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As if it were a dream,
I once again
saw the little shtetl that was my place of birth and then was
destroyed.
It would seem that my little shtetl was no different than any other
of the little shtetlekh that were located in the Jewish area, where
Jews were permitted to reside.
In our shtetl there were a few rich Jews: timber merchants and grain
merchants. There were also many impoverished Jews. There were also
many Talmudic scholars, intellectuals and ignoramuses. In the market
there were many Jewish shopkeepers who earned their livelihood from
the indigenous peasants of the area. The peasants would come to sell
their merchandize and at the same time purchase household items and
other necessary products. There were also craftsmen who earned
living from their toil. There were individuals who bound wood and
individuals who would go around the peasant wagons in order to find
some work. There were also poor people, in order to feed their
families, searched but did not find work.
This was what the people of my shtetl were like.
In our small shtetl there was a rabbi that was respected by the
community. There was also a slaughterer and a cantor with a choir as
well as two amazing Beys Midroshim (study halls) where Jews would
pray and learn day and night. Their wives would then be the bread
winners by doing business in the market. There was also a Hasidish
prayer house (shtibel), where the prayers were recited with
devoutness and they carefully observed the memorials of their
rabbi's family: and after the conclusion of the prayers, that
included the memorial service, the congregants would make a lehayim
(have an alcoholic drink). There were a few very nice brick houses
where the rich lived. There were also wooden houses with straw
roofs. Therefore, when a fire occurred, half of the town would be
destroyed.
This was the outer appearance of our city.
Yes! We had a bathhouse, in contrast to a Beys Midrash - both
operated according to class bias. The bathhouse was heated before
the Sabbath and before a holiday. At those times they permitted the
rich and the privileged to enter the bathhouse in the morning. In
the evening the poor and craftsmen were allowed in the upper
chamber.
The entire shtetl, with the exclusion of one block, was settled by
Jews. That one block was called the gentile block. Around the
Christian houses were planted fruit bearing trees and gardens. When
one crossed Goyishe Street, one entered the shtetl of Volye [Wola].
The Jews of Volye had their own community, their own synagogue and
Beys Midrash and their own rabbi. Therefore, they called my shtetl
Lune-Volye [Lunna-Wola]. There were great literary figures and
rabbis that came from there. It is apropos to mention that Aaron
Liberman, the first Jewish Socialist, was a grandchild of a rabbi
from Lune. He was born and raised in the shtetl of my birth.
Countrymen, who were miraculously saved from the concentration camps
and have trickled into America, relay that only two out of every ten of
the 2,000 Jews (see note 1) of the two shtetlekh have
survived the Holocaust. There are no more Jews there. It has been
cleansed of Jews. The Jews were given orders when the Germans
marched into the shtetl. The first order was the disassembling of
the synagogues. They were to insure that all the bricks remain
intact, when removing the lime and clay, in order to ship them to
Germany.
Everything Jewish was destroyed in the shtetl. This included the
monuments in the cemetery. The monuments were demolished into little
rocks and then they were used to pave the streets of the shtetl.
In this manner my shtetl came to an end.
Everything there was annihilated. My family was annihilated, and all
friends were annihilated. Even so, every time the name of the shtetl
is mentioned, a longing for the shtetl begins to pain my heart —
and with a trembling voice I pronounce the name of the shtetl of my
birth.
According to what my countrymen have told me, I have concluded that
I will never again see the shtetl of my birth. No pictures remain.
It is part of the disappeared world that was destroyed by the
Germans. No reminder of the past is available.
Now, miraculously I have been shown pictures of the shtetl. I
recognize the houses. The entire city comes to mind. It is as if
that what was destroyed has been rebuilt. It is an important
occurrence; therefore I am obligated to write about the matter.
It happened in the following manner.
In the Forward, I met a new typesetter whose name is Herman Silver
and resides at 1026 President Street in Brooklyn. I listened to his
speech pattern and concluded that he must have come from Galicia. It
is remarkable that a Galician Jew possesses photos of my Lithuanian
Polish town.
On a certain day, standing on the tenth floor of the Forward Building
where all the typesetters work, I started talking with the Galician
typesetter. He tells me that he comes from Kalbushov Galicia. I tell
him that I come from Lune, from the district of Grodno. He then
starts talking in his quiet and distinct manner: are you interested
to see pictures of your shtetl? Can I show them to you? I have them
in my house. I took the photos in 1931 when I visited the shtetl.
I remained standing dumbfounded when he told me the news. In the
beginning I thought he was jesting but from the sincerity in his
voice I knew he was not kidding. I asked him: how does a Galician
Jew end up in a Lithuanian Polish shtetl?
He responded that he is married to a woman that was born there. She
is a granddaughter of a Mirke the shopkeeper; the daughter of Peshe
Mirke. He continues telling me that in 1931 he and his wife traveled
to Europe. Before their journey they visited Galicia and then Grodno
and Lune in order to visit our respective families. While in Lune, I
took snapshots of buildings and people.
I pleaded with him to bring the photos. The next morning he brought
the photos and before my eyes the shtetl lived again. It brought
back an ocean of memories.
Among the photos he brought, included the old and the new Beys
Midrash where I spent my youth learning Torah — the beautiful brick
buildings that the Nazis ordered the Jews to disassemble. I also
recognized my parent's brick building. He also showed me comical
pictures of my shtetl: sheep pushing each other on the roof and
eating the straw that was there and a goat standing in the middle of
the market as if she was the boss of the town.
When I saw the goat in the market it saddened my heart and I was not
to be able to laugh. It seemed to me that I recognized the goat. I
remember that forty years ago before I left the town, the sheep were
pushing one another on the roofs and walking through the market. It
is as if no change took place. The shtetl's appearance is as if when
I left it: without any change.
It was nice of Mr. Silver to show me the photos and give them to me.
The majority of photos I will donate to YIVO in order to preserve
them as a memorial to my birthplace and a memorial to a once Jewish
shtetl.
Many times it comes to mind why people yearn for their places of
birth. We have been living in America for a long time. We have
raised children in America. Our standard of living is incomparable.
We have no one there and we still yearn for it.
So for what are we yearning?
According to my understanding I am yearning for two things:
1)
the old and new cemeteries, where my grandparents are lying,
where their friends are lying, and where my mother is lying; and
2) I yearn
for the study halls that I attended in my youth in order to learn
Torah.
I will not be able to see the outer appearances of all the buildings
that were important to me and have remained in my memory and were
destroyed by the Germans. With my chance encounter with Mr. Silver I
was once again was able to awaken the past memories of my little
shtetl as if in a dream.
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