My Childhood in Proskurov
An excerpt from the autobiography
of Louis Kfare, 1910-2000
I will start at birth. August 1, 1910, and
continue. Again I may wander off course but
eventually I’ll come back and put the pieces in its proper
place. I will also probably repeat myself but I have
my reasons. Perhaps you find them when you will read
further along. I will skip the first five years
because they were uneventful or I should say I don’t
remember. The first thing that stands out in my life
is the death of my grandmother. She died on Saturday
afternoon and toward evening I was sent, by whom I don’t
know, to Uncle Leib’s house to get two large
candles. The walk was from one end of town to the
other, a distance perhaps of over a mile. I returned
my mission fulfilled. I remember my grandmother from
the Greenstein’s side, which is my mother’s mother, lying
on the floor covered with a white sheet and the two
candles which I had brought burning at each side of her
head. It was the kind of sight that modern parents
would not want to subject their children or any other
child to such a sight. Yet I was permitted to walk
in and out of the room and watch all the different women,
come and pray and cry constantly. I am told that my
grandmother was a self-possessed person and
outspoken. I remember her sweeping the front of our
house, no sidewalks, no pavements, no cobblestones, just
plain dirt in the summer and mud in the spring and fall
and snow in the winter. She would do this every
morning and kept the house quite clean. I would hear
stories of how my grandmother would get upset because
other neighbors would sweep their dirt onto her side (that
is the borderline dirt). I also remember my
grandmother coming home from a simcha with different kinds
of cakes – for she was a sarvaren (one who bakes cakes for
others).
I remember my grandmother quite vividly when she would
feed my younger sister Paula (“Polia”). She would
chew the hard challe or Zwieback in her mouth (she had no
teeth), soften it well and then take it with a spoon from
her mouth and give it to Polia to eat. This my
mother and everyone else did, too.
My grandmother died on a Saturday afternoon. I was
sent to Uncle Leib’s house – a distance of perhaps 20
blocks or more, for he lived on the other side of
town. I do not recall the purpose. The one
thing I do remember was coming back with two large
candles. Perhaps I was sent to notify Uncle Leib’s
family of grandma’s death. When I arrived her body was
lying on the floor in the large room covered with white
sheets. The candles were lit, one on each side of
the head. This was the custom. I do not
remember the funeral, but I remember subsequent
ones. The body was carried on a black stretcher
called a Mitah covered with a black shawl and carried by
men on their shoulders. The cemetery was quite a
distance, outside the city and we walked. This is my
first recollection of growing up. I believe I was
either 7 or 8 years old. The other event that left a
deep and everlasting impression on me was the Proskurov
Pogrom which occurred in 1918 or 1919 on a Saturday
afternoon. This was the time after the Bolshevik
Revolution. Our town was located in the triangle
between Romania and Poland, the Ukraine wheat belt.
The counter-revolution was being carried through by the
peasants. They opposed the revolution. The
Jews as always were made the scapegoats. One
Saturday afternoon about 2 PM the turmoil started.
Neighbors and people all over began running for their
houses. We barred our doors and all climbed up the
Boidem. This was a large attic quite open and cold,
for this occurred in the March winter months with snow
quite high as was usual for our area. We did not
have stairs, just a big ladder. The entire family
was there in no time. We heard and saw through open
holes in the air transom the tragedy which is befalling
our city. The “Haidemakos” – the Ukrainian peasant
army and ordinary peasants running through the streets,
breaking windows and doors, dragging the people – age or
sex didn’t matter – into the street and stabbing them to
death with their sabers. My brother Dave was the
only one missing from the family. It was not long
that through a miracle we heard him call and knock on the
door. We lowered the ladder and opened the door to
let him in. Until this day we just wonder how he
managed to escape being caught. It was not long
afterward that at our neighbor’s house they dragged the
entire family out and stabbed them. I recall vividly
now the cries of a woman, “Chaya Sura” – “help me,” but
they were swarming the streets. By the time we were
able to help, she had died. Huddled in cold as
darkness approached, one of the older children – Yosel was
not in Proskurov then, went down and brought up some food
for us. It was not until about 7 or 8 in the evening
that we heard neighbors calling our boys to come out into
the streets and help care for the dead. For the pigs
who always roamed our streets like stray cats, were eating
the dead. In the darkness and until watch the bodies
of all were either taken into houses or into the Beis
Hamedrosh. Quite a number of elderly Jews were
slaughtered while learning Mishnais, which was the
customary thing to do on a Saturday afternoon. The
Pogrom which lasted about 4 hours took a toll of about
2,000 Jewish lives. The following morning the
“Ottoman” or General of our district assessed a fine on
the Jewish community for failure to give proper protection
to its populace. He also ordered the immediate burial of
all within 24 hours. All bodies were carried by
wagons all day to the cemetery, where the Jewish
population dug one large grave for all. The one
exception was the Rabbi – his grave was alongside.
