Pušalotas, Lithuania

Rachel Sharfshtein's memoirs

Translated by Gilda Kurtzman and edited by Howard Margol

My Life

By Rachel Elka Sharfshtein - 2004

Our Home in Pushalot

I, Rachel Elka Sharfshtein, the daughter of Yosef and Tzipa Gurevitz, was born in Lithuania in the village of Pushalot in 1916. From the time I left the village, 70 years ago in 1934, I have tried to remember the village and our life in my parent’s home. The homes in the small village were made of wood, with double windows and sand between them for insulation against the bitter cold. On the wide window sills the women would place their beautiful household items. On Christmas, the Gentiles would put their decorated trees with lit candles on the window sills; the Jews their Chanukah menorahs.

Some of the roofs of the houses were of straw and the others of black tar. The exterior shutters were held by menchelach; little figures of people made of iron. Usually, at the entrance to each house was a collection of boots, generally covered with mud. According to the number of boots we were able to know how many adults and how many children were in the house, and if we had guests, who the guests were.

There were no faucets or running water in our homes. In the center of the village there was a well, which was a place of assembly for the people of the village. This is where the adults had discussions and heard and spread gossip. Our homes were lit with oil lamps and candles because there was no electricity.

We didn’t know what cars and trains were. Transportation to nearby villages and to the large city of Panevezys was by horses harnessed to wagons. The same method of transportation was used by the Jews to bring their agricultural produce to the Gentiles to be sold. Agriculture influenced every aspect of the village, including the pigs and chickens which ran around on the muddy streets, mixed with the odors of food being cooked; potatoes, cabbage, fried onions. For some reason the smell from the homes of the Gentiles was different from the odor coming from the homes of the Jews. After some time we learned that they fried the onions in lard, and that made the difference in the odor.

A river ran along the edge of the village, which served as the playground for all the children of the village. In summer we swam and played games there. In winter, when the river was frozen, brave Gentile boys would compete to see who would succeed in crossing it. And when the river was frozen, we would bore a hole in the ice, drop a fish hook into the water and wait for a fish to take the bait. My swimming outfit was a large gown and so that it wouldn’t fly up, God forbid, was pinned together between the legs with a safety pin, ;and thus it looked like a pair of funny pants.

There was a custom in the town; a large number of boys went to South Africa after their bar mitzvah. Among them was my uncle, my father’s brother [probably Baruch Gurevitz]. These boys, after they established themselves, sent money to their needy families, some of which was used to immigrate to Israel.

When I think today of our small village, which was like one large family, I know that it was good there. I would go on trips with friends, and together we went to Lithuanian plays. My sister, Chana Dina, was very talented – she danced and sang in Yiddish in the plays that were put on in the town. Of course, we had no costumes so they made her a long, white beard and she wore our father’s jacket and pants.

Our Home

Our house, like all other houses in the village, was a small wooden house. Of the ten children my mother gave birth to with the help of a Gentile midwife who came to the house, seven survived. I was the next-to-last child. All the children received two names – I was named Elka-Rachel, and was called Rochele. In addition to our immediate family, an old aunt lived with us, maybe 95 years old. How and why she came to us – we, the children, didn’t know and didn’t ask. We received her as an “inheritance”. Although the house was small “the heart was large”. We always had guests and the house was full of life and happiness. The people who came to our home were usually those who came to consult with Father, who was a Ganse Macher (active in the community) in the village and also the sexton of the synagogue, and Mother – a quiet and modest woman – would serve them a cup of tea with kichelach or lekach (cookies and cakes).

In comparison with other people in the village we were considered to be a rich family. All the sons worked and we were able to allow ourselves the luxury of sleeping two in a bed, with one mattress with a cover and nightgowns. Mother used to put starched and ironed doilies of white lace on the window sills, that I loved so.

