yelena shmidova

Another area was also not deserted at night.  This was around the Pipke Tree.  Ripples of laughter could be heard coming from there and the tree was the only living witness to the number of kisses that materialized beneath its branches before the dawn.  The tree was proud to be so honored.  But he was usually silent guarding everyone’s secret.  In the rain, couples also found shelter under it.  He would cover his guests with his large broad wings keeping the rain away from them.

The “Pipke Tree” was not only a human guardian.  On the edge of its branches was a plaited basket of hay and straw.  He no longer remembered how long this basket had nestled on his branches nor how it was created.  But every year, as soon as the snow had melted and the air was warmer, two storks would come here and take over until the end of the summer.  They too came here on “duchy”, as a couple – man and wife, and at summer’s end, they would fly away with their children, a whole family.  Every year without fail.

They said that a stork brings luck.  No doubt this was why after many meetings under this tree, new families came into being.  The storks were accustomed to people, and neither disturbed the other.  And what’s more, the humans often took to watching the storks while the storks from atop the tree had a good view of what the humans were doing below.  Their way of co-existence served as a model for the people.  The tree had a sort of influence on living peace and friendship.  Under his branches, there never was heard a cry even from little children.

He was surrounded by a green satin carpet, decorated with long and short green and grey cones, and the long Yodle and Sosne pine needles.  Rolling about on this carpet could hardly be called “rolling about” since it was considered to be holy ground.  Religious youngsters and even older Jews were wont to stand and pray the afternoon prayers next to the Pipke Tree, refusing to seek out any other place for this purpose.  The tree was evidently also pleased with these prayers.

In the Tzitevner Forest.  First on the right (standing) Zalman Yalowetzky, murdered by the Lithuanians shortly before the invasion by the German army.  Next to him, his wife, Reizel, and the author’s parents.  Seated (from right to left) Mula Yalowetzky, Chaya (Irene) Hayat and the writer – 193).

Once, close to the outbreak of WWII, we all noticed an unusual phenomenon.  The first to observe this was my friend Menashe from Rakishok, whom we met here every summer.

“Take a look, Davidke, tears are falling from the elephant’s eyes.  It’s a bad omen, don’t you think?  The tree is crying for the first time, and this bodes ill.”

This was in the summer of 1940, the last duchy season for Lithuanian Jewry.

“What a prophet you think you are,” I tried to say soothingly.  But I felt a heaviness in my heart, as a looked searchingly at the tree in the hope that he had erred.  Unfortunately, this was no mistake.  Tears were indeed streaming down the tree.  I realized that this was no normal occurrence.  And this was the year of the Soviet occupation, the beginning of the nationalization of factories and large businesses, land reform and the so-called collectivization of land workers.  Rich peasants, the wealthy, merchants and former party activists were imprisoned.

The holidaying in Tsitevian came to a halt, and it became quiet and deserted.  The visitors had been Jews of all walks of life – rich and poor, workmen and merchants, teachers and students, employees and the self-employed.  The truly wealthy would take their relaxation in Palanga, Birshtan, Druskenink or Nida, but here was the choice for rest mainly for the middle-classes.  But for them, too, all this had come to an end, as had indeed Jewish community life in Lithuania.

…Now, a good fifty years had flown by.  I had never forgotten the Pipke Tree.  When I prepared myself to leave for Eretz Israel, I turned to my relative, Shmuel Yalowetzki, who had by chance survived the war and was living in Vilna, to accompany me to once familiar places in the country.  He agreed, and we made a trip in his car to many towns.  So how could we overlook Tzitevian, where we had spent so many summers together.  And once there, we couldn’t miss a visit to the Pipke Tree.  It took us some time to find it, and I had almost given up hope of doing so, fearing it had been destroyed.  But after some searching, we finally traced it – surrounded by trees and bushes, instead of a green carpet of moss and pine needles.  There were no signs of the numerous paths leading up to the tree all around.  None of these were left, nor was there for whom.  No one is taking any interest in the past.  Nettles have taken over the surrounding area.  We asked one of the locals if he remembered the nest of storks at one end of the woods.  He replied that he couldn’t recall seeing any storks there.  We could hardly recognize the tree itself, it was so overgrown with moss.

