and then move on to the
next corner.
At one time, he was also in the
orchestra of the fire brigade, and also at May Day celebrations
and other musical undertakings in which Israel’keh would
participate with his drum, dressed in a black worn cap.
‘Oneg
Shabbes’
The name given to a merry Jewish
man with a small yellow beard, who had only one eye. He was
called ‘Eyn oyg Shabbes,[3]’
which sounded like ‘Oneg Shabbes.’ He was not a
particularly observant Jew. He was dressed like a pauper, but
was always full of life and never complained. He never had any
time.
Even on the Sabbath, he would come
to pray at the first minyan, and then run off home.
During the summer, he would deal with orchards and gardens. He
would take hold of all the good orchards in the vicinity, and
every summer he would occupy such an orchard with his children
in a booth. In the winter, he dealt in whatever he could: fish
for the Sabbath, a small keg of herring, eggs, fruit – so long
as he could make a living from it.
Baylah the Dairy Lady
By Aryeh Kossowsky
She was tall and lean, and there
were always two pitchers of milk in her hands. For many years,
she delivered milk to the houses. Early in the morning she
would distribute milk, and so as not to awaken anyone in the
house – she would enter by a rear door and quietly would take
out the milk container in the kitchen, fill it with milk. and
quietly steal out like a cat, [being careful] not to awaken the
children who were still asleep. Poor families, who no longer had
the means to pay would ask her to stop bringing milk, to which
she said with a smile: and is it because of this that small
children shall be left without milk?... when you get any [money]
then you will pay me.
One time she didn’t come, and so my
grandmother sent me to inquire as to what might have happened. I
found her in bed. She had over-exerted herself carrying the
heavy cans for a whole day. In her house, hungry pale children
loitered about without a drop of milk. [I asked] why do your
children not drink any milk, they are not worse than any of our
other children?... [She replied] if I give them milk. who will
give me money for bread? My children can make do without milk as
well....
Shlomkeh-Zerakh
and Zundl
Shlomkeh-Zerakh – was short, with
one foot shorter than the other, and he walked as if he were
dancing. He had wise, sharp eyes, and a goatee of a beard, and
downward Russian-curled mustaches. His deaf wife would ‘speak’
with him with special sorts of sounds, and he could understand
her and would answer her in mameloshn, and she would
understand. He was a sort of ‘Fishkeh the Storekeeper’,
one of Mendele’s characters. He would call on all the houses,
and everywhere was treated like a member of the family. He would
recount news, tell jokes. If someone in town died, he would be
asked: who, god forbid, was it? With a broken-hearted voice, he
would then convey the identity of the deceased, and when the
funeral would take place. On the Eve of Passover – he would
clean kitchens in Jewish homes, and thereby earn money for
holiday expenses.
'Crazy’
Zundl – Actually was quite sane. However, he was constantly
lost in thought and plagued by misfortune. He lived in the
White Bet HaMedrash. He was always dressed in torn
clothing and would sustain himself from those groschen
he could gather from charity. He was talkative. Both children
and adults would listen to his stories and always get a laugh.
These are isolated personalities
from our town whose memory I have been able to dredge up.
Indeed, it is a sorrow that so many of them went on to be
exterminated – without leaving behind any name or trace of
memory.
May their memory be for a blessing.
And These, I Recall
Zvi Khanit
A. R’ Yehuda Honya’s,
my father and mentor, returned from the First World War, as a
worn-out Russian soldier, spent, and unable to recover his
strength. He died in 1921. He left a widow, my mother Heni-Rachel,
and three orphans: Shayna, ten years old, me – age seven, and a
little brother, Moshe, aged three. An uncle in America supported
us. I studied at the yeshiva in Zambrow and afterwards in Lomza.
In 1933, I entered the Mizrahi Halutz training program.
In 1936, I made aliyah to the Land. My brother Moshe,
after random wanderings, returned from the Red Army and made aliyah in a shipload of refugees.
B. R’ Alter Dobrowicz,
the master of the mikva. He was an honest, loyal Jewish
man to his Maker and his people. He suffered a great deal in
his life: His three sons: Moshe, Chaim, and another were plucked
in the bloom of life, and he accepted it with grace, saying: God
had trusted these precious pearls into my hands and has taken
them back – let His Name be blessed....
C. Eli Portnowicz and
his family. He was a shammes and a gravedigger for the
Red Bet HaMedrash. He was a simple Jewish man, dedicated
to his people. He wept at all funerals, and his heart never
hardened in all the years of his life, being a gravedigger. Each
Rosh Hashanah, he was deeply moved during the recitation of ‘u’Nesaneh
Tokef’ – ‘Who shall live, and who shall die,’ because every
death touched his heart.