The toilets were in the yard; we did not have toilet paper and used newspaper instead. Imagine ten people in a hurry in the morning, yelling at each other, “Nu, come out already, what are you doing there so long, waiting for the Messiah?”, etc,. etc. In the summer we somehow managed but in the winter, with the freezing cold, it was difficult to leave the house. No matter what we wore it didn’t keep the cold from penetrating into our bones. However, inside the house it was wonderful. The large fireplace which held logs of wood had a double purpose; to warm the house and for cooking, and the smell of the wood and food cooking was something for which there was no substitute. On Fridays the neighbors would bring us their pots with chollent, to keep warm in the fireplace, and on Shabbat before lunch take it back to their houses. On winter evenings we would gather around the blazing fire, some of us sitting on a sort of mats on the floor and the others on chairs, and tell about the events of the day and on what happened in the village. Father was always busy with village affairs and the synagogue.

On Chanukah Father would light the candles and bless them, and all of us sang Chanukah songs. But, more than anything, we waited for the eighth candle – and you ask why? After the candles were lit, the blessings said, and the songs sung, Father called us to his chair and gave us Chanukah money. I remember very well that, when I was young, Father said to me “The little one doesn’t need a lot of money.” and gave me only a few small coins called prutot. And I so much wanted to get what everyone else got, but we did not challenge Father.

Studies

It was very important to Father that all of us receive an education. He hired a melamed [teacher of Hebrew studies] for the boys; a rabbi from another city who lived with us during the week and returned to his home and family for Shabbat. The teacher worked for his room and board. We girls learned in the Lithuanian school, a mixed school with both Jews and non-Jews, girls and boys and all of us were good friends.

To tell the truth, I didn’t like to study so much. I was more interested in singing, dancing, and hiking with my friends in the village and fields, and to go to Lithuanian plays. In school, in the winter we skied and in the summer we hiked. I remember that there was one swing in the school yard and each time a girl would sit on it, a non-Jewish boy would push her off.

Despite this, my report cards were better than my friends’. Father explained with great simplicity, “When you oil something, it runs smoothly.” In those days I didn’t understand the meaning of those words but what did I care, I enjoyed the results and that was all that was important. During all my studies, the principal and the teachers liked me very much.

To my great sorrow, during that period (I later told this to Father) my play and easy life at the school ended. Father transferred me to the Hebrew school that opened during those days. In that school we respected the teachers and the attitude towards them was different, and thus, without a choice, we had to study seriously. Obviously, the study of the Hebrew language helped me later in my life when I immigrated to Israel.

Nature Child

Until today, my ears ring with the name Uncle Abie from America called me, “Nature Child.” And I remember the strong hug he gave me when he came to visit. Uncle, my father’s brother, sent me a white dress from America. It was too long for me, but it was not shortened – so that I would still have it when I grew more. The shoemaker, Eliyahu, made my shoes too large by three or four sizes so that I would “live long on my feet”. I was very jealous of my friends, the sisters Gitka and Chana – they had sandals. In honor of the visit of my uncle to our hamlet, I wore the white dress. I put on the too-large shoes and while waiting for him to come, I was sent to return the cow from the pasture. On the way I picked some flowers and made crowns for the cow and myself, and so with joy and anticipation of the visit, I came into the room where the family and our uncle sat. “Nature child!” That was the name Uncle called me and then I went over to him and he gave me a strong hug.

Father

My father, Josef, was esteemed by all of us. He was a Jew of average height, “gingy” (red) hair with a long yellowish beard, and always wore a hat. He was a wonderful man, “head and shoulders” above others and everyone gave him honor. I think that actually the fact that he fought in the First World War made him a man of the world and therefore also was active in public affairs of the village and to do business as a seller of wheat grains. He was a warm and loving man, who was proud of his family and its branches; in his children, his two sisters and two brothers. His brother, Avraham, who later changed his name to Abie, went to the United States to study medicine. Despite the difficult financial conditions, the language and the loneliness in a strange country, he completed his studies. When he had his medical degree, he moved to Switzerland, where he married an English Christian. In the family it was forbidden to discuss his wife. It was important for Father to keep in contact with his brother and his wife. Therefore, because he didn’t know the language, Father went to a large city, bought books and taught himself English until he was able to write letters to them. Another of Father’s brothers lived in South Africa. Every week he would send us a newspaper, and Father would read from it to the congregants of the synagogue and tell them the news of the world.

