In memory of Moshe Shorenson
“Moshe, my dear, come to bed, it’s already so late.”
“I’ll soon be finished binding this book that I promised its owner would be ready by tomorrow morning”, replied Moshe to his wife’s urgings.
After all, one’s word is one’s word and must be kept, otherwise no one will have any faith in you. And a bad reputation spreads faster than a good one so can Moshe have the heart to leave the job unfinished? To this day, no one has ever lodged any complaint against him.
Silence reigns, broken only by the buzz of flies, though even they fail to distract Moshe from his work. From an adjoining room, where the children sleep, can be heard the faint sound of snoring.
Outside the shutters, too, there was complete silence and no flicker even of movement. The whole town of Krak was as fast asleep as the dead. Nature also was at rest – there was no wind, no rail, no dew. Without a doubt, Moshe was the only one still sitting in his workshop absorbed in his work.
You may doubtless think that Moshe is your ordinary bookbinder. On the contrary, he is highly qualified and a specialist in his art. When he binds an old book, his skillful fingers shape an antique work of art, far superior and more beautiful than any new book you can buy. He cuts and straightens out all the pages adding new flyleaves in the front and back and making a new cover with the synopsis in the back or inside cover. He decorates the cover in gold, so that one cannot fail but become enamored of the appearance of the book more than its actual content, apart that is from the holy books, whose content is of course incomparable.
Indeed, in the surrounding shtetls, apart from in Krak itself, the dynasty of bookbinders of the Shorenson family was widely known. Moshe’s father, Shimon, the famous bookbinder, was known not only for his skill but as a learned man, a man who had ordination as a rabbi. People would come to him not only to bind books, but to ask his advice and for a blessing. Keiden was a county town, to which county Krak also belonged. Many Keiden residents were Shimon’s customers and the Jews of Keiden held his opinion in high esteem. But Shimon hardly hoped that his son Moshe would become such a great specialist in the craft and inherit all its secrets. It only goes to show that often the children excel over their parents. And thus, the proud title of “bookbinder” passed on from one generation to another. In addition to bookbinding, Moshe could also put up wallpaper.
Moshe was conscripted into the Czarist Army in 1912, where he served in the 19th Siberian Firing Squad. Before completing his service, World War I broke out followed by the civil war heralding the Russian Revolution. He was wounded twice, was a prisoner-of-war and returned home only in 1919. It was then that Moshe began a new life. During all the years of his absence, he yearned not only for his shtetl Krak, but also for his craft. Moshe had a reputation of having hands of gold not only because the lettering on the cover was engraved in gold, but because he never refused to make the covers either in leather or cardboard, shiny or matt, large or small – everything he did was with perfection. His family was quite large but his earnings were small, as he lacked the audacity to ask a high price for his excellent work.
He was proud of his little shtetl. With great vexation he spoke of those who abandoned their nest and headed for the large cities.
“If one must go, then one’s destination should be Eretz Yisrael, the land of our forefathers, not for the sake of the fleshpots or an easy life.” His ideal was to collect a little money and take his whole family to Eretz Yisrael. Krak was in fact Jewish shtetl. Most of its inhabitants were Jews, not unlike other small shtetls in Lithuania. Only a few non-Jewish families lived there. By contrast, 300 Jewish families lived there, comprising their own artisans businessmen, a rabbi, a chazan (cantor), learned men and paupers, their own shul (synagogue) and cheders (Hebrew schools). A few intellectuals and some wagon drivers. They also had their own shochet (meat slaughterers) and a number of butcher shops, rich merchants and Jewish poverty. The shtetl also had rural merchants, who traded with the non-Jews of the surrounding villages. In a work, Krak was rich in all things like many other pre-war Jewish towns and villages in Lithuania.
A congenial youth grew up there. But after completing the cheder, they had to go to another town to study in a yeshiva or a high school. A small section remained to continue studies in the only local Lithuanian high school. Apart from all this, there was a Jewish hospital, an old-aged home, a pharmacy, a photography shop, an inn; also a police officer and two constables. The older generation would rise early at dawn every day to hasten to prayers at the bet-midrash and read a chapter of the psalms, study a blatt gemorrah ( a tractate of Gemorrah) or Mishna. There were also those who liked to indulge in a little gossip or unburden their cares. The youth were quite different and were drawn to science, becoming estranged from religion. But a portion remained loyal to tradition and devoted to Jewish rituals and customs. Most of them departed to study in the Yeshivas.
