I Believe – My Values

Rasein was once a shtetl (a Jewish village) like all other small Jewish villages of the past in Lithuania.  In truth, there it was given due honur and called – a town.  It was quite unlike Boiberik or Yehupetz of Shalom Aleichem fame and certainly unlike the city of Odessa, since it had a mere 8,000 residents most of whom were Jews.  Indeed, for this very reason it could never be called a town.  It was purportedly distinguished for being much larger than the usual little village, meaning theat Rasein wa between a town and a shtetl – it was simply in the middle.  It had all that any human being required for his daily needs.  Firstly, it was crowned by that eminent former Rabbi Nathan Zvi Finkel, of blessed righteous memory.

Who was in fact the distinguished personality Nathan Zvi Finkel?  For what reason was he so famous?  He was born in Rasein in the year 1874.  Already, at age 15 he displayed a remarkable knowledge of the Torah and had by then published his commentaries on the Tanach.  The Kelmer Gaon, Rabbi Eliezer Gutman, game him his daughter in marriage.  He made it his aim to inculcate Yiddishkeit – Jewish tradition – among the younger generation.  He was one of the founders of the Telshe and Slotzker yeshivas and later also in Slobodka (Kovna), which he named “Knesset Israel”.  In the course of time, hundreds of scholars studied at this yeshiva and it grew to become ????? The greatest yeshiva in Lithuania.  The rabbi was simply known as “grandfather”, since he was so beloved by his pupils like a grandfather by his grandchildren – “the grand father of Slobodka Yeshiva”.

The story is told that once a boy turned up in Rabbi Finkel’s apartment on a cold an frosty winter’s night without a wrapping around his neck.  The rabbi took the scarf from his own neck and handing it to the youth said; “I know that you have a chill, so take this and wear it in good health.”  He also gave him his watch to pawn so as to get money for food.  The famous Hafetz Haim once said; I produce books and Rabbi Nathan Zvi Finkel “creates” the human being.  Rabbi Finkel was famous throughout the whole world.  When many of his Slobodka yeshiva scholars settled in Hebron, he himself went to settle in Eretz, Israel.  Later he died from a very arduous illness.

Among the high-born of Rasein, a place of honour is reserved for Rabbi Markowitz, Shlomo Kalman Tuvia, of blessed righteous memory; born in 1880 he perished in the Kovne Ghetto.  Another eminent Rasein-born rabbi was Rabbi Yehezkiel Lifshitz, son of Aryeh, of blessed righteous memory, who was born in 1877 and served as a rabbi in Yorberik and other Jewish communities.  He was once the representative of the president of the Federaltion of Rabbis in Poland; he visited the United States of America and Canada at the invitation of the local Rabbinical Councils.  He published numerous books and commentaries on the Torah and the Talmud.  Thus Rasein played and important role among those one-time small Lithuanian Jewish towns and villages.

Not only did Rasein have among its residents there above-mentioned geniuses, it also had its fair share of astute Jews and sages and naturally too of fools.  There were even two and a half crazies, one of whom was uncontrollable and had to be kept in a locked room with bars on the window, where he could scream, sing, cry and laugh undisturbed.  There his relatives would bring him his meals.  In the shtetl there was also a crazed woman who was known as Gitel-Gitel, the madwoman.  In the summer, she would roam the streets passing the houses and shouting, banging and breaking anything she had a mind to, and even lifting a hand against people.  In her home, she would break plates, damage the furniture and do much other mischief.  In the winter, she became normal buying new dishes; she would paint her house and repair the damage done.  She also apologized to those Jews in the shtetl whom she had harmed… She lived with her husband and it is told that she became crazy straight after the wedding.  They had an only child, a beautiful boy.  Unfortunately, after an unsuccessful operation – an appendectomy – he died.  This too had its effect on Gitel and she became crazed, though strangely this craziness manifested itself only in the summer.  No medicines could be found to bring about a cure.  With the Nazi occupation of Lithuania, the first victims were the crazed; the Nazis were more afraid of them than of normal people.

Rasein had twelve study and prayer houses and a central synagogue in the middle of the town.  Almost all the different stores in the town were owned by Jews, many of whose signs were printed in both Yiddish and Lithuanian.  There were all sorts of craftsmen, an inn, a cinema, a printing shop and, of course, the famous Shvirskes dairy shop.  You could buy there fresh milk, cheese, and a bottle of tasty soda water was well as the well-known Rosmarin’s ice-cream.