Men, women and children were all put into one grave.
I remember this well for it is impossible to forget.
I believe here this event made a man out of me. I
say man, I should say I grew up mentally. So many
events followed that I do not know their chronological
order. For instance, the “Sobotnick”. This was
the time the Bolsheviks proclaimed a day of work on the
farms, more production, more planting, more harvesting,
the parade, the train, bedecked ride to the farms.
The Messiah had arrived – everybody equal – no more rich –
no more anti-Semitism.
As I mentioned we were near two borders. We were
somehow in the midst of changing governments every other
week. I recall the change of hooliganism and robbery
and pilfering – stealing to eat, stealing from the
rich. The Poles who invaded our town. They were
after the young people for they were the
“Bolsheviks.” Dave had sneaked out the back door
when they ran into our house, we were chased
outside. When Entzie and my mother let out a scream
they were swinging away at someone who was lying on the
floor. Surely it must be one of our brothers. It later
turned out to be someone else, my brother hiding somewhere
else. In the meantime they ransacked our house
through everything they didn’t want and covered everything
with povidla – prune jam – this my mother prepared for
food for us. Another incident was when one night
someone knocked on our window and told us that the goyim
peasants were at our fish. Since my father was in
the business of selling fresh fish, we kept large wicker
baskets called “Kaishen” submerged in the water.
These had covers with locks on them. The fish were
stored in them. They were out a distance from the
shore and were connected by a wooden walk trestle.
It shook like the Lexington Avenue subway between Grand
Central and 125 St. Express. Dave and Bentchik
grabbed revolvers, it became a necessity to carry them,
and ran towards the river. Perhaps you can visualize
the events and feelings in our house. As they approached,
they shot into the air and they ran off. I do not
recall whether any damage was done or not.
This one or the one following is where I had to play my
own part. It is when I recall I must have grown
up. These two incidents stand out in my mind quite
clearly. It was one evening when the peasants went
on their rampage. Somehow the community was able to
learn and somehow guess of approaching troubles.
When movements of troops suddenly started we knew to
expect trouble, for one was retreating and one was
advancing. The retreating would loot and burn or
vice-versa, or both. Because our house was situated
in the Jewish quarter of the poor near the main highway at
the end of town, we were usually the recipient of most
attention of all armies or attackers. And so that
night the retreating army burned the oil mill not far from
our house and dismantled the bridges. What a sight
that fire made. Night became day. It was then that I
was sent off. My sister Polia, too, to my Uncle
Leib’s for he lived among the richer and least populated
by Jews. Within a day or two the rest of the family
came except Bentchik – all young people had to hide or
they would take them along or kill them. I do not
recall where Dave was. I was told that Bentchik was
hiding in the basement of the large shul with other
boys. The entire city was turned into a no man’s
land. We had not communicated with Bentchik for
several days. This not being my choice, I was sent
to find out how they are doing and are they still alive.
The trek was a long one all by myself. I reached the
shul but found the entrance to the yard which would lead
to the basement closed from the inside – barred – what to
do? I looked around to be sure no one sees me –
those were my instructions – whatever you do, be on the
alert for others. I walked around twice but could
not find the basement windows. It was then that I
became of age. From the opening and closing of the
gate in center – the ground was worn away and there was a
hole the kind a cat could walk through. But at that
moment I became a cat and wiggling on the ground I managed
to squirm through. I ran to the first open basement
window and looked in. I saw nothing but
darkness. I called out in a low voice – “Bentchik” –
no answer – again Bentchik but this time I heard a voice
“Leibish”. I could not see him for it was dark but I
spoke to him for a while and gave him some lumps of sugar,
for he loved sugar – he always carried it around with
him. I returned safely home and my exploits became
the talk of the town and the pride of my family.