Shabbat eye was a major event in the shtetl. Just before sunset, all the stores and workshops would close down, the wagon horses were unharnessed – all is concentrated on this effort. If I should try to resist the custom by being tardy in closing the shop or going to the barber, – they would make of me a piece of twisted string. Moshe was not as religious as his father, but he was strictly observant of all the rituals. Shabbes was Shabbes and kashrut (kosher food) was rigorously adhered to. Though his income was low, the family had kiddush (prayer over wine) on Friday nights, the tastiest meals including gefilte fish, tzimmis (a carrot dessert), cholent. Early Friday morning, his wife, Esther, would bake a whole slew of goodies for the whole week, including plaited challot for the Sabbath.
Picture of Moshe Shorenson with his wife and children.
In one respect, the little shtetl of Krak did differ from the others – it had no nickname. In Lithuania of those days as well no doubt as in other European countries where there were Jewish communities, it was a common thing for a shtetl to have a nickname, such as, for instance, the Polish shtetl of Chelm. Who hasn’t heard of the fools of Chelm? In Lithuania there were the gluttons of Rasein, the hunchbacks of Keidan, the goats of Widokl, the sleeping Kelmer folk, the worms of Ragol and many more. You may perhaps think that, God forbid, all the Jews of Keidan were hunchbacks, or that whole families in Rasein who would for days on end go hungry and then fall upon any food provided – would that make them gluttons? The Jews of Kelem too had no greater tendency to fall asleep than other shtetl Jews, while there was no lack of wise men in Chelm. These nicknames were the result of incidents in history together with the peculiarities of certain famous personalities.
I took a special interest in why the Jews of Kelem were known as sleepers. Well, the Jews of this shtetl themselves told me this story: A magid (preacher) recently arrived in the shtetl. As was the custom, the Jews assembled in the synagogue. Where then would those traditional Jews spend their Shabbat? Either in shul, or go walking after the Shabbes meal, or take a rest after a week of hard work. The majority would turn out to hear what he had to say. So one time, the magid happened to be a nudnik and he kept on repeating himself, so that a number of his listeners, out of sheer boredom, dozed off and the rise and fall of snoring could clearly be heard. the magid noticed that most of the congregation was asleep, but failed to grasp the cause. That’s why when he came to another town, he reported that the Kelmer Jews were sleepers and wouldn’t even listen to a sermon by a magid! Thus gradually the legend spread about the sleeping Jews of Kelm.
And here is an example about the Widokler Jews, how they came to be known as goats: Most of the Jews of the shtetl of Widokle lived very frugally. They couldn’t afford to keep a cow, nor to buy dairy products especially for large families. So they kept a goat. Thus the nickname stuck of the “Widokler goats”. And so on for all the other nicknames of Jewish shtetls in Lithuania.
Nicknames were applied not only to shtetls, but also to certain individuals. For instance, Krak did not have a nickname and had a good reputation in the neighboring towns. Doubtless, that is why it was rich in nicknames for its Jewish residents. For example, Meir, the shoemaker was known as “Meir the Fig”, Mendel, the tailor, was called “Mendel the Goat”; then there were Nissan the Whistler, Yankel the Bear-chaser, Berel the Matchmaker. Laizer, the foreman was known as “Sixfinger”, Meishel, the watchmaker was called “the Loksh” (noodle). Each nickname was based on the character traits of the individual. And women, too, were not exempted, such as “Soral the teigel” and “Henne the feigel”, “Reisele the Meshugen: and “Sheinke the hunchback”, “Malka the cow”, and “feige-Dvosha the Half-wit” (kunelemel). There were plenty of goodly appellations, though no lack of derogatory ones. For instance, “Avremele the Rat”, “Berel the Ox”, etcl Like Berdichev in the Ukraine and Chelm in Poland, Krak held a well-known niche in Lithuania. If one wanted to curse someone, one often used the expression: “I have you in Krak.”
