Bielsk Podlaski
Memoirs of
Charles A. (“Charlie”) Kaplan
(Yehiel Kaplanski)
Born (approximately):
January 3, 1919
In Orenburg, Siberia,
USSR
Youngest of Nine
Children of:
Chaim Zui Kaplanski
and Zlata Neidetch
Died: February 27,
1994
Falls Church,
Virginia, USA
This is an
unedited portion of a manuscript written circa 1981 by Charles
A. Kaplan.
Thanks to Stan
Kaplan for contributing this memoir written by his uncle.
Charles was 10 years old when the last of his Kaplanski family
left Bielsk Podlaski for the United States in 1929. Charles's
father, Chiam Zui Kaplanski, came to the United States in 1923
with one daughter. Their mother, Zlata Neidetch Kaplanski, came
to the United States in 1929 with four children. One of their
sons arrived in the U.S. before WW I and three sons remained in
Russia after WW I as they had established themselves there. In
his notebook, Chaim recorded the birth of his children as
follows:
•
Haron was born Sunday parashas Korach, 26 Sivan 5656 / 26 May
1896
•
Yidel was born Tuesday parashas Shemini, 20 Nisan 5658 / 31
March 1898
•
Yehoshua was born Monday parashas Toldos, 26 Cheshvan 5660 / 18
October 1899
•
Yaakov {=Jacob} was born Monday parashas Vayeshev, 21 Kislev
5662 / 19 November 1901
• My
daughter Roizel was born Sunday parashas [Vezos ha]Bracha, 16
Tishrei 5665 / 12 September 1904. That was the second day of
Sukkos.
• My
daughter Chana was born Saturday parashas Shemini, 29 Nisan 5667
/ 31 March 1907. That was when we blessed the month of Iyar.
{Traditionally, a blessing is recited in the synagogue on the
Saturday before a new month}
• My
son Motte was born Wednesday parashas Noah, 28 Tishrei / 30
September 1909
• My
son Frayim was born Tuesday parashas Beshalach, 11 Shevat / 17
January 1912
• My
son Chiel was born 21 March 1919
Stan Kaplan and his wife, Lois, visited Bielsk Podlaski during
the summer of 1978 and had the opportunity to explore the
Kaplanski home. They were told that as a result of urban
renewal such old neighborhoods were being rebuilt and that had
we come much later the house would have been gone.
(click for larger image)
The Kaplanski house at
Kazimierzowska 28 in Bielsk Podlaski was across
the street from a synagogue and a cheder, which Charles
described below.
Photo
taken in 1978 by Stan Kaplan.
Reflections in Retrospect
by Charles Kaplan
I have read
numerous biographies and autobiographies of famous people and I
wonder, when they describe their childhood as to who or what was
the source of their information; how accurate was it, and how much
of it in the course of time is clouded in imagination. If no daily
diary is kept by someone as a means of reference, at what age is a
child’s experiences vividly fixed in his mind, something he can
recall for the rest of his life.
I was
born in the city of Orenburg, deep in Siberia, U.S.S.R., the
youngest in a family of nine. The source of this information was
my mother, may she rest in peace. The exact date of my birth I do
not know. I use the date January 3, 1919. You may well ask as to
why I use that particular date.
Charles
Kaplan
Well,
when I was in junior high school, one of my teachers, for some
specific administrative reason, was instructed to call out the
birthdays of the members of the class. What the source of her
information was that mine was January 3, 1919, I do not know.
However I have used it ever since. I do remember that my Bar
Mitzvah was in the dead of winter, so whatever disparity exists,
it is not very great or of any consequence.
All
other eight members of my family were born in Bielsk Podlaski,
Poland. Again you may well ask how it is that my mother gave birth
to me deep in Siberia? Well, we’ll have to delve a little bit into
the history of Poland.
Zlata Neidetch Kaplanski
Chaim Zui Kaplanski
The
family lived quite well despite the fact that the rest of Russia
was in the throes of anarchy, chaos and revolution. The Bolshevik
government was then established, but was fighting for its very
life against the Whites and foreign invading powers. That the Red
Army prevailed and defeated all opponents is a tribute to one man,
Leon Trotsky (Lev Bronstein) a Jew and a natural military genius,
who commanded the Red Army and molded it into an effective and
disciplined fighting force from the disorganized rabble that it
was shortly after the Revolution.
My
memories of life in Russia are very shadowy. Just a few vague
flashbacks. I was told that the winters were very severe with
heavy snowfalls reaching almost to the eaves of the houses.