The Jews had their own cemetery in Rasein, where you could order a tombstone on the spot.  Near the cemetery was the prison and not the usual one.  It was certainly intended for political detainees, each of whom was given a separate cell.  In fact, it was almost a Jewish prison, since most of its inmates were Jews.

What is there left to tell you?  Yes, there was a Cheder, a school and a cultural center, and a fairly large library.  Almost all the tables in the reading room were usually occupied.  At the subscribers’ table there was a row of readers who wished to change book and the table itself was often piled up with books so that one could hardly see the face of the librarian.  It was here that one could find Yiddish newspapers and journals from throughout Europe and a variety of Yiddish books from all parts of the world.

Greenery surrounded Rasein and grew in its center.  ???? ??? ???.  It covered  ?? the snouts of the hunchbacked or closely packed wooden houses and squeezed through the bricks themselves.  There was also a fairly large green park with hundreds of trees and shrubs, whose shade gave pleasure to the Jews on the Sabbath and the gentiles on Sundays.  There was no lack of squares, but on the Sabbath, many couples loved to take walks outside the village and enjoy the open air.  Not far off a brook swam into sight, known as the Raseike.  Whether the shtetl was named after this stream or vice versa is no longer relevant.  It was told that at one time the brook was a deep one, but now it merely reached to a child’s belly.  To take a dip one had to sit in the water or lie down on the stony waterbed.  That’s why it was easy to do all kinds of stunts in the water; stand on one’s head, make pyramids, roll around, splash around, tease the stream and try to chase the backwash and other such silliness that may come to mind.  On Sabbath, Jewish couples would stroll to the stream.  It would be teeming with youngsters, so that pleasure-seeking young men and adults preferred to go bathing in another, much larger and deeper stream, called the Dubisa.  This stream was quite far from Rasein, so that most people rode there to avoid the long walk on foot.  One could only permit oneself this pleasure on weekdays or during vacations.  But most Jews worked hard the whole week and thy never gave a thought to any such recreation, which they left for the youth to enjoy.  Nearby, the stream branched off into very beautiful waterfalls, underneath which it was pleasant to cool oneself from the heat in summer.

The roads in the village were straight and stretched out long; they were paved with stones from the fields and the pavements were made of cement blocks.  Not just because it was my shtetl, since for each one his village, his birthplace, has a precious place in his memory, but indeed my shtetl, Rasein, was clean, homey, most of whose inhabitants were honest, and friendly, despite the fact that, like elsewhere, there were many and diverse political parties, to the left and to the right.  There were arguments too among them, which were sometimes resolved by a bout of fisti-cuffs when they felt that the advantage over the other could only be gained by a fight.  I was on the Right, but I would never fight over a few votes.  At other times, silence was the best option.

Rasein had of course a Schochet and a slaughterhouse, where we young lads or women would bring hens to be slaughtered, mostly on Friday afternoons or the eve of holydays.  There was also a Mohel.  There was a rabbi or a Dayan for whom the Jewish community had great respect.  Half-an-hour before the Sabbath, a loud whistle would come from Perlov’s sawmill, so loud that it could be heard even by the deaf.  The sound of the whistle reached every corner of the shtetl.  This Perlov had a mill.  On the eve of Shabbath, a few minutes before candle-lighting, the siren whistling was again heard coming from Perlov’s sawmill and mill, so that not only the local Jews, but also those in the surrounding rural dwellings knew that the Sabbath was approaching and the housewives would start preparing for candlelighting.  The gentiles too were aware of the approaching Jewish Shabbath.  The hooha stopped, and men dressed in their Sabbath best would each wend his way to his synagogue.  Their wives prepared the Sabbath dinner table; they had managed before the onset of Shabbat to ready the cholent in its special pot for the next day and to place it in the brick oven at the bakery, as the simple Jewish housewife was won’t to do; so that Saturday afternoon after the morning prayers they could bring home the hot delicacy.  Indeed, most of the Jews here followed the precept “Six days will you work and do your weekly labors and on the seventh will you rest from these and do not work, you and your son and your servant and your wife and your cattle and the stranger within your gate.”

So they lived week by week, the poor, the rich, all alike – even the so-called heretics (apikorsim) rested on the Sabbath.  There were almost no light vehicles; and no buses on Shabbat.  Most of the movement on the roads was by the horse and buggy and bicycles.  The “Jewish” horses also rested on the Sabbath.  Thus, peace and quiet reigned in the shtetl on the Sabbath.  Only on weekdays could often be hard the clop clop of horseshoes on the cobbles and the hammering of carts and buggy wheels.