As I said, relations between the Jews of the shtetl and the peasants of the surrounding villages were friendly. The Jewish merchants had their regular customers. The non-Jews would bring live fish, chickens, fresh eggs, cheese, potatoes and other vegetables to the market for Shabbat.
Moshe, the bookbinder, also had customers among the Christian priests who paid fairly well for the binding of their holy books. Nonetheless, Moshe was sometimes compelled to go to his neighbours for a loan for Shabbat purchases. One day followed another; their children grew up and expenses rose. As the saying goes, “Small children, small troubles, big children, big troubles.”
Lithuania was flooded with all kinds of Yiddish newspapers and journals. Each political party published tis own paper. One was apolitical “Die Yiddishe Shtimme.” Krak was no exception and one had a choice of news-papers there. Of late, Moshe received “Die Folkshtimme”, the communist newspaper. At first, he was reluctant even to touch it, but curiosity go the better of him and he decided to see what was being published in a workers’ paper.
“Nu, Esterke”, he said to his wife. “See how happily the people in the Soviet Union live. Everyone is provided with work and housing, one is free and all are equal; there are no rich, no poor, can you imagine what kind of life they lead?”
“Moshele, you probably believe that everything written in the paper is true. I don’t believe it”, Ester answered.
“Yo, but if it is printed, it may in fact be true. Like the saying ‘If the bells are ringing, it signifies a holiday.”
From then on, Moshe didn’t cease thinking of the wonderful life in the Soviet Union. Some nights, he would sigh deeply. He sometimes also felt a twinge of doubt about the truth of the reports, but deep in his heart he coudl not repress a longing, a hope of a better life. He dreamt of living to see that Jewish labourers would not have to worry about the daily bread and could rest assured about their future.’
Moshe would often stint himself of his own needs in order to provide for his children, so hungry, without sleep, so that his children should not want. His wife would joke about it.
“If God doesn’t help with a good income, it pays to be thrifty, and frugality is often better than being a good earner.”
“It doesn’t matter, Esterel, our street will also have its day in the sun.”
Mendel, the tailor, came of late to visit Moshe, to pour out his heart.
“Moshe, have you heard the news? Meir, the bear-chaser’s son has sent a letter from the U.S.S.R. Somehow it seems to be like a bunch of lies. Or is it in fact the truth?”
“Have you read the letter?” enquired Moshe.
“No, I personally haven’t read it, but Moshele, the Loksch, said that he has.”
“And what did Meir’s son write?” asked Moshe. He never called anyone by his nickname, as he felt is was derogatory.
“Meir’s son writes that he’s living in a paradise.” Mendel almost shouted out the words.
“What does he mean by paradise” Does he know what paradise is like or even hell? Has be already been there and then came back to earth?”
“Don’t laugh, Moshe, he writes that he has four suits, a separate government flat for which he pays some kopeks and which has running water and a closet, a bathroom with a bath, a kitchen with all the accessories, central heating and is furnished. He is assured of regular work and earns a good salary, and if his employer should wish to fire him, he has no right to do so. No Jew is badgered and Jews enjoy the full rights of freedom.”
“That’s no news to me. I’ve read it all in the papers. But it seems to me that there’s a taint of propaganda about it.” But deep in his heart he still believed that it was all true.
“In other words, you don’t believe what he writes in his letter.”
“Yes and no. In order to actually believe such things, one must make a personal investigation.” Moshe replied, “but neither you nor I are able to do so. And I only believe what I see with my own eyes!”
The three shutters in the little of wooden house opened up easily this time. Moshe slept badly that night. He opened up the of top windows and inhaled the clear outdoor air. The air was worm and fresh. The sap of ;the green bushes and trees gave off many aromatic scents. Thin rays of sunlight filtered into the bedroom and lit up the sleeping faces of his children. That was June of 1940.
On that day, rumours abounded that the regime of Smetona (president of Lithuania) had fallen, and that power was now in the hands of the proletariat. The whole of Lithuania was occupied by the Red Army. the news travelled fast also to Krak. And, in fact, Moshe was one of the first to learn of this.
But his mind was still not at ease. He was suddenly beset by doubts.