Walkways and tunnels had to be dug to reach the streets and horse
drawn sleighs were the main means of transportation.
When
the situation in Russia had stabilized and the victorious Red
Army, which had advanced to the gates of Warsaw, had retreated
back to Russia after the threat of French intervention, my father,
who owned properties in Poland felt obligated to return and claim
them. This scenario was no doubt played out by many families in
the same situation as ours. During the Revolution in Russia, the
Baltic countries as well as Finland and Poland had declared their
independence. When peace was declared in November of 1918 and the
League of Nations subsequently established, the independence of
these countries was recognized by the League and in the case of
Poland, she was awarded by the Treaty of Versailles, a slice of
Prussia incorporating the city of Danzig, currently called Gdansk,
as an access to the North Sea.
Passport of
Chaim Zui Kaplanski (click for larger image)
While
preparing to leave, three of my oldest brothers declared that they
would remain in Russia. My oldest brother Harry had left for the
United States before the war had started. He was sponsored by my
uncle Louis who fled Russia to avoid being drafted into the
military. The other three brothers were sympathetic with the
Bolshevik cause and either one or several had served with the Red
Partisans. Also they were married and had families. My father,
contrary to my uncle Louis, served for five years in Czarist
Imperial Army in the District of Orel, a scene of a great battle
during World War II. During the Russo-Japanese war my father who
had been placed in the reserves was called to the colors. Since he
was already a family man, he had an operation performed grafting
his trigger finger to the middle finger. The graft was only up to
the first joint, but it was enough to disqualify him from service.
He never had the fingers separated. My uncle Louis had a toe
lopped off to avoid the draft. This didn’t always work
particularly when the quota of draftees was not reached. So he had
fled. Service in the Russian Imperial Army was so severe that
thousands of young men, particularly Jews, mutilated themselves to
avoid military service.
I was
too young to remember the trip back to Poland. It was made by
train in box cars with all the possessions we could carry. I’m
sure it took a long time but we reached Bielsk-Podlasky. The
Russian currency we had was worthless in Poland. So we were
penniless. Happily our neighbors who either remained or preceded
us back to Poland were kind enough to help us out with victuals
and other necessities till my father could get back on his feet.
Being a highly skilled painter and paper hanger, he soon found
work and became established.
My
earliest memory of my father was fear. Punishment for misbehavior
was meted out on the spot. I was told that when he returned home
from work, probably tired, all children became instantly quiet. My
mother would report to him any disciplinary problems she had and
punishment was instantly administered. My reaction to his presence
was to hide in a corner and make a frothing noise at the mouth.
One
part of our house served as a small neighborhood grocery store
which my mother ran. Since most of the customers had little money,
my mother made little profit.
While
most of Europe was recovering from the war during in 1920s, the
United States was experience a great building boom. All the
building trades people were raking in the money and became
prosperous. Since my father was highly qualified, it was decided
that he should go to the United States to establish himself and
the rest of us would follow after he had saved enough. So in the
year 1922 he and my sister, Rose, sailed for the states. I seem to
remember being taken to the railroad station to say good bye to
him. My mother wept a good deal, for on her rested the burden of
managing the family.
(L-R) Rose, Martin, and Anna
My
early childhood memories are very vague. It wasn’t long after my
father’s departure that my mother closed the grocery store. I
assume we lived on rentals coming in from two of the houses we
owned as well as money sent from America. In comparison with other
neighbors, we were considered well off. I never remember going
hungry or lacking food. We had a cow and chickens to furnish us
with milk and eggs. In the spring and as long as pasture was
available, our cow as well as the cows of the other towns people
would be driven to a common pasture by a cowherd. As he came down
the street very early in the morning he would call out and it was
my brother Frank’s job to make sure that our cow joined the herd.
Around sunset when the cowherd returned back with his charges, our
cow would peel off as she approached our house and enter the
cobbled courtyard to the barn. There Frank would milk her and my
mother would always give me a big tin of warm frothy milk to drink
with a lump of sugar. The last time I drank warm milk from the cow
was when I worked on a poultry farm in Connecticut in 1940 and
1941.
I
used to like to watch a cow being milked, and as it appeared so
easy, I decided there was nothing to it. So one day after the cow
had returned and was being watered, I impulsively stooped down and
took hold of one of the udders and squeezed. In an instant the cow
delivered a swift kick to my shin. Talk about crying, the pain was
intense and my pride was hurt. However, I learned a lesson and
from then on left her alone.