It happened one day that I was carried into my home.  A cyclist had run over me.  When I finally recovered, I decided that rather than lie under the wheels of a bicycle I preferred to ride on top of them.  I had long cherished this dream in my memory, until it was finally realized when I became a little older.

And so the Jews in my shtetl lived, worked, studied, celebrated and mourned, fought and made peace with each other, dreamed and hoped for better times.  There was love and jealousy, but no evil was committed by one against the other.

The youth grew up with new ideas and dreams.  Most of them had leanings towards Zionism and dreamed of gong to build their own land.  Eretz Israel was the main destination of their dreams.  To this end they prepared themselves, created kibbutzim and clubs; whether it was Betar, Poel Hamizrachi, or Poalei Agudat Israel, Poalei Zion or other branches of these, their sights were set on the Near East.

Should you ever wish to visit my shtetl, you ought to know that no train goes there, the nearest railway station is at Widokla about eight kilometers away.  Rasein is located on the highway of Kovno-Kleipeda (Memel), about seventy kilometers from Kovno.  The nearest surrounding villages are Tawrik, Shidleva, Kel, Nemaksht, Beitegola.

In 1934 there was erected in the center of the shtetl (the one-time market-place) the statue of a gentile man in rags leaning on a bear with one hand and with the second outstretched and pointing afar.  This is a symbolic sculpture by “Zemeitis”, that is the main central part of Lithuania “zemaitiya” which shows that Lithuania has squeezed the Russian bear and on it is written: “I have been on the watch eternally and again won independence. ”  It was a wonder that throughout all the years of Soviet occupation the statue remained unharmed and was not condemned.  Since no Jew had erected it, one can live through it.

My shtetl is no fledgling.  It was already mentioned in the annals of the 13th century.  At that time, it was already an important center of Lithuania, specially in that part known as “Zemaitiya”; that is why Rasein suffered more than other villages in that country.  When the Crusaders captured Lithuania, they destroyed Rasein completely.

When in the 16th century, Jews began to settle there, the village started to flourish.  There sprung up streets with houses built up on both sides, shops that were communal enterprises and food industries with a bakery.  But a peaceful existence was not sanctioned.  The so-called fatherland war began when Napoleon assaulted the Russian Empire and Rasein again suffered both human victims and the destruction of houses and shops.  Again, it fell to the lot of the Jews to rebuild Rasein, to construct new and many streets and alleyways.  And that’s how it was when I still had no idea what Rasein meant to me.  Nor did I know of Kedan whence my father had come or of the shtetl Krak from which my mother hailed.  The first gift bestowed upon me by my parents was that I appeared in the world.  It was indeed a present from God, but with the help of mother and father, since I did not yet understand where I was nor what was happening around me.  And I had not yet acquired a name, but the smiles were forthcoming from all those who surrounded me.

I know not why I cried then, either because I wanted to be big like those around me or simply because I appeared in the world.  Words were spoken, but I was unable to understand.  In truth, the first gift was my surname which everyone knew.  This surname has been with me from the beginning of my life and has remained with me to this day.

At the time, I did not think whether it was a name inherited from a long ago Sephardi tradition, or whether this was passed on from generation to generation because of their tailoring trade, which in Hebrew means a tailor (hayat).  Probably this happened some hundreds of years ago, when surnames were first acquired.  As I learnt later, it’s not such a simple thing for us Jews to go from Sephardi to Ashkenazi.  Like for instance from Levy to Cohen; this is handed down from the fathers to their children.

At the age of eight days, I immediately received two gifts; a name and I become a Jew.  From all sides there were shouts of “mazal-tov”, but I could not then understand Hebrew nor feel any pain.  Upon my appearance on this earth, a theft took place.  My mother told me later on that the midwife had taken the smock in which I was delivered at birth and apparently thrown it out.  Yes, indeed, the first name that I received was David.  Why the first?  Because some time later I became seriously ill and upon the Bible, I was given another name in shul – Moshe.  Since then I became known as Moshe David.  And so too am I registered on my birth certificate.  Even later, when I became a pupil in cheder and at school I was everywhere registered as Moshe David.  But it being easier to call me by one name, I was called Davidke.