Father was an honest and proper man, and in connection with this, I remember the story of something that happened to Chana, my sister. One day the door of the house opened and my sister, Chana, full of laughter and joy, tried to tell us something but none of us were able to understand her. Finally, after she calmed down a bit, she slowly took out from a hidden place in her dress, a shiny gold watch that she found on the street, and was ready to put it on her hand. Instead, Father stopped her and forbade her to do so. He took it to the synagogue; my sister stood outside and prayed that no one would claim it. However, to her sorrow, after someone identified it according to description, Father returned it to the owner. My sister, the “gliglech” (wild one), came home with a long and sad face.

Father loved people and accepted them as they were. He always greeted everyone before they greeted him, and requested that we do the same, saying, “When you go out in the street and meet people, whether or not you know them, say, Guta morgan.” (Good morning). They will answer you, “Guta yahr.” (Good year), and thus you will have a bigger blessing than what you blessed him. Father convinced us.

Father, who was successful in his deeds and realistic in his thoughts, did not agree under any circumstances that the boys should travel to South Africa after their bar mitzvah. He insisted that first they should serve in the local army in order that, if one day, they wanted they could return to Lithuania because according to the law whoever did not serve in the army could not return. He would say, “Since we do not know what will be in the future, do everything today that you can in order to prevent surprises in the future.” Later on, one of my brothers wanted to go to South Africa. Father, who was a loving family man, said, “It is enough that I have two children (Shalom and I) traveling around and I refuse to let them go. I can imagine what was going on in his mind and how he regretted it when the family went to the murdering fields. However, two children managed to be saved and their lives were given to them as a gift. The two children were me, Rachel in Palestine, and Shalom in South Africa.

Father, who was very religious, refused to be photographed, and until today, I have no pictures of my parents and brothers. When I think of them with longing, I see them in my imagination.

Mother

My mother, Tsipe, was a good-hearted woman, short, and she looked like me. Her face was pleasant and she had no wrinkles. She had eight sisters and one brother. As a child I knew none of them as they all emigrated to the United States, and only in Israel did I meet one sister who visited here [in Israel]. I remember Mother, always in a long dress with a scarf on her head, and flat shoes “toplach”.

Mother suffered from rheumatic fever and didn’t go out of the house much. In the house she was helped by a chair that could be moved to help her walk and when she was tired she sat in it. My oldest sister, Menucha, helped her run the house. They did everything together. Mother was devoted to her children and watched over them like hens watch over their chicks. Thus for example, when my brother Moshe was ill and his condition worsened, his cough was unbearable. Every moment we thought he would choke. In the neighboring town, Pumpian, a distance of about 6 kilometers away, there was a man – maybe a doctor, maybe a pharmacist. Mother decided that she must bring him to Moshe to check him and prescribe an appropriate medicine. It was late at night and Mother, in a great hurry, did not take a coat. It was raining heavily outside and Mother fell into a ditch at the side of the road. She was unable to get out of it and thus stayed there in the rain, the cold and the mud, wet through to the bones. Although Mother was in danger, I am sure she did not think of herself in those hours but thought about Moshe and the man who had to check him as quickly as possible. In the morning, Mother was taken out of the ditch and she continued on her way. Although there were many people waiting to see the man, Mother with her forceful convincing way, managed to bring him to Moshe. After he checked Moshe, he prescribed some medicine and Moshe got well.