“My dear Moshe”, said the elder Shimon, the bookbinder, his clever father, “this is no freedom. Look at the dark clouds gathering in the sky. This doesn’t portend any good. It’s a pity that only a few are aware of it.
It seems that now we’ll see the beginning of a tragic time for the Jewish people.”
“What are you saying, Dad? Look what’s going on in the street. Joy and singing everywhere. Have you ever seen such a thing?”
“That’s the trouble, that I’ve never seen such a thing before. Don’t think that everyone is so happy with the arrival here of the Russian Army. Take a good look, my boy, at who is so happy. Don’t forget that a true Lithuanian citizen has nationalistic values – the striving for freedom and independence.”
“Well, we have attained freedom.”
“Is that what you think? That is your painful mistake. This is no freedom it’s slavery. The landowners, the Jewish businessmen, the intelligentsia are all silent. They’re taken by surprise and haven’t yet grasped the tragedy of their immediate future. That’s shy they are reacting with apathy. But the inner protest will grow from day to day, and this won’t bring us Jews any luck to say nothing of inflated freedom.”
This was a father taking to his son, and not just any father, but one who had lived his life and experienced it’s vicissitudes. A Jew, a tzakid – a righteous man – a teacher with an instinctive intuitions, who took a sober view of the future and made an unerring analysis of the past and the present.
The religious Jews, the elite of the shtetl, gathered in the synagogue and prayed quietly, not discussing the situation. The Lithuanian non-Jewish elite, the aristocracy, the landowners and those who just felt concerned, assembled in the churches.
On the first days of the Red Army take-over, the shops remained closed. And who were those who frolicked in the streets? Jewish and non-Jewish youngsters, children and craftsmen – they immediately found red ribbons which they stuck into their lapels, or put on red ties. But there were also youngsters in the street wearing black flowers in their lapels, black ties and black ribbons on their arms. There were no Jews among the latter. These were the Skotein (Shauliston) or else members of the Lithuanian “Tautininksi” fascist organization. Their faces showed a grim determination and readiness to throw themselves into the battle against the new-found freedom.
Freedom for political prisoners, bread, peace and work – these were the slogans paraded in the streets. Gradually, more and more people showed support for the slogans, and their popularity became more widespread.
One person had found a red flag and was waving it for all he was worth.
The few policemen in the shtetl attempted some half-hearted arrests, but no one was unduly disturbed by this. On the contrary, the police themselves were uncertain as to what they had to do, since there were really only two of them in the village. They did not have the boldness to make any decisions nor did they receive any directives from the higher authorities, and hence they took no action.
On June 21, 1940 the folk proclaimed its decision to accept Soviet rule in the land and “to request” the U.S.S.R. to take over Lithuania as it was. At the same time, all political prisoners were released. The large business enterprises, factories and plants were taken away from their owners. Officially, this was known not as robbery, but as “nationalization”. The large tracts of land owned by landowners were confiscated. An agrarian reform was instituted throughout the country and the expropriated lands were distributed among the poor land laborers, or peasants.
Divisions of the Red Army flooded Lithuania. Their entry was received with mixed feelings. The majority of the population was singularly indifferent, while some received them with flowers and song – mainly the freed political prisoners and the leftists, who suddenly came out of hiding. Among them were now a few Jews, while a large percentage of the communists were indeed Jews. The streets of the large towns rang with music and Soviet songs, such as “Katyusha”, “Solika”, “Yesli Aoftra Va’ina” (In the Morning a War) and many others. The shtetls were rather quieter, but the winds of change spread there rapidly.
Moshe sat at home and did not go out into the street. He couldn’t decide how to react to the new powers. True, times had always been hard earning a livelihood – but if it would now be better he was not at all sure. He was always in conflict – the new versus the old, with the old mode of life, his problems with the authorities. And maybe his father was right, after all, since he was indeed such a wise man. Could one really believe the words of the hymn – “He who was nothing will now become mighty.”
Moshe had always dreamed and hoped for a new life, and when it came, he was assailed by doubts.
“Go out, Moshe, into the fresh air and hear what is going on in the outside world”, his wife’s urgings broke in on his thoughts. And take your son with you.”
“what hasn’t he seen?” asked Moshe. “There’s enough turmoil in the streets without him”, said Moshe, unwilling to take his son.