Passport of
Martin (Max) Kaplan (click for larger image)
After
milking, the warm milk was stored in earthenware jugs in the cool
pantry, since we had no ice house or any kind of refrigeration. As
we had a separator, we would wait till the cream rose to the top.
After skimming it off, it would be poured into the churn for
making butter. I used to help out in working the churn which was
an arduous job. The milk in the jugs, after the cream was removed,
would sour and form into curds or clabber. This would be poured
into a wedge shaped muslin bag, which would be hung from a nail in
the ceiling beam. After the liquid had dripped out, the bag would
be laid on a board, another board would be laid on top and a heavy
stone would be laid on top of it. In twenty four hours we would
remove a perfectly molded cottage, or as it used to be called,
farmer cheese. This was very nourishing food and was an important
part of our diet. To moisten it and make it easier to swallow, we
would mix it with sour cream, if available. Everything we ate with
bread. That is the custom in Europe. Although, we never lacked for
food, there wasn’t what you might call a great variety to the
diet. Certainly not the abundance to which we are accustomed to
and which is available to us in this blessed land. We enjoyed
fruits and vegetables in the season. In the long winter months,
the fruits and vegetables available to us was in dried form. To an
extent we stored potatoes, beans, and peas. The main green
vegetable was sour kraut, made and stored in a barrel.
Although canned goods were stocked in the stores, it was mostly
imported stuff and quite expensive. As my mother was a very
economical person and drove a hard bargain, we, as well as our
neighbors, rarely resorted to buying canned goods. I do remember
though occasionally eating canned sprats. Oh, how I loved them.
Also as an occasional treat I’d be given an orange or a tangerine,
which was called mandarin. Ice cream in winter was unheard of. But
I certainly ate and enjoyed it frequently in the summer. I also
had a love affair with chocolate.
Sports in the winter consisted of ice skating, for those who could
afford a pair of skates. For the most of us it was snowball fights
and sliding on any frozen ditch or field. Almost all of us wore
boots and we’d take a long run and then see how far we could
slide. To add a little variety, we’d turn our ankles in or out and
slide on the edges of the soles of the boots.
I’ll
never forget the time we were let out for a short recess from
school and all of us immediately headed for the frozen drainage
ditch in the field adjacent to the school to go sliding. After the
recess period was up, we were called back to class. However, one
boy, son of a butcher, who had the same surname as I, did not come
in at the same time as the rest of us. In fact he was having such
a good time he returned considerably later. When he finally came
in the rabbi asked him where he had been that he didn’t return
with the rest of us. Dissatisfied with his reply, and as an object
lesson to the rest of us, he took hold of him to lay him on the
table to spank him. The lad, a husky youngster, struggled and
resisted valiantly. However, the rabbi, a good sized man,
prevailed, lifted the boy unto the table, pulled his trousers down
and applied a vigorous hand to his naked buttocks. I’ll never
forget this as long as I live. Complaining to one’s parents about
such treatment did not good for they felt that it was the boy’s
fault and they would administer a second punishment.
There
were some Jewish holidays in winter time to which we youngster
looked forward to. One was Kha-mi-sha-assar Bishvat, or fifteen
days in the month of Shvat, the fifth month in the Hebrew
calendar. It is celebrated as Arbor Day in Israel and we generally
used to eat St. John’s bread. This is actually a fruit, when dried
turns chocolate color and is very flat with dark seeds within.
Like all dried fruits it is very hard and one needs sound teeth to
chew it. I loved that fruit.
The
other holiday is Purim which is celebrated a month after Shvat, on
the fourteenth day of the month of Adar and is about six weeks
before Passover. Purim means the casting of lots. In the book of
Esther, Haman, the prime minister to the king of Exerxes, wished
to kill all the Jews in the Persian Empire. Having cast lots for
an appropriate day to commit this atrocity, it fell on the
fourteenth day of Adar. The emperor signed the decree. However,
through the intervention of the beautiful queen Esther, her Jewish
name was Hadassah, who reminded the emperor that it was the Jew
Mordecai, her uncle, who saved his life by disclosing a plot to
have him poisoned. The emperor reversed his decision and the Jews
were saved. In the synagogues when the scroll of Esther is read,
every mention of Haman’s name evokes a terrific noise with an
assortment of noise makers, or stomping of feet. Those of us who
stayed on the periphery of the crowd or outside the synagogue
would sound off with fire crackers. As cap pistols were expensive,
we used to good affect an old style key that had a hollow stem. We
would stuff caps inside the stem and with a big nail that was tied
to the top of the key shove the point of the nail into the hollow
and swinging the head of the nail against any solid object would
make a resounding noise. On that holiday the mothers would bake
Hamantaschen, folded sweet dough triangles stuffed with poppy
seeds.