We also went to take a look at the lake nearby.  But there is no longer a pier, nor any boats, nor indeed the people whom these might serve, since not a single Jew there was left alive, they were all slaughtered.  The Lithuanian murderers dragged out every last one of them from their hiding refugees in the woods and killed them.

We went back a second time to take leave of the tree.  It looked sadly at us and was silent.  From its long nose issued a sort of smoke, as if here smoking a pipe and from his eyes tears rolled down.  Was he crying for all the sad post-war years, or only because we met again after such a long time is hard to tell.  No one had paid any attention to his condition.  Only Shmuel and I understood him well as an old devoted friend.

Again, I felt a shudder passing over my body.  It seemed to me that he focused his right eye on me.  Beneath his eyes, horizontally down his trunk to the ground, a wet streak was visible.  Round about him there was no sign of human footsteps.  His branches had thinned out, there was a deathly silence.  No more laughter, no more crying, no core couples – it saddened the tree.  For the first time, I understood that trees could not only be happy with people but could mourn with them.  They are more silent. Goodbye, you Pipke Tree.  Though your roots are in Lithuanian soil, here in the Holy Land, I shall never forget you.

If only you could speak, Pipke Tree, you would have much to tell.  How the men from the surrounding villages would travel every Friday to their families for the Sabbath, among them my late father.  On Friday, straight after lunch, he would finish his work, go to his friend, the wagon driver, borrow a horse and cart and ride to Tzitevian.  This was about 15 kilometers from Reissin.  And if, God forbid, he should be delayed or receive the horse later than expected, he would use his whip to hasten the creature:

“Hurry, hurry my little horse, Shabbat is fast approaching.”

And the poor horse would give off a steam as if he had an oven under his skin; he had to run fast all the way, fearing the lash of the whip.

When they reached the shtetl of Shidlove, passing through it was already half-way – 8 km. from Reissin.  If I happened to be home at that time, my father would take me with him.

My two sisters, Chaya and Chana and my younger brother, Shimon, would spend two summer months with mother.  The air is cool and fine and was only bad if it rained, when you could be soaked to the skin, since to go with an umbrella was no joy.  But rain was rare.  Mostly the weather was mild and to go in a horse and cart was a pleasure.

A small wood flashes past with the delicious scent of pine trees and moss.  The view changes rapidly and you soon come to the gardens and meadows and orchards, while the telephone pylons with tightly drawn wires accompany you all the way with an incomprehensible tune.

“My son, look at the windows of the houses to see if the Shabbes candles have already been lit,” my father asked of me.  He himself doesn’t have a chance to turn his head in that direction, since he must keep his eyes looking ahead, but he must be careful not to enter the town on the Sabbath but arrive on time.  There are many Jews in Shidlove, and naturally they light candles on Sabbath eve.  The distance to our destination is still substantial, but Thank God, all is calculated.  My father even has the time to take the horse to our peasant friend, Budzineiskas, where he will spend the Sabbath and be well fed and rested.  The wagon owner gave ample oats and hay to feed the horse, and if not, the peasant would supplement with his own.  Upon arrival, my father wipes the sweat off the horse with a cloth before handing him over to the peasant.  Each time my father would bring the man a present.

I am totally mystified by the name “Tobacco Pipe Tree” (or Pipke Baum).  From afar, one cannot discern a pipe but rather the chin of an elephant, and I would have named it “The Elephant Tree”.  One can see that from the chin, the snout stretches out and there are the two eyes, one on each side, and it is indeed like a real elephant.  However, as I’m neither the owner of the forest nor of its trees, I cannot change the world.  And as everyone knows it as the Pipe Tree, so I too must conform and call it that.