“Moshe, my dear:, Esther begged of him. “It’s a pity for the boy to remain indoors. Let him too breathe the free air of this new life.”
You foolish woman, thought Moshe. How naïve she is, just as if she were a minister in the new regime.
Yankele, their son, was not at home, and not wanting to quarrel with his wife, he let himself be talked into going out into the street. He put on his Sabbath suit and on the doorstep bumped into Yankel.
“Oh, look Dad, what’s happening in the streets! Just see how the underworld is embracing the Red Army and adorning their horses with flowers.”
Moshe, like most of the Jewish community was acutely aware in recent years of the spread of incitement against Jews. Anti-Semitism was rampant in the land and Fascism had penetrated into every aspect of life. The fascist Brownshirts hooligans had picketed large Jewish stores and incited the Lithuanian population to boycott them. In particular, a lot of effort was invested in this despicable activity by the semi-military organization, the so-called Shaulson and the fascist Smetani Organization – the Nationalists.
The daily Lithuanian newspaper, “The Lithuanian News” and “The Lithuanian Sound” had in recent years conducted from time to time an incitement campaign against the Jews against Russian-speaking people who were employed by some of the Jewish intellectuals. An incitement campaign was also conducted in the columns of the above newspapers against Jewish merchants. Such instigating’s were given a boost particularly after the occupation of the Memel (Kleipeda) Region by Nazi Germany.
The Shtetl Krak was no exception to this onslaught. It too had had a taste of the anti-Semitic attacks. So that when the Red Arm marched in a new hope flared up among many Jews that everything would change for the better, and there would be an end to all their suffering. Moshe too could not suppress some feelings of sympathy towards the new order, though he as in no hurry to express this opinion. Even with his own wife he held back from sharing these thoughts.
“In any case”, Moshe finally allowed himself to be persuaded, “I’ll take Yankele out with me, since he’s already been in the street and seen it all.”
And indeed the streets were filled with gaiety and revelry; there was music and song everywhere. But not every heart was flowing with joy, even amongst the Jews. The rich Jews, the merchants, kept their shops closed for the present. But the next morning some of them opened up. Many of the shopkeepers after all lived from the meagre profits from their trading. And if the shop is closed, there is no income at all. The Blackshirt gangs, the fascists and Shaulson members looked with hatred upon the joyful street scenes. Also, many landowners seemed to have abandoned their previous equanimity. The earth beneath their feet had become slippery. Here and there words of warning were issued;
“We’ll see for how long the Jewish rats will have the strength to continue such celebrations. ”
“We’ll show you how to receive the Red Occupation with flowers.”
“Not for long will you have the upper hand”, they mumbled. Those most bitter were not afraid to threaten:
“revenge will get you sooner or later.”
But they didn’t dare to raise their voices high against the new order. Moshe and his son wandered through the narrow side streets like tourists. “Dad, has the Red Army taken over for good and will we finally be able to breath more easily?”
“My dear son, I think the Red Army is our army now. It is strong enough to remain forever.”
“But dad, you taught me that nothing is forever, that everything has a beginning and an end, isn’t that so?”
“Yes. Only the Almighty in heaven knows the real truth. Maybe you’re right.” Moshe wanted to convince himself that he was right, but an inner voice nagged at him:
“Don’t be in a hurry to take action, you even have doubts about what to say.”
Rumors were rife that all the rich, the nationalists and the Zionists were to be sent off to prison in Siberia.
Zalman, the shopkeeper, sat in his store behind half-closed doors with a face white as a sheet, looking neither alive nor dead, and every slogan pierced his heart like needles. As he directed his gaze through the window into the street, what he saw made him jump up as if he were burnt by boiling water, and he would then return to sit even further back behind the table.
“Poor Zalman, I pity you. You’ll be sent to the end of the earth, where there are no motorcars, no airplanes, and few horses; no human being can be seen there, no cock will crow nor any wind will blow.” Upon hearing these ominous words, Zalman sensed the presence of the Angel of Death. But he must put on a good face, nonetheless, and as he was no fool, he answered nonchalantly:
“Thank God, at least I wouldn’t be there on my own, so I certainly shan’t get bored”
Early the next morning, Zalman hastened to the Shul to ask for God’s help, to recite a relevant psalm, believing that this would bring him salvation.
