Choritz Family

The photo depicts a Youth Bund group possibly taken in Tambov, where the Choritz family fled to in 1915, during World War I. The girl seated second from left in the front row is Annie Choritz and the boy seated third from left in the middle row is Israel Choritz.

Most of the Jewish citizens of Kupiskis left either by walking, horse and cart, or by train for the east. They went in single or multiple family groups. Some went as deep into Russia as Siberia, some went as close as Latvia. They were forced to remain until the War was over and many took years to return, if they did at all. Life was very hard during this time and some starved. During their time away from Kupiskis, the Jews of Kupiskis had children (and those attended school, joined youth groups), married, died and otherwise continued their lives. They found what work they could to survive.

In the Choritz family, their father Peretz Choritz had already been killed in 1914 before the War started, and they fled to Tambov with their grandfather Dov Ber-Zalman Choritz, their mother Chaia-Etla and the six children. During their time in Tambov, their grandfather died, leaving them quite destitute. One of the children, Samuel Choritz, managed to survive by selling soap. They returned to Kupiskis in 1921 and strove to leave Lithuania for South Africa for better opportunities.

All the children did leave with the exception of the eldest Icik-Kadesh (Yitzchak) Choritz, who won several million Litas in the Lithuanian lottery. He invested this in a street full of property in Kupiskis. His good fortune and decision to stay in Lithuania was ultimately regrettable as he and his family were killed in 1941.

Yitzhak and Rivka Choritz

Rivka Fainberg, born 1903, daughter of Leib and Feige-Hinde (Michel) Fainberg. See paragraph above for more information about Yitzhak. Their children were Peshe, born 1930, Chaya-Dvoira, born 1934, Freide-Hinde Choritz, born 1939, and Chaim, born 1940.

(Photos were donated by Lazer Choritz in memory of his father Israel Choritz and family.)

Musings of a Jewish Genealogist:

The Lottery

by Ann Rabinowitz

The small shtetl of Kupiskis was alive with business. It was Thursday, market day, and the peasants, thronged the dirt-packed roads, muddy from the spring rains, their produce and goods, packed neatly in their wooden carts, pulled by their shaggy worn horses. They headed for the square, where temporary wooden booths were setup and their carts could be parked to trade away the daylight hours.

Nearby, were the teahouses and taverns, ready for refreshment, a favorite run by the beautiful Jaffe sisters. There was also beer brewed fresh and frothy, tapped from barrels brought that day by the Trapido family from nearby Rokiskis town, the larger community center, where the vodka was pressed from potatoes, strong and potent, while kosher wine, for those so inclined, held a place of honor behind the counters.

In the firehouse, Mr. Bodas, the fire chief, readied for the day, anything could happen on market day. His special duties though were about to begin. He was the lottery clerk and he pulled the lottery tickets from his desk and counted them. This was an important function, lives could change dramatically, so he was careful and precise. Then, finally finished, he tucked the papers into his belt, and went to meet his first customer.

The first one of the day was Icek Kadesh Choritz, eldest of the Choritz clan, a buyer and seller of animal skins, colonial goods and other items, poor, but proud, just married to Rivka Fainberg, counting on the ticket to change his circumstances.

His mother and younger siblings, poor and destitute, without prospects, were readying for a journey to South Africa, to their uncle Mordechai-Yehudah. However, he hesitated, he was loath to leave, if only he could get a winning ticket and remain, become newly rich and respected.

The day wore on, bartering progressed, goods changed hands, the noise and clutter of the marketplace peaked. Then, as the night descended, the peasants repaired to drink and relax, their pockets filled with silver, their carts empty except for necessities purchased for the return journey to their villages.

The Jewish merchants tidied their shops, closed for the day and readied for another busy day on the morrow, as Queen Sabbath was arriving, to crown the work week and relieve them from toil.

The lottery ticket stuffed in every pocket, lay waiting for the magic moment when the right number would be drawn and the ticket could be retrieved for untold riches. Who would win this time was the topic of conversation, amidst the talk of deals made and bargains obtained.

Eventually, the numbers for the week were drawn and printed in the local paper, hung on walls in all of the shops, and talked about throughout the land. This was serious stuff and times were hard. The lottery could mean freedom from want and deprivation.

Icek Kadesh had bought many tickets over the years, each time hoping for a winning one, each time disappointed and despondent when his number wasn’t picked, but hoping that the next time would bring lady luck to his doorstep. This time, he had just about given up, but pulled his ticket stub from his pocket and looked rapidly over the winning numbers.