I never had toys bought in a shop apart from a ball.  But children must play, that is the nature of the animal while he is still young and carefree; and why should I have been less than other children?  So my father would invent home-made toys.  Her would collect empty match-boxes, thread in cotton through the one side and tie it up and put another thread through the other side and join it up with a similar second empty matchbox creating a telephone through which I could “speak” with my sister or even my father from some distance.  Or he would take two buttons, join them back to back making a knot in the middle with string.  When the string is stretched the par of buttons rise up and they twisted ??????.

My father made me a “dancing doll”.  He cut out the body separately from cardboard, the feet, hands, and head separately and tied them together from the back so that when you pulled the string the hands lift up and the doll turns its head and moves its feet.  On Purim, my father made me a rattle out of wood to rattle during the reading of the Megilla.  He even made me a top to spin on Hanukkah, also out of wood.  Other and similar toys were created by my father.  The only bought toy, as mentioned, was a ball, which my father could not of course make.  But this often cost me a good belting.  Firstly, I broke the glass of the buffet with the ball; then the ball drew me outside to the yard.  And here too it did not behave respectfully.  As if on purpose, it loved to hit the neighbors windows.  The damage cost my father money and I got a belting with the strap.  “Will this little boy become a decent human being or not?” my father would repeat with each stroke of the strap.

One even gets used to trials and tribulations.  And so I got used to the strap too.  Even though a day would pass in peace and quiet, I would already long for the strap and thought of ways and means of how to earn it.

My grandchild seats himself in a motor, presses a button and rides over the length of his parents’ flat.  I had not such motors at his age nor any others that they have today, nor did I so much as imagine any such electronic toys.  Or look at how small children sit in front of a computer and play all kinds of games.  Could we even have imagined such games?  In those days, we children couldn’t in our wildest fantasies have imagined such things.

We also didn’t live on the streets.  There were apartments, though not with such large rooms as today’s, but we also lived, fantasized, dreamed, made-believe and grew up within a normal Jewish life.  We studied in schools, colleges, cheders and yeshivas, and nonetheless we developed no worse than the present-day youngsters.

So, what other “gifts” did I get?

Just like that, simply – Davidke, the Rasseiner.  This had, on other occasions, caused me grief.  While I was studying at the Telzhe Yeshiva, I would be invited for Shabbat Kiddush to one or other home.  Once, someone came to the yeshiva to invite me and asked where I was from.  When he heard that I was from Rassein, he went pale poor man and asked my pardon saying; “I’ll invite you another time.”  To this day I’ still waiting for this invitation.  Why did he back off?

In those days, every Lithuanian shtetl had a nickname; the Widukler goats, the Kelmer sleeper, the Keidaner hunchbacks or cucumbers.  Rassein too had a nickname – the Rassein glutton.  Perhaps when the Jew heard the name Rassein, he took fright that I would gobble up his whole Shabbat table and leave his family hungry, so he regretted having approached me.  But I had never been a glutton, just like every other Rassein Jew.  I was begun to be called a Rasseiner when I was in Ponevez, where I studied at the Rabbi Kahanemen School after which I went to study in Telze.  Was I called a Rasseiner because it was more convenient to do so or as a warning to others that they were dealing with a glutton?

What else is there to tell?  Among us Jews nothing is done just so, without any specific intent.  In that case, the present I received of the name “Rasseiner”, so be it, one can live with that.  What did I care.  After all, others were called: the Berdichever, the Odesser, the Vilner, the Polisher, the Lithuanian.  It was worse that , instead of being a glutton, I often went hungry.  It was the custom to invite young boys for Shabbat or just for the kiddush.  So it indeed happened that I was sometimes not invited, when they learnt that I was from Rassein.  I can only tell you loud and clear that this was sheer slander.  The Rasseiners were never gluttons.  I am sure too that most of the Jews from Keidan were not hunchbacks and that not all Widukler Jews kept goats and that the Kelmer Jews were as regular as all normal Jews from all the other villages of Lithuania.  The poverty in Rassein was no greater than in other villages and the eating habits there were normal as elsewhere.  Believe me, I would eat in moderation and sometimes even go hungry, but I blame no one for that.  I alone was to blame, for I could certainly have had such a nickname.  But why was “glutton” so widespread?

The tale goes that years ago a Rasseiner young man married a girl from a wealthy family.  Naturally, the in-laws ordered a lavish feast and invited the aristocracy of the town where the bride lived.