Moshe did not believe the wild rumors. He understood well who were spreading these propaganda, who were the inciters with their poisonous tongues. These were the same hooligans who were inciting against the Jews. these doctrines were hardly self-inspired. They were largely the work of Nazi Germany, inspired by Hitler and his accomplices, may they be forever cursed.
Moshe wandered further and further. The fresh air caressed his face, the scent of the flowers overpowered his nostrils and the birds sang their familiar tunes. He seized Yankele by the hand and pressed him close.
After the long walk over the shtetl, his mind was not set at ease. As he lay in bed, his thoughts ran over the recent events and he could not fall asleep. He recalled his youth, the years of fighting and imprisonment. Now he was not in the best of health. He could feel the pounding of his heart, some pain in his head, his hair changing color with the years and streaked with grey. Time had passed so quickly, there had been no opportunity to improve the lot of the people as a whole. No, things could not continue as they were, the way of life must be changed, to spite all the anti-Semites.
Moshe had decided to take himself in hand, to start the new life by actively participating in the communal activities of the shtetl, in upbuilding socialism. maybe it really would make life easier. He had recently read a book by the Russian writer, Maxim Gorki “Man is the Source of Pride” and “Love work, no other power can make man a worthy and wise human being than the power of work, collectively, friendly and free.” Why had he suddenly recalled Gorki’s words? Perhaps friendliness, freedom and collectivity would indeed make man happy.
The next morning, quite early, Moshe again took out his only festive garb eele from the cupboard – his suit and hat. Very, very rarely would he ever deck himself out in his best clothes, mostly on holydays. He gulped down two glasses of tea with a slice of bread and butter and again went out into the street. He went over to his friends to unburden himself. Among the workers he had considerable authority. He was neither communist nor socialist, but he was know to all as a hard worker, a man without malice, always ready to help his fellowman. They would often turn to him for advice and to share their innermost thoughts. For each one he had a ready word and appropriate counsel. He received everyone hospitably and with open arms. And that was indeed why he was one of the first candidates to be proposed to the shtetl committee. The Krak residents trusted in him and put their fate in his hands and chose him as a member of the Soviet committee for their shtetl.
Moshe spared no effort in creating a new world.
“Look here, Moshe, my dear son, I hope you won’t have any regrets about this activity”, warned his elderly father, Shimon, the wise bookbinder.
“What then, was it better with those vicious fascists?” said Moshe, on the defensive.
“Dear son, one mustn’t live only for the present, one must give some thought for the morrow too.”
“It is in fact the future that will be better for us Jews.”
“You will soon bite your tongue when you learn of the “Improvement”.”
“What then do you think, I must sit at home and count the pennies I need to support my family?”
“If you would have been elected chairman of the Jewish congregation, would you also have put in so much effort?” asked his father still unrelenting.
“Under the previous regime, yes father, but not today.”
“Then you can no doubt already see how good it is for our Jews and I’ve been proven right, no?”
Moshe couldn’t find any answer to this , for deep in his heart there was a hidden doubt. Perhaps he should really not have undertaken such a responsibile task. Perhaps he should really not have undertaken such a responsible task. Still, as a Jew in the Galut! He was accustomed to submissiveness and also working with a will, sot that he was embarrassed to withdraw from the position. he also at times received warnings from the underworld.
Once he found an anonymous note on his worktable: “We’ll still come to terms with you, you Jewish vermin.”
But Moshe was not alarmed by this. He was confident that the Red Army was strong enough to defend him, and the Soviet regime would not permit the Lithuanian nationalists to carry out their threats.
The poor non-Jewish peasants received land thanks to the agrarian reformland which they had previously worked on as serfs for the landowners – and also those who had never owned any land before. Cooperatives were established and all workers were provided with work. At the same time, persecutions bean of factory owners, tycoons, responsible government officials of the previous regime, Zionists, leading personalities of the Shaulson and Totininke organizations. Some of these had gone underground with their opposition activities. apart from these, ordinary members of the Lithusanian Nationalist Movement remained free and quietly readied themselves for resistance. A wave of arrests led to some of the detainees being sent to Siberia. The Yiddish newspapers disappeared except for the communist “Folkshtimme” (Voice of the People). The yeshiva and Yiddish theaters were closed down, as was the Jewish high school. Hebrew became an invalid language.