We
also celebrated Hannukah and played with tops called dreidels and
ate potato pancakes. There is no need for me to elaborate on that
holiday for that is probably familiar to you.
If I neglected to mention it, I was enrolled in school at the age
of five by my brother Frank and the beadle from the nearby
synagogue. It was a Hebrew school of squared log construction
called a Heder (room), abutting the synagogue. The school was
already quite old when I started attending. The classrooms were
furnished with long benches and tables where five or six of us
sat. In that respect it resembled the pioneer schools in this
country. Holes in the tables held inkwells which the pupil
supplied as well as the books and writing materials. The school
was rat infested with holes in the floor big enough to see them
milling around.
Martin and Frank Kaplan
At
lunch break the school would be locked up while we all proceeded
home to have a hot meal. Upon our return, while waiting for the
school to open up, we would peer through the windows and see the
rats jumping from table to table, having the run of the
classrooms. It was cold in winter and hot in summer. As I
recollect, the classrooms were built around a glazed tile wood
fire place and each room had one side of the furnace to keep it
warm. One had to dress warmly and the animal heat did the rest. In
the summer the windows were fully opened and the flies came into
the classrooms in swarms. To amuse ourselves when we got bored, we
used to catch flies and squeeze them in the middle to determine
the sex. If it was a male fly, we used to attach a long thread to
the male organ and raptly watch him fly around. Some of the pupils
would bring different colored threads and attach them to the flies
and we would have a ball. Or we would catch flies and full off
their wings.
If
discipline became a little lax, the rabbi would descend among us
and let fly blows right and left. One of my buddies, son of a
carpenter, a lean tough boy, ran afoul of the rabbi who started to
pummel him. Normally we would cover up with our arms and accept
the punishment. He was nervier. He picked up a chair and with the
legs facing the rabbi pushed it at him until the rabbi quit. We
all admired the tough strong boys and we learned early not to
tattle or squeal on another pupil.
To
take care of our bodily needs, there was an outhouse. However, the
rabbis mainly used it. The rest of us relieved ourselves in the
vicinity of the outhouse.
Scholastically I didn’t rate very highly. I learned the Hebrew
alphabet easily enough. It was when we got into the Petateuch that
I first encountered difficulty. Our books were written in Hebrew
and for the rabbi to know whether we understood what we were
studying, it was necessary for us to translate it into Yiddish.
That wasn’t my difficulty. My trouble arose when I had to explain
what was meant by this or that sentence. That was the crux of the
matter. It went like this. The rabbi would read a sentence or
paragraph in Hebrew and elaborate on it in Yiddish. It was up to
us to pay close attention and repeat it. If you didn’t understand
you asked questions. If you paid attention and had a retentive
memory or were smart and understood, it was no problem and the
rabbi was highly pleased. Since I lacked these qualifications, I
had difficulties.
After
studying the bible all day, we had to study Polish and math at
night which apparently was a state requirement. I can truthfully
say that math was the bane of my existence. I could only manage
the easiest computations. Anything slightly different or with some
degree of difficulty threw me into a panic and I instantly
developed a mental block. This handicap was to last me all my
days. I well remember a young lady teacher who taught Polish and
math being so frustrated with my lack of comprehension that she
took her fist and pounded me on the shoulder in an effort to make
me understand.
One
of my rabbis was an elderly man who would nod off to sleep as he
was teaching. At the urgings or promptings of the other boys, I
would slip under the table, approach the rabbi, tug at his beard
and very quietly scoot back to my seat. While I was performing
this little mischief every one would watch raptly and laugh
quietly. As the rabbi roused himself and cast a suspicious eye on
us, we would all be sitting demurely looking at our books. Once I
was almost caught and it was the habit of not squealing that we
all adhered to that saved me from a good beating.
Despite all the deviltry and mischief we created, we all had a
pretty good grounding in the Jewish faith and, if you will, in the
Old Testament. After we began studying Judges and Kings, we were
fascinated by the stories of great Hebrew military heroes and
their exploits. To me studying the prophets was a drag and a bore.