It is located at the end of a densely wooded forest in Titezvian.  Every summer, women with small children, the elderly and some young boys and girls, mostly high school pupils streamed to this village, known as Tituvenai in Lithuania.  They came to relax, breath in the clear, fresh air and get away from the turmoil of the town and daily concerns.  Most are there on duchy from the surrounding villages and towns and also from all the corners of the country.  They come because it is the most thickly wooded forest, the most common trees being pine and there are forest all around, but in the middle of this one is a huge lake, known as “Bridvaisto”.  Young and old come here to bathe, when the heat is at its height, to invigorate and refresh the body and soul, to soak oneself in the velvety waters of the lake, take a boat or swim to the other end of the lake.

Music is often heard there and people singing all kinds of Yiddish songs.  Some sit around in the shade on the edge of the lake; elderly couples play chess or dominos or lotto.  There is also a game of cards involving small boxes in each of which is marked a certain number.  In a bag, there are many wooden titles on each side of which is a number.  Whoever draws out the same number as that appearing on his card, puts up a stake.

The young couples rarely sit at the edge of the forest, they go out to swim with a boat or go deep into the woods, each with his own age group or friends, and according to his particular interests.  But the Pipe Tree does not differentiate between people.  It is a place for a rendezvous between couples, and also for the elderly to take a rest.  It has long and wide wings that spread out all around over the large area.

“Why is the tree actually called the “Pipe Tree”, I ventured to ask a Tzitieviane resident.

“Well, you see, you only come here in the summer.  But when one approaches the tree in the fall or the spring, when the sun warms the tree somewhat after a rain, one can see a sort of smoke rising from its mouth and the impression is as of someone smoking a long pipe.  It’s several hundred years old and is no longer a young tree; it smokes like in years gone by and that’s how it got its name.”

“How do you know this?”

“My grandmother told me and she remembers the name from her childhood.”

Young men would cut off pieces of bark from aged pine trees and from these cut out little ships, small houses and other interesting toys for small children to play with and float on the waters.  On the stumps of trees and even on the trees themselves they would make inscriptions and other signs.  The Pipe Tree had no such bad luck.  It was holy to all.  Nothing was cut or torn from it, no hammock was strung from it, it served as a symbol, a sort of museum piece.  Whoever wants to have a souvenir of the Tsitvianer duchy, will invariably take a photo with the tree.  The place occupied by the Pipe Tree cannot be passed by with indifference; one cannot but stop and look at it from all sides and drink in the pleasure of such a sight.

And who are those who await impatiently the arrival of the owners of the duchies?  More than anyone, of course, the peasants and the owners of the surrounding houses, set out lengthwise in the forest.  Here, in the summer holiday area, shops open up in the summer for the purchase of small necessities, restaurants where one an order a lunch or take a bit on the spot or a take-away meal, or an inn where one can sleep overnight.  And how can one possibly pass the summer without ice-cream?

The smart tradespeople are not asleep.  From early morning to late at night there are wagons laden with two kettledrums filled with ice.  In the one, there is white ice-cream and in the other fruit ice-cream.  The tradesman puts a waffle inside a tiny cone and with a spoon adds the ice-cream, and on top of that another waffle, pushes a lever at the bottom and the portion rises to the top.  The holiday makers called this simply “Morazena”.

The owners of the small houses rent them out to the Jewish holiday-makers, or only some of them, for the whole summer season, and they themselves move out into the courtyard or the barn of the summer kitchen.  This gives these tradespeople a chance to sell their food products locally instead of having to travel to the surrounding villages to do so.  This too makes their products available more cheaply  Here the holiday-makers are one kilometer away from the shtetl of Tzitavien, where there ae also food stores.  And this is where they make their small purchases of salt, sugar, matches, etc. which are not sold by the locals.  The local products, including dairy products such as cheese, butter, eggs, vegetables and fruit are quite fresh.  The regular customers receive milk just after the cows are milked and it is still warm.