D. Chaim Stalmokh and
his family. A man of ‘the people.’ He observed the
commandments and gave of his money to charity. He was attentive
in listening to each sermon giver, and he also donated to these
from his own funds. He was a lover of Zion and supported the Keren Kayemet L’Israel.
E. Myshel Stoliar
(The Carpenter). He worked to a remarkable old age and did not
want to derive anything from others. He donated benches and
tables, his own handiwork, to the Bet HaMedrash. He
permitted his wife, Chashkeh, to engage in community endeavors,
in charity work, and in dealing with the needs of the poor and
the sick.
F. The family of Kawior
the Melamed. An honest and upright man, involved in Torah
study, and led young people into doing the right sorts of
things. He was a warm-hearted Jew, committed to doing God’s
work. His son, Joel, spent a number of years in Halutz training
camp, and waited for a certificate [to emigrate]... until he was
lost in the Holocaust. He has one surviving son in the Land.
G. R’ Yudl – the
Headmaster. He was immersed in his Talmud day and
night. He withdrew in an ascetic manner and distanced himself
from the everyday world. No event in the town could take him
away from his study. He died with his Talmud in his
hands.
H. Yitzhak Rothstein the
Tailor. He would traverse the villages and return with work:
the sewing of garments for farmers. He was paid with village
produce. He was an honest and wholesome Jewish man. He was lost,
along with his entire family [sic: in the Holocaust].
I. The Family of
Levitan the Smith. These were smiths who had a reputation
[for their work]. Honest and straight. They made their living by
the labor of their hands, and gave to the poor from their own
bread and also to charitable causes.
J. Zundl the Pauper.
He would go over to all door entrances to gather donations.
However, all of his neighbors knew that he lived in strained
circumstances, ever hungry for bread, and the money that he
gathered he divided to charitable institutions, and sent food
and money to poor people and the sick, crippled people who were
unable to provide for themselves.
K.
Yankl David the Shoemaker[4],
son of the Shoemaker from Gatch. He retained a journeyman to do
the work, while he personally went about days on end, to gather
money for the Yeshiva, ‘days’ for the students, and lodging
places to spend the night. He would spend his evenings in study.
My Zambrow People
By Mendl Zibelman
Approximately in the year 1900, a
watchmaker named Yudl Cossack lived on the Kosciolna gasse in
the building of Berl Leibl Finkelstein, across from the
drugstore. He repaired watches and occasionally would sell a
watch as well, a finger ring, or just plain jewelry for a bride.
He went off to America because he didn’t make much of a living,
and he settled in Chicago. Here too, he opened a small kiosk for
repairing watches. Knowing that in America, there was no great
love for Cossacks, he changed his family name to Ritholtz. When
he had saved a couple of thousand dollars and learned the
native language and the mindset of American business people –
he fell upon the idea of how to become rich: many people need to
wear glasses, but they don’t change their reading glasses
because of the time and expense, or just plain laziness in
taking the time to find an optician after work. So he went and
presented himself to a variety of large newspaper publishers
who have millions of readers, indicating that he would mail
reading glasses for a rather minimal price. All that is required
is to send him the number, or to send the prescription from the
doctor. Tens of thousands of requests began to arrive. He joined
up with a factory that provided him with the reading glasses for
a very low price, because it was worth their while for the
thousands of orders. Orders grew to the extent that the factory
no longer could keep up, because it could not produce at that
level. So our Yudl opened his own factory for reading
glasses,,,, and he became a millionaire. Today, his five sons
run this well-branched company all over the country, and no one
is able to compete with them...
B.
Herman Yagoda
Yankl Yagoda, a Jew from
Zambrow, took up his wandering staff, after the First
Great Fire, and went off to America. He was constantly
missing his family in Zambrow, and he traveled back six
times. This went on until the year 1914. He
understood that there was no longer any purpose in
staying in Zambrow – and in the end, he decided to take
over his family to America, and permanently remain
there. In the very week that the war broke out, he
arrived in New York with his family: a wife and four
children. One of his children, five year-old Herschel,
or Herman, came to school a year later and excelled there, and
he also
completed middle school. His father did not have the
financial resources to enable him to attend university.