I became tired of reading of the sins and transgressions of Israel
and Judah. Since the Jews have been reviled as being weak,
cowardly, bookworms and shylocks totally lacking in military
abilities, the stories of Samson and King David and their exploits
were very uplifting.
In
the decade of the 20s, vaudeville was a popular entertainment
medium in the theaters. Among the acts rating high in popularity
were those performed by strong men, such as bending iron into
fancy shapes, supporting and lifting very heavy weights, driving
spikes through heavy tables with their hands and other assorted
feats of strength. One of the best, if not the best, was a Jewish
strongman, Sigmund Breitbart. Born in the city of Lodz to an
impoverished blacksmith, he demonstrated great strength in early
childhood. In fact all his brothers and sisters were endowed with
great strength, but he as the outstanding member. He was a
handsome blond with wavy hair, and built like a Greek god. He not
only performed before large audiences prodigious feats of
strength, but did it with an unsurpassed finesse, speed and
showmanship. He was the pride and toast of all the Jews. I saw
only photographs of him, but I did see a length of iron that he
bent into scrollwork.
Some
years back there was a program on television reviewing
entertainment in the 20s and they showed Sigmund Breitbart bending
iron into various designs. I sat enthralled watching him. Through
him I was inspired to become a devotee and participant into the
field of physical culture. He wrote an autobiography in Yiddish
which I found in a New York library which I read several times.
As I
had previously mentioned, most of the people on the street where I
lived were small trade’s people. Catty corner from our house was
the blacksmith, who with one of his strapping sons, fashioned
horse shoes, shod horses, and sweated iron rims on wagon wheels,
as well as the hubs. The wheelwright was further up the street
from the blacksmith. I also used to watch him rough out with a
razor sharp hatchet the sections of the wheel, make and fit the
spokes, and turn the hub on a lathe. When the wheel was completed
he’d roll it over to the blacksmith to have an iron rim sweated on
it. In my town, the craftsmen handled every phase of the article
he turned out. A young lad was considered quite fortunate to be
apprenticed to a craftsman and learn a trade. He got paid very
little if anything at all. At one time it was customary for the
parents of the apprentice to pay the master a tuition fee for
teaching him the trade. The apprentice’s life was not an easy one,
but upon completion of his apprenticeship and attaining the
position of a journeyman, he was secure in the knowledge that he
could make a good living.
After
the long winter months we welcomed the spring and summer with open
arms. First off we looked forward to all the holidays such as
Passover, Pentecost, and the high holy days such as Rosh Hashanah,
Yom Kippur and Succoth. There were also a few fast days in between
when school was closed. As soon as it became warm enough, we
doffed our boots and shoes and ran around barefooted. We also went
swimming in the nearby river. We bathed or frolicked in the water
in our birthday suits. I never saw a bathing suit till I came to
this country. Yet housewives brought their laundry to the river
and paid us no mind. It was an understanding that the males had
the upstream part of the river and the females the downstream.
Daring young men would swim underwater to the downstream part to
size up and report on the opposite sex.
In
our town there was a Yeshiva (a seminary to train rabbis).
Faithfully, every summer day the seminarians would break from
their studies to swim wearing nothing but their brimmed hats. They
could swim like fish for in the Talmud there is an injunction for
the fathers to teach their children how to swim.
Every
once in a while a fight would develop between the Gentiles and the
Jews while swimming and they would pelt each other with stones and
clods.
Summer time was also an occasion to raid orchards when the fruit
started to ripen. One time a buddy and I got into an orchard owned
by a Christian and we began to stuff our pockets with pears.
Suddenly the owner appeared accompanied by a police dog. Never had
we been so frightened and ran so fast to escape the dog whom he
sicked upon us. I remember crawling past barbed wire and jumping a
wide ditch to affect an escape. But we still had most of the
pears.
Passover was one of the holidays which required most preparation.
Besides either baking or purchasing already baked matzos for seven
days, the household had to be completely cleaned and all the
leaven or anything made with yeast burned. All observing Jewish
households had three sets of dishes. A set for dairy, another for
meats, and a third for Passover. Accordingly the other sets were
stored away and Passover dishes brought out. It was also the time
of year when I was outfitted from head to toe with a new hat, suit
and shoes. The larder was stocked with extra eggs, meats and wine.
Also, Passover was the season to eat nuts. Walnuts and filberts
were the ones I remember the best.