I have not mentioned at all my education. I remember
going to a secular school for a few weeks. There is
only one thing that stands out in my mind about
school. This one incident where my teacher held up
my notebook in front of the whole class because it was
stained with fats, for I used to take along sandwiches
(today we call them sandwiches), then it was just bread
with shmaltz on it. Hence, my books were full of
stains. I do remember my cheder education. I
remember my Rabbi. The same one who taught all my
older brothers. I also remember the “Belfer”, his
name was “Mayer der Drei Kopf” for he would constantly
turn his head in perpetual motion left and right.
His job was to carry the small children to cheder as sort
of a modern school bus. As young as I was and quite
young I might say, for we started going to cheder at an
early age, I used to come home under moonlight conditions
deep in snow all by myself and I was not too near to the
house. We used to carry empty pumpkins with a candle
lit in the center to light our way. Kerosene was too
expensive and in short supply. I must say that our
house was a political humdrum. Dave and Entzie
belonged to the “Bund” – Jewish socialists and Bentchik
was a “Poali-Zion”. Politics constantly in our
house. Bentchik subscribed to Yiddish paper.
He taught me to read. My education in my young years
came from Bentchik. Recalling another incident, an
amateur group gave a performance in Yiddish at the city
theater; Entzie took a big part in it. Bentchik was
also in a skit. Entzie’s skit was “Sholem Aleichem –
Dos Teppel”. It requires a little boy supposedly her
son as she explains her problems to the Rabbi, she turns
to me for confirmation and I would shake my head “yes,
yes”. I did this quite a few times. This was
my stage debut.
During these times when we lived in constant war hysteria,
there was a shortage of basic food such as sugar, spices
and other items not grown in our area. The black
market was rampant. Candles and kerosene were in
great demand. Between Dave and Bentchik (Yosel was
away in Balta working in shoe factory as a defense worker
since he was disabled – I will explain later), they were
able to get a tinsmith to rig up a homemade candle making
machine. Making of candles was strictly prohibited
but it was done with the windows covered and the machine
was small. The paraffin was melted and poured into
candleholders. I was pretty good at that. I
used to run the machine myself. We produced 12
candles every half-hour. So much of that.
Going into the Czar’s army for Jewish boys was not heard
of. Everything was done not to serve. My
paternal grandfather Beryl whom I knew had one thumb
missing – a month before being drafted for doctor’s
examination, my great-grandfather took an ax and chopped
off his thumb. My father was too sick a person to
serve (explain later). When it was Yosel’s turn for
the draft he went to hack doctor who took off two toes,
from one of his legs. The day before going to the
doctor he applied vinegar to the wound, it became red and
inflamed, hence limited service for him. Dave went
to another hack who injected him with a rupture – no
service. He wore a truss all his life.
It seems I did not cover my parents and our home
enough. My father a tall man with reddish beard – a
religious person – not a fanatic. My grandfather
(paternal) dealt in eggs, but my father dealt in fish –
how or why I don’t know. The story as I heard it was
that after several years of marriage my father was on one
of his trips to the outlying villages to purchase fish and
caught cold, for the traveling was with open horse and
wagons. His foot was affected. He was operated
on. It left open wounds and his foot eventually
shortened. He therefore limped and walked with a
cane. He was known to all as “Sruel der
Krimmer”. To think now how my father lived – carried
on a strenuous fish business, produced 11 children, seven
remained. To me it is a scientific miracle how none
of us contacted disease. His wounds were open at his
groin and near his thigh about six or eight of them with
puss oozing constantly. He would come home from the
market, eat his supper, make his own cigarettes – it was
much cheaper – he was a heavy smoker and coughed a
lot. Then he would unbandage his leg, wash it with
water, what else, re-bandage his legs with the bandages he
took off the night before, which were boiled in hot
water. These were not gauze, they were cloth from
used things. There were times that I would
help my father put on the bandages. When I think of
it now I just shudder at the sight. If this were in
New York in 1979, my father would be confined to a nursing
home for the ill or better methods of caring would have
had to be found. It is worth mentioning that the
reason our family was not united in this country was
because of my father’s illness – more about that at a
later time.