After the ceremony under the chuppa, when the company sat down at the tables as was the custom, the bridegroom sat down next to the bride at the top table.  He was starving from abstaining from taking food all day, apart from which he had never tasted such delicious delicacies before.  So, he set upon the food with gusto or more accurately, he overate, and suddenly, feeling ill, he became white as chalk and couldn’t leave the table in time.  In the presence of the important guests, the bride and his new in-laws, he vomited all over his new suit, the tablecloth and around him, over the bride’s silver dress.  A turmoil broke out; the match was off and the bride divorced him on the spot.  Had this all been left between the sides, the matter would have been forgotten.  But no, what do our Jewish women in general and in particular do and to make things worse, also the close relatives of the bride herself, they make a scandal throughout the world that the Rasseiner Jews are gluttons and that one should not marry their boys or their girls.  In time, this decree was forgotten, but the nickname “glutton” stuck.

When I became a bit smarter, I would reply: “I come from a shtetl not far from Kovno.”

After finishing the cheder, my father sent me to the Ponevez school named after the famous Rabbi Kahanemen.  But how can one send away a young child all on his own to a strange town?

“My son, you are going away to study in Ponevez.  You will be helped with everything by a relative from Shidlever, called Shifrin.”

“He is also studying in that school?”

“No, he’s much older.  He’s studying in a yeshiva.”

“That’s fine, dad, Shifrin is Shifrin, to me it’s all the same.  Do what you think is best.”

Thus began my wanderings.  Ponevez made an impression on me of a large town.  “It is not so large as it is well0known in the world”, Shifrin explained to me.  It is famous for its big yeshiva.  The town is in fact larger than Rassein and is divided into two parts – the old city and the new.  The first part is already mentioned 500 years ago.  The town is split into by the Nevezis River.  In the beginning, the town was built on the left side of the river; the right side was overgrown by a thick forest which prevented the town from expanding its borders on that side.  Almost all th town’s twenty-eight streets and alleys were on the left side of the river, and there lived a goodly portion of Jews.  A steel bridge over the river unites both sides of the town and the town itself with the rest of the country.

The Jews here were not idle either – they were involved in commerce, factories, trades; they were teachers, doctors, there was a schochet (ritual slaughterer), a few mohalim (circumcisers), some rabbis – Hassidic and Mitnagdic (opposers of Hassidism) synagogues and an old-aged home, a girls’ high school and a general school, a pharmacy and a bathhouse as well as the well-known yeshiva, all established by the Jewish community.

“This is all very interesting to know, but where will I stay?”  I interrupted Shfrin’s story.

“I have a good suggestion”, one of his acquaintances interjected.  “At the home of the old shochet, 8 Sadever St., there is an empty little room which he will no doubt be prepared to let cheaply.”

And indeed that is where I settled in.

Some time later, I learnt that most of the Jewish communal institutions support the city Rabbi Kahaneman, even a Jewish hospital and bank, not to mention the yeshiva, all of which were in his name and supported by him.  To this end, he would often go to America for financing.

Here, in Sadever Street, (SODU), I lived for two years until I finished my schooling and moved over at my father’s wish to studying in the Telze Yeshiva.

Since then, many decades have flown by.  I lived through imprisonment and exile, frost and heat, felt the “beauty” of Soviet power organs, but my dream lived inside me and gnawed at me to break out from the “paradise” and then the blessed hour arrived.  I received permission to go to Israel.  I travel to Riga, to the ancestral grave, the cemetery where my late father is buried under the beautiful name of “Shmerele”.  I then go to Vilna, where my sister’s son, Mulla Yalowtzki, has a car and takes me all over Lithuania, over the towns and Shtetlech that once existed and were connected to my life and bid them farewell.  I went to Poneez, to 8 Sudo Street.  Not a Yiddish word to be heard, nor a Jewish face to be seen.  The light is there, the candles have burnt out.  Gone are the old-time proprietors.  All is bleak and desolate, the town is judenrein, but much dirtier than before.  The Lithuanians did not get rich, even from the goods and chattels they looted from the Jews.  So, why indeed is the street called Sodever, or in Lithuanian “Sodu”, i.e. an orchard.  The street was populated by Jews.  Each family had its own house with a courtyard and orchard.  In spring the whole street would blossom with a variety of coloured flowers.