Being
the youngest male, I had to ask the four questions at the ritual
of the Seder on the first two nights and the last night of
Passover. The Seder consists of the reading of the Haggadah, the
narration of the exodus of Israel from Egypt in the course of
which four cups of sacramental wine are drunk. Approximately
halfway through the narration a splendid meal is served which is
customarily eaten in a comfortably inclined position sort of like
the Romans at their famous feasts. The narration ended with “next
year in Jerusalem”.
One
of the courses sure to be on the meal was matzo ball soup. In
order to make the matzoth meal we had a huge wooden pestle and
mortar. Into it we dumped whole matzos and after a good deal of
labor pounded it into flour. Also to add a little body to the soup
we added in “farfel”, i.e. matzo that had been pounded into small
bits. For snacks we had matzo meal pancakes or matzo dipped in egg
batter till it softened and then pan fried.
Every
Thursday was Fair Day or Market Day in our town. It was in my
opinion the most exciting day of the week. Peasants and tradesmen
from the surrounding areas came in their horse and wagons bringing
their produce to sell. Mothers with toddlers holding on tightly to
their skirts were be haggling with the peasants for vegetables,
eggs, and poultry. As most peasants were unable to figure sums and
since there was mutual distrust between them and the Jews, when it
came to totaling the sale of several items, they would refer to
the nearest policeman to be sure there was no dishonesty and that
the price was correct.
I
used to like to watch the horse traders buy or sell horses. They
were a rough, tough bunch, all Jews. In fact one of our tenants
was a horse trader. They didn’t back away from any fight that
might develop and which frequently did. The horse’s tails would be
tied in a knot, I suppose to better show off their hind quarters,
while he was examined and then trotted around. The horse’s mouth
would be forced open to examine his teeth and estimate his age.
Finally after much dickering and haggling a price would be struck,
seller and buyer would loudly slap each other’s palm before
applying a bone crushing handshake to clinch the deal. We kids
used to pull hairs from the horses’ tails to make musical
instruments. Not all horses tolerated having hairs pulled from
their tails. Some would kick out violently so one had to be agile
and also position himself to avoid a kicking hoof.
If my
mother had, after much haggling, bought a fowl for the Sabbath
either my brother or I would be dispatched to have the fowl
ritually slaughtered. One of the neighbors rented a part of their
courtyard to have this vitally important ritual performed. The
slaughterer would grasp the fowl, pin back the wings and hold them
between his knees. Then seizing the beak would pull the head up
and back making sure the throat was taut. After plucking a few
feathers from the throat, would take the razor sharp ritual knife,
which he kept in his mouth pirate style, make one slash across the
throat and push the windpipe out of the orifice. After carefully
wiping the knife on the feathers would toss the fowl aside, return
the knife to his mouth and start on the next one. This actually
was the work of seconds. Although the fowl was actually dead, it
would run around for a while as a reflex action till it collapsed.
The
fowl had to be dry plucked as dipping it in boiling water to
facilitate removal of the feathers is contrary to the ritual. When
the fowl is opened up and cleaned, the entrails and other internal
organs must be carefully examined to be sure everything is normal
and regular. Any irregularity, such as nodules or tubercles, or
any other suspicious irregularity, the offending item is taken to
the rabbi for determination by him as to whether or not the fowl
is kosher. If, after the examination he renders a judgment that
the fowl suffered some sort of disease, thus making it trafe or
not kosher, then you are not allowed to eat it. This applies to
any animal this is ritually slaughtered. In a great measure this
law together with other similar laws protected the health of the
Jewish community.
One
of the exciting events that occurred on our street was the
installation of utility poles and the subsequent lighting of our
street. Prior to that it was necessary to carry primitive lanterns
containing a candle to furnish feeble illumination at night. It
was shortly after that my mother decided to have our home wired
for electricity. When finally completed, we were thrilled. It did
away with the kerosene lamps, constant trimming of the wicks,
cleaning of the chimneys and comparatively poor light.
It
was also around that time that my mother sent me to a secular
school. Prior to that I attended several private schools run by
teachers in their homes. One I didn’t like at all and stayed there
for a short while. The other one was only a little bit better. My
mother felt that the secular school would be more beneficial to
me. First of all it was co-educational and secondly they taught
modern subjects. In this school we were compelled to speak in
Hebrew and thus we all had a thorough grounding and developed a
competent fluency in that language. Also in this school we did not
wear hats in class except when studying the bible.