As I write, incidents appear in my mind perhaps I might
have already mentioned. In addition to the fish
business of my father’s and Dave’s, my mother would stay
in front of the church which was a tremendous large open
stretch of land and was used as a market place, selling
eggs. On cold days she used to keep hot coals
burning or glowing at times putting it under her large
skirt she wore to keep warm. This was a method used
by most women to keep warm. My brother Bentchik and
my mother when not in the open market had a stall where we
sold flax and eggs. Speaking of flax reminds me of
another memory – the memory of rope. I would be sent
with food and delicacies often to my paternal grandparents
and Aunt Gittel who was blind. Incidentally, Gussie
Stengel is named after her. The next house to theirs
in the open street they used to make rope. This
required two people – all handmade – one would put a lot
of raw fibers around his waistline and another would be a
distance away turning a big wheel with hooks to which the
fibers were attached in a twisting rotation causing rope
to be made. Once or twice the man let me turn
the wheel – what a thrill!
I failed to mention my other two brothers – Charlie did
not want to go through these 47 gimmicks and left for USA
to Uncle Sonya – Bentchik was young enough to not worry
about the draft.
Two other incidents I recall in my young days – one was
tapeworms. I know now what it is, but I did not know
then. I remember going down to the river and sit
there as others also did and pull the worms out of my
rectum. Some things still puzzle me. Why
didn’t I tell someone? I know not the answer.
It seems that we had to care for ourselves – my mother was
very busy. Why didn’t I approach my brothers or my
sister I do not know? Generally I do not recall
being taught or shown of things to do when they
happen. We just did things on our own, so it seems
to me. The second incident that I recall was when
one of my brothers cornered a beautiful brown pigeon in
front of our house and took it in and we put it in our the
boidem or attic which I previously described. This
pigeon became my pet, I loved to play with it. It
was my task to feed the pigeon every late afternoon.
One morning when I arose I remembered that I had not fed
the pigeon the previous day. I climbed up the attic
and fed the pigeon. I must have been still asleep
for I missed the steps on the ladder and went tumbling
down the equivalent to one floor. I landed on my
back. My mother applied cold compresses to the right
shoulder blade where it was hurting the most. It was
not until years later that I noticed my front bone of my
right shoulder was protruding – much bigger than the
left. It took me sometime to recall that I must have
broken a bone. To the eye you cannot tell now, but I
can feel with my hands the difference between the left and
the right bones. It never bothered me.
I recall also the arrival of Yosel and Roize and Jack
(“Yoshe”) who was then 10 months old to live with
us. Since my grandmother had died that part was
available for them to live. It was in a few weeks
after arrival that Jack began to walk.
I left out our second “pogrom”. It was not as
devastating but the city was turned into a shambles.
This time most of the damage was done in the richer
sections probably affecting Uncle Leib’s family.
Soldiers were roaming the streets looting wherever
possible. We were much concerned about the welfare
of Uncle Leib, but adults were not welcome in the
streets. So the mission was given to me at the age
of 10. I was dressed in sloppy bedraggled clothes
and a big hat to cover my face as much as possible and was
told to go there and find out how things are. It was
a long trek, burning stores, broken windows, and dead
bodies strewn all over. I had to step over many of
these to get where I was going. When I got there I
knocked on the door but there was no answer. I called out
“Uncle Leib” but no answer. This time a louder one
and a voice answered, a neighbor’s, “Your uncle is in the
hospital.” I remembered where the hospital was
because I had been there once when my father was operated
on a rupture. I remembered it was somewhere opposite
the city prison. I found my way there and found my
uncle and aunt slightly wounded in the legs. The
children were not hurt but were in the hospital. I
returned home but I had to follow detailed instructions
which were that I was to approach the house and stand
three houses away and look up to the attic. I should
say glance not look. From this attic view you could
see what’s around you. If I see a cloth being waved
back and forth, I should leave and come back later for
there was danger. If the cloth were held aloft I could
proceed to the back entrance, walk fast not run – mission
accomplished. It is interesting to me that whenever
there was trouble which we sensed coming, Polia and I
would go to stay with Uncle Leib’s family. So I got
to know the neighbors pretty well. I was dubbed the
“Razvetchik”, the Russian for “spy”, but my aunt and uncle
called me the “minister” for I was up to date with world
as well as local politics. This due to Yiddish
papers that Bentchik used to read – I read them
also.
|