Nevertheless, everything was blooming; songs, mainly Soviet in Russian or translated into Lithuanian blared incessantly from loudspeakers. But all this served to incite the fascist elements, and nationalistic feelings fomented, not only among the Lithuanians themselves but among the national minorities particularly the Jews.
One heard of more and more frequent clashes between the Soviets and the Jews. It soon began to dawn on Moshe that his father was right, but he now no longer had any alternative. He was by now simply afraid to resign from his position, lest he be accused of subversive nationalism and be duly punished.
He heard from someone about train convoys which were on their way to Lithuania with empty cargo wagons, on whose walls were scrawled in chalk the words “The hungry Lithuania”. Once in Lithuania, the people were invited to eat meat, bacon, dairy and wheat products. They would then turn back towards Russia, the slogans deleted from their wagons. Moshe knew well enough that Lithuania had never gone hungry and there was no lack of food there; on the contrary, food was plentiful and often exported abroad. This caused him no end of anxiety. But one must not sit idle.
Moshe was involved with the town council (Selsovet) with whose members he sat till late in the evening. They had long debates over the organization of a new ????, giving credit for building new houses in the village for the peasants, putting in plumbing and many other daily issues.
He got home late at night, exhausted and uneasy. He dropped into bed his heart pounding. He took a pill to settle his heart and so, fully dressed, fell asleep. Early next morning, he was awakened by the dreadful racket of engines. He jumped up and ran outside. The heavens were full of airplanes, black and huge. What did this mean? They had not come from the Russian side, but the opposite. He started counting them: 20, 30, 50 – his mind boggled. Then they flew over and all became quiet – an eerie stillness reigned.
Moshe did not yet know that last night’s meeting of the town council was to be the last one; that lying in his own bed as in the past would no longer be possible. He re-entered the house perturbed, quickly washed his face, left the family fast asleep and went out into the street. Were these indeed German planes? It just couldn’t be. We have a treaty with Germany. he decided to slip into Anton’s – the secretary of the council – a quiet man dedicated to Soviet power, a communist since the age of 18. Anton was a Veteran fighter for Soviet mastery since 1918, was imprisoned twice under Smetana’s rule, a skilled and indoctrinated politician.
At the entrance to Anton’s home, Moshe accidentally ran into Petrus, a past member of Shaulson. He eyed Moshe up and down from head to towe with a murderous look growling:
“Aha, you’re already in a fright, you pagan Jew, youo’d like to flee. Don’t worry, we’ll meet again.” And made a rude sign into his face.
“Get away, you fascist, while the going’s good. If not you’ll come to a bitter end”, Moshe retorted boldly. But his voice rang hollow and held none of its previous confidence.
“So, we’ll see who will come to a band end.”
At that moment, Anton appeared at the entrance of his home, and the Shaulist disappeared in a trice. Moshe stood as if rooted to the spot. He was bewildered and unable to comprehend what was going on around him.
“Good morning, Anton.”
“A good year, alas the morning is not a pleasant one.”
“Did you hear what happened at dawn?”
“Yes, indeed I heard it. But I can’t quite fully understand what it means … maybe…” Anton was afraid to finish the sentence.
“I feel an inner disquiet,” Moshe ceded to his friend.
All of a sudden, as if in response to his misgivings, a thunderous explosion rent the air, shaking heaven and earth as dozens of airplanes flew low overhead.
“My dear Moshe,” Anton barely let out a whisper, “this is a real war and no laughing matter.”
Anton dressed quickly and again turned to Moshe. “Let’s hurry to the District Committee; they will surely know what has to be done. We must organize a resistance of dedicated members. The Red Army won’t permit the Germans to enter Lithuania. Only the underground organizations can now raise their heads, so we must be prepared for all contingencies. Moreover, we must telephone Kedan, to learn what the county leaders have to say.”