My
difficulties in math continued and my mother engaged a young lady
who had been recommended to her to tutor me in that subject as
well as Polish. It wasn’t that I couldn’t learn; it was simply a
matter of being painfully slow to learn that subject. As a matter
of fact, with the tutorial help I was able to bring my marks on
the report card to respectable levels.
In
the school besides the regular subjects we were told stories about
Israel (then Palestine), the efforts of the halutzim (pioneers) to
rebuild the land which had been acquired through purchase. In each
Jewish home there was located a little blue and white tin box with
the Star of David prominently painted on it and with a slot on
top. Into the box secured by a little lock, coins were dropped and
every so often an authorized individual would come bearing a
little key to open the lock and remove the donations. This was one
of the methods of obtaining funds to purchase more land in
Palestine. The other was donations by wealthy Jews such as the
Rothschilds, etc. We also celebrated all the holidays that they
did in Palestine and heard heroic tales of life and struggle in
that land. A yearning and hope for the return of the Jews in that
land was kindled in us.
In
August 1929 an event occurred that will live in my memory for the
rest of my life. We had already sold our home and were now lodged
in a rented room awaiting notification of the date for our
departure for the United States. My mother had taken me out of
school so that I would be rested and in a good state of health
when departure time arrived. It was in the middle of the week and
in late noon that I noticed that the proprietors of businesses in
town were closing their establishments and wondered why. I then
learned that there were terrible riots in Palestine. The Arabs
inflamed by the Mufti and other religious leaders were rioting.
Gangs of Arabs attacked defenseless rabbis and students in their
classes. They killed, robbed, raped and burned homes and looted
shops. It was mainly directed at those areas where the Hagganah
(defense forces) were not available to lend protection.
The
synagogues were filled with people, many who never came to pray.
We heard memorial prayers for those who were killed in Palestine
and listened to speeches deploring the violence. Our town rabbi
broke down and wept several times as he addressed the crowded
synagogue. This was the first and only protest meeting I ever
attended.
Despite the pogroms and numerous difficulties put in their path,
immigration to Palestine (Israel) continued.
Finally in the latter part of November 1929 we received the papers
advising us to prepare to leave for the United States. We sold or
gave away any possessions that we couldn’t take with us. Then on a
bitterly cold night in the first week in December we took a coach
to the railway station to board a train for Warsaw. I felt a tug
in my heart as neighbors and friends waved good-bye to us. In
Warsaw, we stayed in another lodging while we were processed,
photographed for passports, examined medically and then sent with
groups of other immigrants to another station of more of the same.
It seemed an eternity, but we were finally taken by train to the
city of Danzig (now Gdansk) and there boarded a small steamer to
take us to England. At that time of the year the North Sea is the
most violent and stormy bodies of water in the world. I can tell
you that the ship canted to a 45 degree angle and most of us were
violently sea sick. After a three or four day trip we sailed up
the Thames, passed under the famous London Bridge and docked. We
were taken to the Victoria Station in London, given something to
eat and boarded a train to take us to Southampton. My impression
of the English countryside was disbelief. In Poland a blanket of
snow and ice covered the countryside and here in England
everything was green. In Southampton we were further processed and
examined and subsequently boarded the White Star Cunard liner the
“Olympic”. It was a huge ship; nevertheless it was pretty well
tossed about in the Atlantic. I felt sea sick only half a day.
Then my brother Max ordered me to go top side saying it would make
me feel better. Sure enough it did and I didn’t feel sea sick any
more. As a matter of fact, during the war when we were on the high
seas sailing toward North Africa, I didn’t feel sea sick in the
slightest. However, I’m getting ahead of myself.
We
traveled third class. Passengers traveling first and second class
could come down and act uppity, but we were not permitted to go
and see their accommodations.
Passport of Zlata and Charles
Kaplan (click for larger image)
The main recreating was eating. Coming from a small
town the way I did, certain fruits like bananas, pineapples,
grapefruits were a novelty. As I vaguely remember, I didn’t
particularly care for any of them. The various nationalities
were grouped at separate tables and for the love of me I can’t
remember whether or not the food prepared was kosher. I do
recall that a young handsome ship officer acted in the
capacity of a social director; however, I do not recall any
organized recreation program. On several occasions there was a
tug of war and other physical games. Also silent movies were
shown.
It
took approximately seven days to traverse the Atlantic. Then on
the final day I remember getting on deck with several shipboard
friends very early in the morning. It was still dark outside and
from the distance we could see the harbor lights. One of my
friends, who was far more knowledgeable than I, informed me that
we would see a huge statue of a lady holding a torch. I regarded
this skeptically. Sure enough a while later the Statue of Liberty
came into view. Believe me we were all atingle with excitement.
