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 Pip 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, abut 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 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 land 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.
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 teh Lithuanians shortly before teh 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 dome 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 than…………………………. . 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, Himon, 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.