Yes, I remember it well; it’s the same house.  Now it’s peeled of its green colour and on the walls hang scales like those of a fish mixed with shells.  The windows face the street, the entrance is through an opening in the gate.  You start off by going into the courtyard next to a h orchard.  Here is the porch.  You knock on the door, kiss the mezuza, and the old shochet or his beautiful young daughter opens the door with an amiable smile showing the dimples in her cheeks, as if she had squeezed them there.  Here, the “window” on the left is that of my room.  Next to my room was that of the owner’s daughter.  The window of her room was next to mine and a second window was on the side of the orchard.  also, the entrance to her room was a separate one.  I don’t remember now whether there were any other children, but I had not forgotten the daughter.  She was often smiling.  The young men would say that she was a beautiful as an angel.  In truth, I had never seen an angel.  Her father, my landlord, was a shochet, from a family of shochets, and though he was quite elderly, he was still a good slaughterer.

My guardian in Shidlever would often come to visit this girl.  This yeshiva scholar would study during the day in the yeshiva and the evenings he would spend with the girl.  What he would be doing until late at night, I could not imagine, but one could often hear through the adjoining wall the girl’s laughter.  At first, I was indifferent to this, and I would fall asleep and her laughter would not disturb me.  The young man was intended to keep an eye on me.  Possibly that was why he would stop over with the family.  The two rooms he had divided by a thin wall with a door.  The wall and the interleading door were closed up with wallpaper.  A thin crack remained under the door.  In due course, however, my curiosity was awakened.  Somehow, the laughter did not seem quite natural.

I didn’t have the audacity to ask Yosef what he was doing there.  The shochet’s daughter had a number of Jewish girlfriends, who would meet her in the orchard.  I, as a young boy, had no connection to them and their company did not interest me.

Sodever Street is not a long one, but it was rich in trees and bushes on the pavements on both sides of the street.  The branches of the raspberry bush pushed and squeezed themselves through the fence as if they were begging me to have pity on them and pick their berries as it would be a shame to let the m fall on the ground.  I would throw the berries into my mouth, as taking them with me might be considered theft.  Higher up above the fences hung larger and thicker branches with apples, pears, plums and cherries.  Plucking them off forcefully was not my style, but picking their fruits up from the ground, thanking them with me, washing them and then eating them was my idea of a lavish breakfast.  I would often share it with my friends.  My parents would wonder how it was that I was able to save money from the little that they sent me.

Now the branches no longer hang over the fence; the trees and bushes in the street have become more sparse, but the name “Sodever” has remained.  Also, the gate is still there with its odd opening on 8 Sodever Street, but the gateposts are sunken into the ground as if they wished to follow their owners.

“Should I enter into the house or not?”  I wondered.  I was overtaken by curiosity.  In truth, what would I ask the new tenants?  Did they kill the owners?  And even if they did so, would they admit to the truth?  All of a sudden there was a kind of roar.  It was the barking of a dog from the yard.  Obviously, this was not a small dog, though I could not see him, I heard his barking quite close.  Does he want to greet me with a “welcome” or berate me for showing up there, telling me that I have nothing to do there.  I stood still and thought for a moment.  But while thinking, of their own accord my feet started retreating as it were when one walks backwards from the Holy Ark in the synagogue.  My eyes became moist as I twisted in another direction at an ever-increasing pace towards the place where I had studied.

En route I saw another familiar house.  This was where a well-known Jewish doctor had lived.  He took out my tonsils.  I am lying on his sofa after the operation.  On a stool nearby is a basin, deformed like an ear and full of blood; my mouth feels as if there is a constant scratching there and I’m spitting blood.

“Lie down here for a few hours.  Tell me when you’re feeling a bit better,” he said.

I hardly managed to spit out a few words.  “Doctor, I’m finished.”  “What do you mean finished?  Open your mouth,” he ordered me “Lie down for another short while and then you can go home.”  And he proceeded to tell me what I should eat and what not.

Like a drunk, clinging to the walls of the houses and the fences, I barely managed to reach my abode.  My parents learnt of the operation only after I had recovered.

Should I go into the doctor’s house and greet him?

I see a gentile woman standing near the house.  “Who are you waiting for?”, she asks.

“I remember the doctor, is he here?”

“Your doctor together with all the other doctors and all the Jews in the town have long since gone to the other world.”

I couldn’t say anything more to her.

I walk on and on.  Here is the street where my school used to be.  All the surrounding houses have remained intact, the school is no longer there, sunk into the earth and swallowed up  In its place, there is a new building, a typical modern residential house, without architecture, no beauty.  Perhaps I am mistaken.  I enter the courtyard.  Here we had spent our school breaks, jumping around and

volleyball, or testing our balance by walking on a wooden beam.  At the side were a table with benches, where my friends and I would sit and discuss the daily news.  Is this indeed the same courtyard?  Here too a tube has been dug into the earth for the purpose of airing carpets.  The closet which had stood in the corner of the courtyard has disappeared.  In its stead there is a sort of stable containing some booths.