Local stores mainly supply the local inhabitants.  The meat consumers buy live chickens from the locals and a shochet slaughters these; or else the men bring home for shabbat ready koshered meat or fish.  These had to be eaten when still fresh, since no refrigeration existed then only cellars where perishable food could be kept for only a day or two.  Dairy foods were kept in a deep well in a special bucket.  Milk, butter and cream were lowered with a thick string up to the surface edge of the water.  But such deep wells were few and not adequate for the needs of the summer holiday folk.  The snag was that these products could not be kept in the wells for any length of time.  This method was complicated by the fact that each time water was required, the food had to be removed before the water could be drawn out.

The holiday folk spent as little time as possible in their houses – eat breakfast, lunch or supper and off to the woods.  The older folks to the hammocks, the younger would wander around in the woods, play ball games or enjoy the lake.  Those who spent the most time in the houses were the Jewish mothers and grandmothers.  Indeed, they came to the duchies especially to prepare meals for their children and grandchildren, to care for their physical comfort and see that they were well-fed, rested and invigorated for the fresh air.  They were seldom to be found in the hammocks.

The Jews were no disturbance to the local Lithuanian population; on the contrary, the contact was mutually advantageous.  The residents gained from it and were never the losers.  Those who wished to be free of the chore of cooking lunch, would order meals in advance for a month or even a season from the “pensions” according to choice or take.  Naturally, the food was always kosher and each pension had its own particular menu.

During the day, a dead silence reigned in the streets, broken only at lunch time by the clatter of knives, forks and plates.  Voices rose up out of the woods.  The healthy ones went deep into the woods, where it was cooler and the sun did not filter through.  But in the colder air of the evening, everything changed.  The chirping of birds wafted in from the woods and the streets were filled with the clamor of human pleasure-seekers.  Here and there a musician was playing or records would twang out Yiddish melodies or music.  At the end of the village center there was a large hall.  In the evenings, both inside and outside this hall crowds gathered mainly of young people.  They came not only to dance, but to hear some gay and lively music, and old tango or a modern foxtrot.  As there was no room to dance a waltz inside, the couples danced in the street.  And many young couples drifted to the street on the edge of the woods, opposite the hall and danced there.  The music from the hall was loud and clear, especially when there was a band.  The older folk strolled nearby breathing in the clear forest air of Yadle and Sasne and enjoying the Jewish music.

“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 Army 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 meager 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 this 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 known 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 responsible task.  Still, as a Jew in the Galut!  He was accustomed to submissiveness and also working with a will, so 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 began 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.

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.

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”, etc.  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.”

While studying in the yeshiva, there was an occurrence that could have ended far more tragically.  On the eve of Pesach, we were given leave.  So what do young boys do, even yeshiva student, who want to take a break and enjoy themselves after sitting from early morning to late at night day in and day out studying Mishnaic and Talmudic tracts – a far from simple study as we all know.  So we – a gang of six boys – decided to go to a beach for a swim and recreation.  Our choice, Kleipeda (Memel) which was not far from Telze.  It was in March of 1939.  On the morrow, unexpectedly, in the middle of the night, the Germans entered and occupied Memel – and we were inside.  The boarder was closed immediately and the Germans forbade any movement across it.  Jews were not being killed yet, but there appeared at once on the billboards anti-Semitic slogans in German and Lithuanian for the persecution of the Jews.  Bathing in the sea and walking on the pavements were forbidden to the Jews.  We ran towards the boarder, hid for four days, and then choosing an opportune moment ran through the boarder.  We failed to notice the barbed wire stretched out lengthwise on the ground.  One of our gang of friends got caught in it and let out a shout of pain.  Shooting broke out immediately.  The other five of us succeeded in hiding out on the Lithuanian side of the boarder and were saved; the sixth however fell a victim to the shooting.  This was our first encounter face to face with danger.

In all, Telze was no ordinary shtetl.  Here holiness reigned.  There were no unbelievers there, nor apostates..  Though there were in fact a few unbelievers but they remained hidden so as not to upset the religious members of threat society.  The rays of glory of the famous yeshiva lent beauty to the town.  Even the gentiles showed respect for the Jews and veneration towns the Shabbat and the Jewish festivals.

