MEMOIRS OF SHERESHEV

By MORRIS KANTOROWITZ

 Chapter 2.B

    Leaving for the states my uncle left behind his wife Esther-Liba and children. The youngest being Eliyau (Eli) ten months my junior. The others from the oldest was Chvolkah (Hellen), Avreml (Abraham), Rose, Lipa(Leon), Elchononv (Herald) and, of course, the youngest Eliyau (Eli). At the time of my uncle’s departure they were all still at school accept the two oldest ones.

    My uncle’s idea was of course the same as any married man’s who left at that time for the States, that is to receive the first papers after two years of residence and to send for the rest of the family, which he had done thus saving his entire family from the fate that befell European Jewry.  And my mother who practically knew only this one brother all her life and was tied to him with a thousand knots, had to part with him, which had turned out to be forever. She remained alone of the AUERBACH family taking on the burden and responsibility to look after an old father and mother.

   Since the day of my uncle’s departure, there wasn’t a day that my mother didn’t mention his name at least once. She used to wait for his letters as eagerly as a devoted Jew for the Messiah, hoping that it will bring the “good news” meaning that his older daughter Chvolke (Ellen) became betrothed.  It seems that that year was a difficult and traumatic one for my mother, that I, then a five-year-old child, would still remember it now, almost seventy years later.

 There were other less world shattering events that took place in Shereshev, for example; the introduction of the first autobus in the Shtetl, which was bought in partnership by a few local merchants to commute between Shereshev and Pruzany, eighteen kilometres away. That bus used to be parked overnight in my uncle Shloime’s shed that had high and wide enough doors for the bus to pass.  I can still see the name the bus was given by the owners; large letter spelling “Warszawianka” on either of its sides. It would cut down on travel time between Shereshev and Pruzany from three hours by horse and buggy to half an hour by bus.  There was of course the small matter of fare, which was a whole zloty by bus against half a zloty by horse and buggy. As far as the price goes, I like to inform the reader that a zloty represented a days pay for an unskilled laborer.

 Behind my uncles house was a large garden and I recall how in late autumn a hole was dug in the ground in which potatoes were heaped, covered with straw and the straw covered with a thick layer of earth. The potatoes were left there for over the winter. In early spring they were dug up, as a rule in good condition to be eaten until the new crop was ready to be harvested in the fall.  This system of preserving potatoes over winter was wide spread in Eastern Europe. However it happened sometimes that the potatoes froze or rotted, to the disappointment and privation of the owners.

 I see myself in my uncle Shloime’s house where I used to be a frequent visitor. How lively that house was, always full with young people, not only the members of the family but their numerous friends. All my uncle’s children except for the youngest one were between the ages of ten and twenty, each in a different class and each with his or her classmates. That house could have easily been taken at times for a small school or a youth club.  I can still see my cousin Abe (Abraham) play the violin and hear my mother praising his talent and extol his virtues regarding his scholastic abilities.

 Years later, many years later, when we met as adults, I realized how much fate has wronged him. I have no doubt that would he have had a chance to get a higher formal education he would have attained fame and recognition. Never the less despite those deprivations he managed to amass enough knowledge to put many academics to shame.  My uncle´ s other children too were keen and studious youngsters and it seemed that they had a bright future, yet when they reached these shores it did not turn out to be the “America” it meant to be.

 That summer my mother hinted that my father was looking for a way to come home, that is to transfer his license to Shereshev, which was more complicated than it seemed. At about the same time a decision was made, I would assume, more by my mother than by my grandfather, to enroll me in a more advanced and progressive heder. There was one in Shereshev run by “Yaakov-Berl” Eisenstein. A man of about forty, corpulent in appearance, self educated, who got his early education and experience as teacher from his late father the “Melamed” (teacher of children in Heder) who was known in the Shtetl by the name of “Chaim the Melamed”.  Yaakov-Berl ran a Heder of some 20-25 boys of different ages and levels. His method of teaching was considered modern in local terms. Not only did he teach the Pentateuch, Bible and Mishnah (the collection of post-biblical laws and rabbinical discussions), but even Gemara (part of the Talmud which comments on the Mishnah).He even taught Hebrew as a living language, which was something new in the Shtetl, in direct competition with the Hebrew school that was established in 1925 and numbered some 125 students during the 1930’s.  Besides the above qualities this Yaakov-Berl had others too, he was a good violinist. On the warm summer evenings passers by used to stop to listen to the sweet melodies pouring out the open windows of his living room. For good measure he was also a carpenter who made all the furniture in his house, a shoemaker who used to make shoes for his entire family and also a maker of violins that were the highest priced in Shereshev. His oldest son Leizer(Lazar) was my age and years later was my classmate in the Polish public school.