“Still, the earth is round”, I thought.  “So perhaps all the old properties had rolled down, but why is particular the Jewish ones?  And the trees planted by the Jews are still standing as before.  The pupils who used to clamber on these trees fell at the hands of the murderous Lithuanians.  I remained still for a few short minutes while my clothes became wet from my falling tears, and I quickly left the place.

The car took me further to Telze.

My father had been a simple, religious Jew.  He would often go during the week to pray “Shachrit” (early morning prayer) at the first minyan (quorum of ten).  He would awaken me too and take me with him to the shul (synagogue).  He liked to hear a sermon from a preacher or a city rabbi, and learn a pag eof Gemorrah (Talmud).  In our home, kashrut was strictly observed as well as other Jewish ritual laws.  No doubt he had dreamed of having a son who was a “yeshiva bocher” (cholar at a yeshiva).  So he sent me to study at the Telze Yeshiva, where I also got room and board.  I even got used to sleeping on a worn-out wooden bench.  Apparently, not one-tenth of the pupils spent overnight on that bench as I did.  We were not poor, God forbid, but my late father was no spendthrift.  But on one thing he refused to economize – and that was charity.  At home on the Sabbath, we would frequently have a guest for kiddush and a meal.

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 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 shoed 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.

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 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 buu 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 form the feeling that what comes easily goes badly

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was sometimes compelled to go to his neighbours for a loan for Shabbat purchases.  One day followed another; ther 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 cheldren, 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 o 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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After finish my 4th year of enginerring I get married on August 28 1982

I meet Veniamin on February 20 1982 through mutial friend Igor Maxkin

According to Venya he and Igor went to lunch at a local cafe and on the wy back to work they stop near our building to finish conversation

Venya saw me and Alina going back to our workplace and he ask Igor who was this girl with dark hear

Venya ask Igor to introduce him to me

I was a good friend with Igor Maxkin from his first day  at work.

He came to our department to introduce himself  like a new young professional .

He was a economist by profession, but also he was very talented a piano player .

We went to g a lot of consert , disconight and lunch together.

When he was in my home he always play piano and all my family injoy.

Venia able to buy 6 tickets for a diskonight and dinner at the local place call Giprozivmash

We all went on February 20 Igor , Ella zaslavskaya, Maya Malikina, Oska Gext , Venys and I .

We all know each other through KTEU, exsept Venya, but we became friends with everybody and after dinner spent all evening on the dance floor

On the end of the evening Venya walk me home . We took long walk though the park . It was very cold winter evening but we ingage in converstion .

For the next 6 month he always waitig for me at a lobby at 10 pm to walk me home after my evening classes.

On the end of June  Venya propose to me and I sad yes.  On july we took our documents to regisrration place , but buy our law you need to wait 1 month from day to apply for marriage and buy the actualy day  which was August 28 1982

My 5th year of school i start a wa a married person

We were renting 1 room not far from my parents and Venya parents

Buy the end of a shcool year Lenya was born on June 10 1983

I was able to stay at home with Lenya for 1 year and have my position secure at work \

On September 1 I start my last 6 yeat of evening school

On February I fund out that i was pregnant , so Lenya was 9 month old and I am working on my

diploma project the last work before graduation,

On June 1984 i succssefuly defendent my diplom project on front 6 professors with a lot of questions.

On October 7 1984 Igor was born

We were still leaving at the same appartment 1 room 2 kids bed 1 sofa for as , drowing table ,

I was able to stay for 1 year and 6 month bs the birth of Igor

On the eight day of a Lenyas and Igors life David Veniaminovich (venyas father arenge a circumcision for our boys by the local well know surgen

I never heart about this procedure but when i ask my ant Mila (my mom sister) she encorage me to agree.

I was a custom in our town that nerse will visit newborn every day during first month and doctor visit once a week during first month.

So next day after circumcision the nurse nuck to our door a try to keep Lenya quat and i don’t open the door

This happing  foe few weeks

Then on our scedule visit to the doctor whe ask why  we have a bandage around this are

We told her that its infection

13 month later the same happing with Igor

When she ask me what going on with bandage again

my answer the same it is infection

It was agent our goverment to do anything relater to religion of any kind

 

 

 

In a fifth grade 1971 history class taught by Mr Frenklax

The subject was a Middle East conflict

He pointed at the map at Israel at this time it was refered as an agressor country

Edit truxanov who sat next to me casually told me that i belong in there

When i came home i told my parents what happing .