We children respected her good heart and devotion and recompensed her for it in many ways. For example, Mother didn’t know how to read and write and my brother, Zalman, even when he was a man, would read the newspaper to her every day. One day his girlfriend came to take him out for a walk, but he explained to her that they would have to postpone the walk until he finished reading the newspaper to Mother.

Still today, it bothers me that I didn’t part from Mother with a kiss before I left the house to go to Israel. I thought I would return to see her before leaving the country. The communication between us was with letters and when I didn’t have a pruta to buy a stamp, I did everything so that I could send letters. When there was no more communication between us, I understood that Hitler had killed everyone.

In Honor of Shabbat

What did we wait for every week? Of course - Shabbat evening. The preparations in the house were done quickly. It was necessary to do so many things before Shabbat; to wash our hair with kerosene so that we wouldn’t get lice from the goyim, to wash ourselves with hot water in the house. Twice a year – before Rosh Hashana and Pesach – the water in the bath house was heated and everyone bathed there. Also the koshering of the pans for Pesach was done at the bath house by dipping them into a vat of boiling water. In general, cleanliness in our home was required of all of us.

After Mother became ill and walking was difficult for her, my oldest sister, Menucha, helped her with all the housework. Even though Menucha cooked according to the instructions of Mother, the food tasted better than Mother’s. We never let Mother know this. I can still taste the home-made bread, and we ate a lot of bread. There was no kosher meat to be purchased in the town because there was no shochet there. Generally, we only ate meat on Shabbat and holidays. In honor of Shabbat we prepared special foods, “gehackta herring” (salty fish salad), and soup with home-made noodles and meat. It was really a feast for a king.

We prepared our special Shabbat clothes. Each of us had one special Shabbat outfit and one for during the week. We set the table with a white tablecloth, and with nine candlesticks on it. I was puzzled by the reason for nine, because the other Jews lit only two. I never received an answer for this.

We finished the preparations, the house was clean, there was the odor of cooking food in the air, and we waited. When Father and the boys, together with the guests they brought from the synagogue, came in the house was filled with light. Father said Kiddush, made the blessing over the challah and distributed a piece to each of us for making a blessing. At the end of the meal we sang zmirot, followed by a discussion of the weekly Torah reading. Father then read articles from the weekly newspaper that my brother sent from South Africa. After the meal, and after Grace was said, in the summer we went out for a walk in the town. We met friends and everyone was dressed in their special clothes so that the special feeling of Shabbat was also felt in the streets of the town.

Who Will Build a House?

On a summer Friday, in the fervor of the preparations for Shabbat, a fire broke out in the stove and the entire house went up in flames. The sand that was between the windows did not prevent the fire from spreading and destroying the house. We were a helpless family; a large family with no roof over our heads for an indefinite period of time. But Jews are not without help; one of the non-Jewish families with whom Father had some business connections, took all of us into their home for a long period of time until we built a new home.

I recall one particular story. In the winter nights, in order that we should not catch colds, Mother forbade us to go to the toilets in the outhouse. In the kitchen there was a special chamber pot which was used only for this purpose. One night, my brother went to the kitchen, relieved himself in the first pot that he encountered and went back to sleep. The non-Jewish hostess did not get excited, washed the pot and used it as if nothing happened. I wasn’t able to understand the simplicity with which she accepted what had happened and deep in my heart I thanked her for not making a fuss about an unpleasant situation.

My Grandparents and I

Most of the children had a grandmother and grandfather who they visited and who spoiled them. I also had two sets of grandparents who lived in far away towns. My father’s parents and two brothers lived in a town so far away that we hardly ever saw them, and for all intents and purposes, I did not know them. The stories of the other children aroused in me a great desire to visit and stay with them. Father acquiesced to my desire and on one holiday, when I was about ten or eleven, Father harnessed a horse to a wagon and we went on our way to the town of Ponidel (today, Pandelis), a full day’s journey away. The route went along forests and fields where farm hands were working but I, from such great excitement, did not pay attention to the scenery or to the rain that fell on us from time to time. All I wanted to do was to arrive at my grandparents’ home, to meet them and to have them hug and kiss me like grandparents do.