He didn’t have to look far, for there on the top of the list was his number, the winning number, the ultimate prize. His reaction was amazing as he choked, he screamed, he ran around his store, grabbing and hugging all the customers, he ran out in the street, his face red and beaming, to tell the wonderful news. It had come true, he had won.

He would do many things with his winnings, buy property, a street full of stores and help his family. Winning was tinged with sadness, however, for he realized that he was going to remain in Kupiskis, wealthy and settled, whilst his family had to leave, sailing across the far ocean to Africa, and that he would probably never see them again. He could not help that, it was the hard times, and one had to do what was best.

Later, when the family departed, his emotions in turmoil, he prayed that they would do well. The years flew by and his family, now successful in their “goldene medina” of South Africa begged him to join them as they missed him, their elder beloved brother. His wife’s brothers had left as well. “Come to Africa”, they wrote, “we will wait for you”.

So, they became the only ones in their family to remain in the shtetl, alone. However, Icek Kadesh had been enticed to buy more lottery tickets and had won the top prize, yet again. He could not leave now, despite the entreaties of his family in Africa, he was thriving, despite the dismal deteriorating conditions of the country.

A day came, soon enough, when all of the money he had accumulated could not save him or restrain the savagery that engulfed the shtetl as the Germans approached. His neighbors and friends with whom he had dealt with pleasantly all those years suddenly took up arms against the Jews and killed them all, buried them all in unmarked pits deep and broad in an atheists’ cemetery on the outskirts of town.

He and his family perished, his lovely young wife, his precious children, all gone. Ironically, all that was left were his lottery tickets on the wall of his shop, prized possessions, but a sad reminder of how little it took to change the destiny of a man.

It reminded me of the old Yiddish song popularized by Molly Picon entitled “Mazel” (or Good Luck) a commodity that can disappear so quickly. Here is a YouTube rendition of “Mazel” sung by Leo Fuld, known as the king of Yiddish songs: Mazel.

Epilogue

Memory and Forgiveness…

Wanting solitude after the rededication ceremony of the Wall of Memory Holocaust Memorial in Kupiskis, Lithuania, in July 2004, I walked to the edge of the cemetery to a spot where a bench had been placed under the trees, a place cool and refreshing. I looked out over the beautiful green verdant valley of Kupiskis stretching out before me in the distance, the birthplace of my grandfather.

Small frame houses colored yellow, white, and blue rose above fields of brightly-colored wildflowers, the air scented with their perfume. Butterflies fluttered in the wind, birds twittered, and a light mist covered everything.

The scene was bucolic and beautiful, reminiscent of the French countryside; an impressionist could have easily painted it. That is, until one remembered where one was. Brutal killings had taken place here, the victims piteously buried in yawning pits. The villagers, in houses so close, had heard the screams, listening with closed hearts, to the cries for help, even the cries of the children, young and helpless.

Alone, I recited Kaddish, the mourner’s prayer, and cried bitterly in an outpouring of unrestrained grief. I remembered what had happened here in 1941. I remembered the murder of my great-uncle Mordechai Yehudah’s oldest nephew, Icek-Jadesh Choritz and his family, along with countless others.

Softly, someone approached and sat next to me on the bench. It was Eugenija Urboniene, the woman who had so generously helped me over the years with information, and had written a wonderful series of stories about the Jewish community. This was the first time we had met in person.

She quietly put her arms around me and told me of her feelings of shame at what had happened, her remorse and that of her family. Her tears flowed as her daughter, who accompanied her, translated her words into English. Her brother, the town archivist, stood beside his sister and niece and wept as well.

We cried at the horror, waste, and loss of it all. We were people, speaking different languages, from different places and cultures, but able to communicate on the most basic level about a time that has defied every rational explanation.

Someone had finally said they were sorry. It was a moment that I shall remember always…

This article was first published on Ann Rabinowitz’s Facebook page in April, 2018, then in the Jewish Historical Society of North Jersey, April, 2019, then on the JewishGen Blog, January 16, 2022.

Born in Manchester, England, genealogist Ann Rabinowitz is a resident of South Florida and has been involved in genealogical pursuits since the age of ten. A prolific writer, her articles have been published on the JewishGen Blog, in numerous Jewish genealogy journals, on Facebook, and in various newspapers.