Accordingly, Herman worked during the day, in a shoo,
and during the evening – studied, until he completed the
course of study to become an engineer. He threw himself
into researching what was current in this sphere. As a
man of science with in the American Air Force, where he
has already served for fifteen years, it was his
privilege to be able to participate in important
discoveries in this area, the latest being the
successful launch of a military-based ‘satellite’ into
the stratosphere, and its successful return to earth,
full of much data about the upper atmosphere, which are
very important. Yagoda today is the pride of the
American scientists, and most recently, was sent to
Russia to give lectures about his findings in the
stratosphere. |
|
|
Herman Yagoda |
C. Senior Justice Markowitz
He was born in Zambrow with the
family name Markhevka and came to America as a nine
year-old boy and changed his name to Markowitz. He studied for,
and completed preparation as a lawyer, excelled as a judge and
became a judge in the highest court of New York City.
He was close to his kinfolk.
Immediately after the First World War, he organized a committee
of landslayt to help needy brethren in the ‘alter heym.’
To this end, the Zambrow Help Committee bought a thousand
tickets to a theater performance, and sold them to landslayt
and relatives for a higher price. During the performance, when
the hall was full of people from Zambrow, Justice Markowitz went
up to the stage, who had just returned from a visit to Europe,
and especially his home city of Zambrow. In a very emotional
way, he portrayed the plight of our kinfolk, the burgeoning
anti-Semitism, the incident of how the Poles had cruelly
murdered the pharmacist Szklovin, and other Jews. His words had
the intended effect, and awakened hearts, prompting them to
offer help...
D.
Bezalel
He was as gifted as the first
Bezalel in the Pentateuch. Whatever he undertook to do with his
hands resulted in a success. He was a natural-born carpenter,
having acquired the skill without instruction, he could repair
watches, etch writings, carve flowers out of wood, make a Holy
Ark, carve creatures, arabesques; he could draw, outline with
dyes and pens and could sculpt. And all of this, he never saw
at the home of his observant father, nor could he learn this
from the artisans of Zambrow. His parents never took any joy
from him and constantly expressed their consternation: he has
no head for the study of the Gemara, and they could not
grasp how a young man like this could play around like this for
days on end: drawing, making statues from clay and gypsum,
taking apart and putting watches back together again, mechanical
things, in short, does everything in order not to study. If his
parents would have understood him, or if the good community or
a wealthy patron discovered his talents, he would have become a
world-class artist. However, he was not given any encouragement.
On one occasion, a director of the Wahlberg Technical Institute
in Warsaw took an interest in him, and it required Bezalel to
learn some additional mathematics, physics and chemistry. They
wanted to admit him to the Technical Institute without taking an
[entrance] examination, and without any recommendation for six
gymnasium classes as was required. But his observant father
and other good and religious people butted in, that is to say: Bezalel will go about without a head covering among gentiles?
Many Jews studied in Wahlberg’s school, and it had been founded
by the very rich Jewish man, Wahlberg, with the objective of
uncovering and developing technical skills and talents among
Jews and non-Jews alike. Later on, Bezalel could have, for a
nominal price, purchased the machines and equipment
for the liquidated manual trades school in Lomza, which had been
run by the Jewish-Russian Society to propagate manual
craftsmanship among Jews – but he lacked the requisite money...
And so Bezalel was left with his
dreams and artistic striving to become a master artist... he
married, and then divorced... embittered and disappointed in
life, resigned from human ideals, he immigrated to America after
long bitter years, became a peddler, ‘found himself,’ and
together with is Negro wife, got a place somewhere to set up a
kiosk in a market to sell small combs, pins, thread, socks and
handkerchiefs. For a long time, he broke off contact with his
family in Zambrow, and with landslayt in America. His
aging, fanatic father constantly mourned his talented eldest
son, and nobody knew if he was alive or dead. This writer once
ran into him in the market after a long, long search in a
variety of address bureaus of the populace, beginning with his
first address of many years back.
He was dressed simply and somewhat
disheveled. He tried not to be recognized, and replied that he
was not a Jew, and not the person that was being sought, even
when told that his father lay on his deathbed and would like to
hear something from him, as to whether he was still alive...
It was first only later, when his
black wife walked away, that he broke out in tears and revealed
himself...
After that, he vanished yet again,
along with his kiosk – apparently traveling away to some other
town, on the marketplace...
Community Social Assistance
By L. Yom Tov
In writing about the institutions
that offered community social assistance in Zambrow, it is not
possible to pass over mentioning the institutions and people
such as: Bikur Kholim, Linat HaTzedek, Gemilut Hasadim,
and Hakhnasat Orkhim.