The meeting was very emotional, exactly as I had imagined it. After the hugs and kisses and “Look how big she is”, “How pretty she is”, we sat and made plans for entertainment for the long holiday. My uncles would take me to see the town, Grandfather would tell stories about the family, and Grandmother would teach me all kinds of things. I would meet my cousins from the town and we would play together, and in the next vacation they would come to visit us. The same evening, surrounded by warmth and love by the relatives that I had just met, I fell asleep in my clothes from exhaustion. I awoke in the night and in my semi-sleep I forgot that I was in a strange house that I didn’t know. I felt my way in the dark and I tried without success to find the outhouse. It was hard for me to cope with the strangeness and the fear that attacked me and … I wet myself to my great shame. I was so homesick that I cried all night long. In the morning, my aunt saw my swollen eyes and understood what I went through the first night away from home and after a short conversation between us, promised to take me home the same day. Just as I waited with impatience to visit my grandparents, I had no patience to wait until I got home. I gave up on all the entertaining activities with my cousin, Menucha, who even then seemed to me to be a special person (I met her again later when I was in Kovno just before I came to Israel). You can imagine what a disappointment this was; to go away for the first time from the town and to come back in such a manner. My aunt took me home and again the tears filled my eyes and I didn’t look at the scenery on the way home. When I arrived home, I was happy to discover that my family missed me and were happy to have me return from the one and only visit to the home of my Horwitz grandparents, my father’s parents.

This was the first and only time I left the village until I went to Lithuania on my way to the preparation for “aliyah” six years later.

We saw my mother’s parents in the village on various occasions; there was no strong relationship between us and I don’t have any memories of them.

Preparing to go to Palestine

On the way to becoming a pioneer

What does a young girl in a small town want? To sing, to dance, to be happy. And so what does one do? Become a member of Hashomer Ha’tzair [a youth movement]. The group leader, a young man from the village tells about the Land of Israel, the scenery and the life here – young men and women work together, by day they build the country and sing and dance all night long. The descriptions fired my imagination; I was 17 years old and decided, “I am going to Palestine.”

Until today my mother’s shouts ring in my ears, “What will you do in Palestine with ‘two left hands’?” I answered her with confidence, “I will walk on the streets and yell with all my strength ’hi, hi, hi’. In Palestine I will be a laundress.” My parents’ and siblings’ warnings did not help, I was strong in my ideas, I am going to the Land of Israel.

The training in Hashomer Ha’tzir was two years. So much time was not for me, I was impatient. My neighbor belonged to Agudath Yisrael and tried to convince me to join them. After she told me that the preparation program was only six weeks – there was no need of any more effort on her part – on the spot I went from Hashomer Ha’tzair to Agudath Yisrael, and after two weeks I received an invitation to come to the training program. I didn’t sleep the whole night as I tossed and turned in the bed, my thoughts whirling in my head. “What will be? How will it be? Where will the training program be? Will I find friends?” Although I had questions and uncertainty, there was no doubt about one thing – no matter what, I am going to Palestine.

The training took place on the farm of some Gentiles in Lithuania far from my home. We were a group of joyful young men and women. We worked hard in the chicken coops, in the fields and all the work that was given to us by the farmer. We had a good relationship with him, but the conditions were less than good. We slept on straw mats without blankets. Obviously there was no kosher food so we didn’t eat meat, only bread, butter, milk, cheese, and thus we were hungry all the time. After a few weeks I received a vacation, and on a horse-drawn cart I returned home, tired and with difficulty managed to stay awake. Mother immediately prepared farfel with milk for me, the food that I liked so much. The house was warm and pleasant, and I ate and related to everyone about the training, the friends and the hard work – and Mother didn’t believe what she heard, that I worked like that. The exhaustion overcame me and I went to sleep in a bed with a mattress, with a blanket, dressed in a nightgown. It had been a long time since I slept so well. During the night I had many thoughts: Why am I leaving a home so very warm and loved? Why am I going to Palestine, what will I do in a strange place, far from all the family?