My mom went to school and Edic apologies to me

In 1975 I finished 8 grade comprehensive school #19 at age 15 and music school name of Chaikovsky.

I took the entrqnce exam to apply to famous Sokolovsky musical college

I was nessassary to pass 4 exams 1, audition of 3 pieces with major instrument domra

I play Swin by sen sans

2, music theory  and music gramma

3. writing essay

4 math

After my aditions I scared to 2 out of 5

I could not belive

I was heart broken because my dream to perform in orkestra as a professional musian was dashed

My parents new some one in examination commite and the ask what happining ?

We learn that educationla commitee and government wanted non jews selected for the domra .

 

In a fifth grade 1971 history class taught by Mr Frenklax

The subject was a Middle East conflict

He pointed at the map at Israel at this time it was refered as an agressor country

Edit truxanov who sat next to me casually told me that i belong in there

When i came home i told my parents what happing .

My mom went to school and Edic apologies to me

In 1975 I finished 8 grade comprehensive school #19 at age 15 and music school name of Chaikovsky.

I took the entrqnce exam to apply to famous Sokolovsky musical college

I was nessassary to pass 4 exams 1, audition of 3 pieces with major instrument domra

I play Swin by sen sans

2, music theory  and music gramma

3. writing essay

4 math

After my aditions I scared to 2 out of 5

I could not belive

I was heart broken because my dream to perform in orkestra as a professional musian was dashed

My parents new some one in examination commite and the ask what happining ?

We learn that educationla commitee and government wanted non jews selected for the domra .

 

Born in Gomel USSR Belorussian republic during the Communist regime I know little about freedom

We were taught to comply and worship the government

A few times a year on Soviet holidays people would march in parades through the main city square named Vlabimir Lenin

They carrying soviet flags and paly patriotic songs

I belived that our country the best in the world

I feel happy

September 1 1967

My mama dressed me and put my hair up with white bows and a large bouquite  of gladiolouis flowers spike for my theacher

When we arrive to school #19 we search the board to find my name and the class roster A,B,C,D do i belong

We find out that I belong to class c with a theacher name Tixon Efimovich

When my mom saw his name she immediatly took me home and return to school on her own to speak to the principal

Normally mama very light speaking in public , but this time she had explain why this theacher was unsuitable chouise for her dauther

It well know in our town that mr. Tixon Efimovich and his family support german movement agents jews and others.

Next day I join class B that lead by ms Ekaterina Nikolaevna  Danilova.

 

 

OLD WEATHER DAYS

The next event in my life began to take place when I was 7 years old. I always had a great time with the neighbor kids on the streets. In the 50’s there were not that many cars in town, especially at that time of the day. We would play at night after supper like from 8:30 pm until 11:00 pm when all parents began telling everybody that it was time to go to bed.

Back then in Aguascalientes City, the weather was nice, like 75 ° F max. Everybody had to have blankets every night because temperature would drop to like in low 40’s.  I remember attending a Catholic school and having to wear all year, a uniform which included a sweater. All privet schools had their own uniforms. The only time when we would sweat was when we played full court basketball. Nobody had an air condition or heaters. We just added more blankets in the wintertime and wore a heavy jacket. No heaters in schools either. The temperature back then would drop to like the coldest 28° F. I have not gotten used to the hot weather yet. But now that there are more factories, more population, more cars, more pavement, etc. the temperature has gone up. Things have really changed.

I grew up thinking that the only places where it was hot in the world was in Brazil and Africa because that was what I saw in the movies. But when I move to the States I lived in Laredo, TX. This city is only 472 feet see level. Hot and humid.  Water coolers do not work at all there. You have to have air condition if you want to be comfortable. Then I moved to Waukesha, Wisconsin in July 1966. I has a hard time breading for the high humidity that I was not used to. But After while I got used to it. Oh!!! But then I experienced my first winter with temperatures down to -20 °F it was cold, but I enjoyed it. When I was a student at the Bible School up on the hill on 915 N Hartwell I had 3 roommates who would always wanted to have the room really warm, especially at night. I always managed to leave a crack on the window by my head to get fresh air. Even today. I love winters more than summers.