At the head of Hakhnasat Orkhim
stood Zvi Tukhman (Herschel Fokczar), from the Yatkowa gasse,
who had a dairy store and who fulfilled this mitzvah with his
entire person and his money. He dedicated over fifty years
to Hakhnasat Orkhim. He would look after poor people,
assuring that they would have a place to lodge and would
allocate ‘plates’ for the Sabbath, making sure everyone had a
place to eat for the day. All itinerant paupers could find a
place under his roof. An important guest, such as an itinerant
preacher or a rabbi – he would billet in his own home. If a
half-groschen for a pauper could not be had, he would give out a
paper half-groschen with the stamp of Hakhnasat Orkhim on
one side, and the words ‘half a big one’ on the other side.
Mones’keh was the most
active worker on behalf of the indigent sick. He was the Gabbai
of Linat Tzedek and Bikur Kholim. His
house on the Yatkowa gasse was full of poor people who
had come to beg for assistance. He would personally run about to
find people who could stay up nights with the sick.
Bunim Domb, a Hasidic Jew,
was the head of the Gemilut Hasadim. The office was in
his house on the Szwetokszyska
gasse, and he would be directing its efforts for days at
a time, taking no compensation for his effort in doing so.
Whether there was money in the treasury or not – every needy
person left his presence comforted and encouraged.
Hakhnasat Orkhim
This was a venerable municipal
institution, and at one time shared the Rabbi’s residence. The
Rabbi lived upstairs, across from the Red Bet HaMedrash,
and Hakhnasat Orkhim – was downstairs, together with the
residence and workplace of Binyomkeh Schuster. Binyomkeh was the
Shammes of Hakhnasat Orkhim. It consisted of two
large rooms, with about six to eight sleeping beds and tables, with ???
and blankets. Poor people, itinerant preachers, and ordinary
guests who were poor, would be able to get a place to sleep
there. Every guest passing through would receive a note from
the Gabbai, Herschel Tukhman, or someone else, and
was given a place to lodge on the strength of it.
Cleanliness was less than ideal
since this was not a consideration in those times. The important
thing was, a guest was passing through, or an itinerant preacher
was coming – he then gets a bed on which to sleep when he
brings a pass from the Gabbai, Herschel Tukhman.
Binyomkeh Schuster occupied the two lower rooms, one which was
for sleeping, and the other for his work.
Hakhnasat Orkhim often
served as a ‘second home’ for worship. On the High Holy Days,
Simchas Torah, and regular Festivals or special Sabbaths.
the Hakhnasat Orkhim was cleaned up, arranged for the
guests to go to a host house early on, put the large table in
the center of the room, covering it with a white tablecloth and
– presto – a minyan.
We, the young folk, had our eye on
something else there: there was a special closet there kept
under lock and key, in which hung the colored uniforms of
‘officials,’ such as Hussars, Cossacks, generals and admirals,
with blue trousers, and red stripes; with French Hussar Caps,
swords, and boot spurs, and a drawer full of masquerade
paraphernalia, meaning masks, woven from a fine fabric, with
beards, with outsize noses and red cheeks.
When a wedding would take place in
the city, and the bride and groom were escorted through the
streets to the synagogue – designated people, dressed in these
costumes would be stationed to amuse the passers-by. The young
people who masqueraded in this way, did it to fulfill the
mitzvah of gladdening the bride and groom. Yet, the parents
would pay the group that did this a fee, called ‘Hakhnasat
Kallah,’ which was set aside for brides without means [or
dowry]. Those so designated would proudly march in front of the
bride, clanging their spurs, and waving their swords like real
generals. They would never speak, so that they could not readily
be recognized. They would signal each other by codes, which they
would whistle to one another. This was why they were also called
the ‘pranksters.’ The costumes and masks, however, belonged to ‘Hakhnasat
Orkhim,’ and Binyomkeh Schuster was the one
responsible for their safekeeping. These costumes were borrowed
from Hakhnasat Orkhim for a variety of festive occasions
for a fee that was applied to other charitable purposes.
Purim was the day for these
appointed young folks, special workers, who would come to act,
to traverse the houses with a gabbai or two gabbaim,
to gather donations for charity: Hakhnasat Kallah, Hakhnasat
Orkhim, poor mothers, lying in confinement, orphans, and the
like. For this purpose, the costumes would be rented from Hakhnasat Orkhim, for a fee which was then applied for other
charitable purposes.
[1]
Hebrew acronym of the writer I. L. Gordon.
[2]
Yiddish prayers of beseeching and entreaty.
[4]
Omitted in the Hebrew
text, and sixth in order in the Yiddish text.