 A decision was made for me to enroll right after the holidays, which are Rosh Hashana (the Jewish new year), Yom Kippur (the day of atonement) and Sukkot (the feast of tabernacles).  My father came to spend time with us for those holidays. He took me with him to the synagogue, which was quite a walk, passing by three others on the way.  For some reason I remember the Day of Atonement best. The eve of that day my father and I went for “Mincha” (the midday prayer) distributing alms all around the entrance of the synagogue. I recall the long evening prayer, the floor of the synagogue covered with hay as most of the worshipers wore no shoes inside and the hundreds of large lit candles all around gave the synagogue an air of solemn mystic. How mysterious, how awe-inspiring, how bewailing, how lamenting and heart-renting those prayers were.

 At the age of five I did not understand the meaning of the words in the prayers but the dignity of the moment was enough to instill in me and in all the children, a feeling of respect and solemnity.  In the morning all the seats of the synagogue were taken, there wasn’t enough room for all the children to sit down, besides, how long can one expect a child to sit? So we used to run around.  My father was a member of the same Shul (synagogue) as my maternal grandfather, called the rabbi’s synagogue. The reason being is that the rabbi lived nearby and attended services there. My maternal grandfather Laizer-Bear was the Gabbi (head warden of the synagogue).

 According to Jewish tradition one should not wear leather footwear in the synagogue on the high holidays, however, only the older members adhered to this tradition, among them my grandfather who was in his stocking feet. Wanting to make sure that my grandfather has plenty of hay under his feet and not wanting to be conspicuous in hoarding hay, I walked around the synagogue pretending not to notice the growing pile of hay under my feet, as I was shoveling it on the floor until reaching my grandfather who was so engrossed in prayers that he wouldn’t move his feet for me to put the hay under.

 From my playmates of that age I can recall my cousin Eli, my uncle Shloime’s youngest son, and his cousin, Abraham Winograd, from his mothers side who’s family lived next door, also another cousin of Eli’s from the same side of the family a girl by the name of Sara Leiman. The four of us became classmates in the first grade Hebrew school a year later.  At times I used to play with my cousin from my father’s side, a daughter of my father’s brother Reuben and his wife Chashkah (nee Pinsky). They had two children at that time, a little girl Michla two years younger than I and a newborn son in 1928, Shalom. It was with Michla that I played when I used to visit them. That little Michla had a head of curly blond hair like her mother. Once as I was visiting them on a Friday night, playing around a table, Michla, a three-year-old child got too close to the lit Sabbath candles on the table and her hair caught on fire. She started to scream and I, a five year old, screamed with her. By that time her parents got to her and put the fire out but her hair was noticeably singed. This did not interfere in her growing up to be a beautiful young girl only to be murdered at the age of 17 with her family by the Nazis during the slaughter of Drohychin on October 15, 1942.

 It seems that my mother wasn’t to keen on sending me to the new Heder in late fall, for I stayed home that winter of 1928-29.  About the same time violent upheavals were taking place in the land of Israel, at that time called Palestine. The large Arab population turned against its small and defenseless Jewish minority killing individuals or slaughtering and driving out entire communities like the ancient community of Hebron, killing in the process 70 Jews among them women and children.

 At night when my mother used to put me to bed I used to ask her why are the Arabs doing it, to which of course she had no answer. However to calm me down she began to say with me the “Kreyat Shmah Al Hamita” (night prayer) ending the prayer by wishing a good night individually to every member of the family including cousins, saying that this prayer will protect me from all evil.

 For the record I’d like to say that I had memorized this prayer in a matter of a few days and have been saying it nightly ever since even in the darkest and most despairing nights of my life, ending by wishing every member of my family a good night, knowing only too well that they are not alive any more, that they were put to death by the Nazis in the cruelest way, but hanging on to their memory and intending to continue to my last days.

 That winter, 1928-29, I spent most of my time at home with my mother and sister Sheva. It was right after Pesach (Passover) in early spring of 1929 that I started attending the Heder of Yankl-Berl Eisenstein.  Yankl-Berl ruled the Heder with an iron fist. I can still see him at the head of a long narrow table around which some two dozen boys between the ages of 6-12 sat tightly together and, in his hand a long thin rod, with a well aimed lash over a boys ear, no matter how far away, he keeps the attention of his charges to the lesson. A boy sitting next to him could expect a stab from Yankl-Berl’s thick finger that would leave a mark for several days.  I only attended Yankl-Berl’s Heder from after Pesach to Shavuot (Passover to Pentecost) that is in the spring of 1929. I was already six years old and time for a formal Jewish education in the local private Hebrew school known as the “Yavnah Hebrew School, affiliated with Tarbut in Shereshev”.