A disaster is like a train, if the locomotive gets a blow or is braked, it sets up a chain reaction that involves all the carriages.  The blow cannot be one-sided, every misfortune has an end.  The first blow with Memel was followed by a second one.  Lithuania had been occupied by the Red Army and the Soviet regime had introduced its Communist regulations.  All Jewish cultural centers and publications were shut down, as were the yeshivas.  So too the Telze Yeshiva closed down.  Its head, the late Rabbi Bloch had by chance escaped and was abroad.

I returned home.  People began to disappear without rhyme or reason.  Commissars were appointed factories (“zavoden”) and large businesses, until they had taken over all of them according to the so-called nationalization program, but in effect was simply highway robbery.

GROWING UP

Mercury in a thermometer rises and falls according to the conditions of the surrounding air and is therefore constantly in motion.  Such is man, what he is and what he believes are dependent on his environment.  When I feel disheartened, I often recall my bar mitzvah, when I recited not only the blessings but read the maftir (lesson from the Prophets).  I remember even today that this was from the Portion of the Week, “Behar” from the Book of Leviticus, and the haftarah from the Book of Jeremiah.  After the maftir, it was customary for the rabbi to give a sermon.  But on that Shabbat, there I was all of thirteen years prepared to step forward and deliver the speech instead of the rabbi (the late Aharon Shmuel Katz).  I remember him coming up on the bima, a raised platform, giving me his hand and my first compliment “bravo”.   His kiss on my forehead warmed my heart until the beginning of the war.  Rabbi Katz was the last rabbi in Rasein.  In the month of Tammuz (57 (1941) he succumbed at the hands of the Lithuanian murderers.  Too many gifts did not come my way as a boy, but I always felt the presence of an invisible guiding hand that led me, supported me and even chastised me when it was necessary.  I believe that only the Almighty can and does help us in this life.  It was He who taught me how to behave.  I already learnt this lesson at the tender age of three.

I told my mother what my father was doing and vice versa.  I was very inquisitive and wanted to know everything.  I was constantly asking questions.  I got one very handsome present at that time.  To this day I bear the scar from a blow to the middle finger of my left hand and a burnt fingernail.

Every Thursday my mother would bake all sorts of goodies for the whole week: Halot (special bread for Shabbat), kichlach, and other delicacies.  For this purpose a little brick oven was used in the kitchen.  My father used to chop up wooden blocks, put them into the oven and set them alight with burning wooden chips to obtain the desired heat for baking.  From time to time, more pieces of the wood were thrown into the oven to keep the fire going.  There were no electric ovens in those days.  For greater heat, my father would buy wood.  But the bark of such wood when burning curls up.  As I watched my father lighting the stove, I wanted to copy him and do the same.  I pushed a piece of wood into the oven and held it until it started to burn.  When the wood lit up, I failed to notice how the bark curled around my finger like the whistle my father had bought me, and set it alight.

When I cried out in pain it was already too late.  The fingernail was burnt and also some of the flesh on the finger.  The scar is still there, and this taught me two important lessons; not to be a tale-bearer, and that sin is punishable by God.  And also not to put my finger where it’s not necessary, that is to say, not to stick my nose into an inferno where one can get burnt.  Then I was particularly interested in seeing how buns and kichlach in various shapes are baked in the fire from a simple dough.  After the accident, however, I gave up messing around my mother’s apron strings and going into the kitchen.

Among the various gifts, I found an interesting one.  As a child I was a poor eater, so as an inducement to eat what was placed before me, my father gave me money to buy sweets.  Curious to know what this money tasted like, I put the coin into my mouth and whoops…. it slipped into my throat and got stuck.  What a commotion ensued.  I gargled, my father clapped me on the back in the hope of dislodging the coin.  But to no avail.  As if for spite, the coin went down into my stomach.  Evidently, it wished to acquaint itself with my intestines, looked around and decide whether to remain or not.  Here, the doctor couldn’t help.  But luckily the coin didn’t get lost there and it came out of its own free will through the normal passage of the rectum, without the aid of tablets or other medicines.  It’s true that this gift didn’t remain with me, but ever since I have developed an aversion to money from the feeling that what comes easily goes badly.