Phoning Keidan was impossible, contact had already been severed. The activists then decided to organize the communists and volunteers of the workers’ institutions in order to evacuate the residents of the shtetl. It was agreed that some would remain in the shtetl, who could later lead under ground activity, until such time as peace and quiet were restored in the country. Should the Red Army retreat, a group of partisans would be organized from among the loyal members to supervise the fight. Anton was a good blacksmith. After entry into Lithuania of the Soviet forces, he had decided to forge a new life.
Out of the 32- man activists and members of the District Committee and Council, eighteen gathered. Of the rest, two were ill, the other twelve were not at home. Some had managed to flee to the surrounding villages, others went into hiding in the village itself. The traitors soon revealed their true colors.
Several of these who met advised sending a representative to Keidan to ascertain what should be done. Some felt it unnecessary to evacuate the people, since obviously the Red Arm would prevent entry of the Germans into Lithuania.
In the hours, while the meeting was still in progress, it was announced on the radio that Germany had broken the treaty and without any prior warning or declaration of war had bombed Soviet towns and crossed the boarder in may directions as well a into Lithuania.
Soviet airplanes also appeared in the skies, but not for long. In their stead, there now appeared black clouds from the German side. When the skies had quietened down, the pounding of cannon artillery fire became increasingly powerful. The front kept on moving nearer and nearer to Krek.
In the evening, a directive was received from Keidan to make a quick evacuation of the inhabitants. Moshe’s family, too, grabbed their most important belongings and packed up to move out. According to the instructions, 18 persons, including Moshe, remained behind in order to conduct an underground partisan battle. The treachery of the fascist and nationalistic elements was fearsome and savage. they were like mice crawling out of their holes and immediately began to loot the abandoned Jewish homes.
It was far to the railway station from Datnova. To drive there by car was not at all convenient. The good cars had been requisitioned by the traitors and hidden outside the village. Those that remained were in a bad state of repair. There was no lack of horses to take everyone out in a cart. Moshe’s family took this course. He loaded them onto a wagon and bid them farewell.
“Have a safe journey, my dearest ones. I hope we’ll be freed soon and you’ll be able to return home safely.”
Late at night battalions of the Red Army appeared, but their direction was not against Germany but a retreat to Russia. En route, military vehicles with soldiers intermingled with the evacuees. Those who had not succeeded in procuring a wagon pushed their packages in prams, wheelbarrow or loaded on their backs. It was a motley crew – old and young, women and men, children and the sick, a mass of humanity streaming in the same direction.
A part of the Jewish community remained behind in the shtetl.
“There’s no need to run from the Germans. We remember them in Lithuania after WWI, they did the Jews no harm… On the contrary, they behaved decently and in a civilized manner…”
Their thought were in confusion. No one could quite believe that the Nazi Germans would torture and slaughter Jews. It did not even occur to them that the Lithuanians too could do this – those with whom the Jews had been friendly for hundreds of years… The first disaster struck/unexpectedly soon.
Early the next morning, even before the entry into the village of the German battalions, the Lithuanian nationalist – “the death squads” – encircled the secret headquarters with all 18 members, including Moshe, and brought them into the center of the village. On the same day, armed with machine guns and rifles, they led all of them outside the town and shot and killed each and everyone. When this gruesome deed became known, everyone was dumbstruck. The Jews realized that disastrous days lay ahead. Shortly after, the escape routes of most of the evacuees were cut off and they were brought back to the shtetl. The German army units took many Russian soldiers prisoner.
For two whole days, the bodies of the murdered committee members lay unburied. On the third day, they were all buried in a mass grave.
The Lithuanian National-Socialist Organization called itself “totininkai”, but the Jews called them by their true name: “Teitininkai”, that is , beasts who spread death and spill innocent blood.
Most of the Jews of Krok, like in many similar towns and villages in Lithuania succumbed at the hands of the Lithuanian murderers.
When I visited Krok after the war in order to ascertain the fate of the local Jewish community, I found not one Jew left there. The old Jewish cemetery was in it’s original place , but there was no new cemetery for those murdered during that war. The whole of Lithuania was in fact a graveyard of the vanished Jewish communities which had lived there for over six centuries and were brutally slaughtered by the coldest blooded barbarians of the twentieth century.