I awoke to hear loud knocks on the door. Father went to open the door and there stood the mailman and in his hand was a telegram to Gurevich – for me. I was to come the next day to Panevezys with my documents and passport. I had shivers and, of course, all the doubts I had fled as if I had never thought them, and I returned to be the same Rochele that all she wanted was to go to Palestine. All my family now turned to ask – “How will I do this? I don’t know anyone in Panevezys, what will I do?” My brother, Shiya, came to my aid; he was a big grains salesman and we traveled to the large city. I was tense all the way but my brother calmed me. And the big donor, Rubenstein, with whom my brother had a commercial connection, didn’t disappoint us. This man was ready to do whatever my brother requested. Thus I got the necessary documentation and even without paying for it.

When I went home for vacation, it didn’t occur to me that this would be the last vacation and parting from my family and even when we went to Panevezys I thought that I would still return home. But the reality was otherwise, and from there I went directly to Kovna. Until today, it pains me that I didn’t part from Mother with a hug and a kiss.

In Kovna, my brother Moshe, a shochet in a neighboring town, Veigba? knew well our cousin, Menucha. Menucha received us with open arms and was delighted to host us in her apartment. We sat and talked with enthusiasm and without any prior warning a young man breathlessly entered the apartment. He whispered something in Menucha’s ear and she, who was a Communist, turned white. It appeared that the government was doing a house to house search and we must leave her apartment immediately. Again the question arose – where will we go? I think that in those moments the loud beats of my heart were heard by everyone on the street. Finally a place was found for me in a home with seven children.

I was tired and confused. I was unable to sleep – every few moments another child woke up and cried. This one needed the toilet, this one had a bad dream, and one instead of returning to his bed mistakenly came into mine.

From Lithuania to Palestine

The year was 1935. Hitler was in power, Europe had begun to feel the “bad winds” but Lithuania was still unaware of them. When we got to Germany we saw little children on the street with flags in their hands, led by their kindergarten teacher, and everyone was shouting, “Hitler, Hitler!” The people who were responsible for us told us to close the shutters in the train, to be quiet and not to attract attention. Until then we had no idea what was waiting for Europe and the Jews, and that we would never return to see our families again.

We traveled a month to get from Pusalotas to Palestine, including two weeks on a boat. The atmosphere wavered between elation, singing and happiness in anticipation of our aliyah to homesickness and the sadness of leaving our homes.

One night we were awakened, and we were pushed to go up to a deck. Our hearts skipped a beat – from afar we saw the lights of Yafo. The sun slowly, arose; the sun of Palestine. Tears choked our throats, and thus we entered the port of Yafo. Close to the boat came strong sun-tanned people who spoke an unknown language, even a bit funny, and took us out to little boats that tossed in the water between the waves. Strong hands lifted us out of the little boats and our feet touched the ground of the Land of Israel.

Yafo, how beautiful: the dirt and the smells in the streets didn’t bother us (it wasn’t much better in Pusalotas), the houses, the colorful markets, the Jewish men and the women with the scarves on their heads – all of this touched my heart. I was hypnotized. The first night, exhaustion and emotion overcame me; I fell to sleep in the hostel, set up especially for those who had just arrived in Palestine, without thinking or knowing what tomorrow will bring. It was the best sleep I had since I left home.

Some of the people who came with us on the boat went to a kibbutz and I stayed in Tel-Aviv, about which I had heard so much. Until today, the Jewish Agency owes me 200 lirot that my parents deposited with them. Those who went to kibbutz received their money but those who stayed in Tel-Aviv did not receive even a pruta. And so began my life in Palestine, never to see Pusalotas or my family there again.

Rachel died on Mar 18, 2007 in Rehovot, Israel.