Finally we docked and relations came on board to claim their
respective family members. I witnessed the reunion of families
after a long separation, the kissing, hugging and weeping with
joy. However, our father didn’t show up to claim us.
Disappointment could scarcely describe our feelings. I cried a
good deal and that got on my family’s nerves and I was threatened
with physical punishment if I didn’t stop. After some delay those
of us immigrants whose relations or sponsors did not show up to
claim us, were taken to the second class part of the ship and the
apparent difference between the classes was obvious. There it was
determined that we would have to go to Ellis Island to await our
relations to claim us.
Ellis
Island had been the processing center for thousands of immigrants.
It was a grim prison-like compound with one huge room and
dormitories radiating from it. Our waking hours were spent in the
huge room. It was there that I saw my first black men and black
women. They carried badges on their persons and acted in the
capacity of guards and maintained discipline.
I saw
one tragic scene. A family, apparently Greek, were denied entry
into the country. Whether their papers were not in order or
whether for political reasons, I do not know. The mother was
weeping and wringing her hands and the father was busily writing a
letter, probably to the authorities requesting a reverse of the
decision. They had a boy about my age and size and we attempted to
get acquainted.
We
didn’t stay long enough to find out how the family fared, for in
the late afternoon on Friday, I believe the 31st of December, our
name was called and our brother Harry came out to greet us. I had
never before seen him. He was already in the United States when I
was born. Then our father came in and like all the other families
we wept with joy at being reunited after a long separation. We
boarded a ferry to the mainland and after a ride of fifteen or
twenty minutes tied up to the wharf and walked to the subway
station.
Harry Kaplan
As I
had heard stories of the streets being paved with gold I looked
down to see if it was so. It looked no different than any other
street. However, I was delighted to be in the United States with
my family now together. We boarded the subway train and everything
that I saw I thought was marvelous. The ads, the crowds, the noise
and screeching, etc. Since my father had already become a citizen,
those of us who were under twenty-one automatically became
citizens. All except my sister Anna who was over 21. She
subsequently became a citizen. Actually while on board ship we
were signing various documents “Kaplanski well Kaplan” as my
father had legally shortened his name.
From
the last subway stop we took a cab to our new home. The
Amalgamated Clothing Workers had built a complex of cooperative
apartments and my father had put a downpayment on an apartment. It
was the newest building in the complex, five stories high and had
an elevator as well as an incinerator. For the first time in my
life I rode an elevator which took us to the fourth floor,
apartment 4A. To greet us was my sister Rose and my sister-in-law
Bella, and my two little nieces. The apartment consisted of five
rooms and the two families were to live there.
The
Sabbath meal was delicious and of course there were reminiscences
and jokes and laughter after the meal. We compared notes as to the
trials and tribulations during our respective voyages. Since Harry
is approximately twenty three years older than I, he knew of
relations from both my father’s and mother’s side of the family
that I had never heard of. Since I was brought up under the code
that children should be seen and not heard, I just sat there
absorbing it all with fascination. Also that evening Harry gave
some of us our new English surnames. “Froike” became “Frank”,
“Mottel” became “Max” and “Hannah” became “Anna”. When he came to
me he was stumped. Thus I went nameless for a while.
In the middle row,
seated, second from the left is Chana Kaplan,
fifth from the left is
Mordechai (aka Martin) Kaplan,
siblings of Charles A.
Kaplan.
As I
vaguely recollect, it was sometime later that Harry brought the
matter of selecting a suitable name for me to his business
partner, Bill Tracy, a tall, handsome, happy-go-lucky Irishman,
who being associated with Jewish people picked up a good bit of
Yiddish. I remember feeling very conspicuous and somewhat
embarrassed as they looked me over and Bill felt that “Charles”
would be an appropriate name for my Hebrew one which is “Yehiel”.
If the name Yehiel sounds odd to you, I would suggest that you
look in the book of Chronicles. There it is mentioned a number of
times, however, it is spelled with a “J”. I don’t regret in the
least being given the name Charles, I couldn’t have picked a
better one. Harry had cards printed with my full name “Charles A.
Kaplan”. Since Polish is read phonetically and every syllable
sounded “Charles” looked dubious to me, but I very soon got well
acquainted with my new surname.
_____
Updated
April
13, 2023
Copyright © 2023 Andrew Blumberg
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