|
|||||||||
A memoir of the Holocaust
By Jacob Zylberman
The online version
© Copyright 1995, 2000, Jack Zylberman
"My childhood"
"My home was a happy one," Jacob began. "I shared a nest with three brothers and a sister, days filled with joy and laughter, song and dance, watched over by loving parents.
"Our quarters consisted of a jewelry store, separated by a primitive wall from a sparsely furnished room, and an alcove with a cradle, always occupied. Another door led to the backyard, where there was a water pump, an oversized garbage container, and at the far end the latrine.
"Early each morning two men appeared, one with a heavy canister of milk that filled the daily allotment, the other with a basket full of rolls and bagels, six days a week, but for the Sabbath Mother baked her own challah, cake and cookies.
"As soon as Mother put the milk in a cool place, we jumped off the beds, each grabbing our share of the rolls and hiding them in a secure place. Then we ran back beneath the fluffy, downy covers.
"On Passover and Chanukah, the mattresses were refilled with fresh straw, at first pricking our little fannies, but after a while we became accustomed to it. Four pair of legs would get entangled as Mother affectionately tucked us in.
"My parents slept separately. Many a night when I left the bed I would find Father and Mother together.
"The store consisted of a display window, two showcases that formed an L, a workbench, a phonograph, records – an extra item of the inventory in our little shop, which was often frequented by the sun if not by customers.
"From the beginning, this pretty box was a huge success, as we took turns cranking the phonograph, soon to know all the melodies. When the record player was sold, our little hearts were broken, but Father always managed to replace it with another, and he would get more records, and the little house once again would fill with song and dance.
"The devotion toward one another displayed itself in many ways. Occasionally, father had to go downtown for parts of a watch, perhaps a mainspring or a crystal. He would leave dressed in his gabardine caftan and highly polished boots, with a finishing touch of a meticulous beard a la George the Fifth.
"At times he was detained, causing uneasiness, but as soon as his silhouette came into view we gaily hastened home.
"Mother, busily peeling potatoes, filled the big pot, the coal stove waiting.
"Food was not elaborate; meat was a seldom dish, yet no one went hungry. I for one thrived on a slice of bread, butter, and a glass of tea. Mother concocted all kind of delicious jams. She also made tomato and cucumber salads that I detested, only eating the tomato with a slice of herring.
"Occasionally we had a spoonful of cod liver oil, which everyone hated. But Mother knows best. ‘If you want to be strong and healthy,’ she said, ‘this is good, better than castor oil.’
"But Friday nights we were richly compensated. The potato and its derivatives were complemented with a feastly repast.
"Each Wednesday, at daybreak, peasants from surrounding villages crowded the streets, creating a bazaar-like atmosphere, their wagons filled with all kinds of goodies, and the haggling and bargaining began.
"After a while, Mother would emerge with a fat live chicken, a basketful of eggs, a whitefish, and a big, wiggling carp.
"The chicken, safe in a closet until Friday when it would be taken to the ‘shoichet’ (ritual slaughterer) often would lay an egg. The fish would be kept splashing in a tub of water.
"As soon as the children were in bed, the weekly wash was gathered, the huge wooden tub filled with hot water, Mother with a cake of coarse soap and a washboard scrubbing, rinsing, continuing the backbreaking chore into the wee hours.
"In the morning the wash was done, the walls perspiring but not Mother. She had no time. Already it was Thursday and so much work, so much to do.
"Sometimes my older sister Zysyl helped, but nobody could compete with Mother, using the right amount of salt, sugar, having the experience no one could compete with.
"Come Friday the children were sad. The fish and chicken had to be killed, and as usual I took the fowl across the street to Zalman the shoichet.
"Once my younger brother, Mayer, followed me, grabbed the chicken, and ran home, unaware of the approaching midday bus. Were it not for Mrs. Krull, the tailor’s wife, he would have been killed. Her screams alerted the driver, who instantaneously stopped the vehicle. The wheels screeched, and Mayer, inches away from being crushed, held onto the chicken.
"After digesting the ‘krupnik,’ a mishmash of the week’s leftovers, the store was closed, and father and his sons went to the ‘Mikveh.’ At sundown, dressed in his best attire, he kissed the Mezuzeh. We, emulating him, had to be picked up to reach it. Then we accompanied him to the ‘shtibel,’ two rooms leased by a devout Jew, a glazier all week long, ‘Shamos’ on the holidays.
"After the services we all hurried to welcome the Queen Sabbath. The rectangular table was adorned with a white cloth. Two candles flickered in the shiny candlesticks, waiting for mother to recite the blessings. Then father would fill a cup of wine, each of us having a sip, and the feast would begin.
"Laibl, my older brother, would share the head of the carp with father, along with chicken soup and noodles. I would have farfel with lima beans, chicken, flanken, tsimes, tea and cookies.
"Then the traditional singing of the "Zmyires" would begin. First father, then the children, Zysyl, and mother would sing along, expressing our gratitude to the Almighty.
"By the end of the week the delicacies would be gone, and it was back to the old routine. …"
When Jacob reached the age of five, his father decided it was time for him to attend "Cheder." Jewish children must learn how to read and write, especially for the study of the Torah.
Shlomo Litwak was a good "Rebby," a dedicated teacher and well-known in the neighborhood. Thus, for the next couple of years, Jacob was under his tutelage.
Every day a dozen children gathered at the small Cheder, an improvised two-room school, getting into the world of the Torah, its wonders and miracles.
As a beginner, he was taken under the wing of a "belfer" (assistant teacher), a little creature, with squinty eyes, a wisp of a beard over his pointed chin, a narrow stick in his right hand, his left hand behind his back. Like a conductor rehearsing the musicians, the students frequently felt the sting of the baton but saying nothing in hope of advancement.
Jacob was among the lucky ones. It was a change for the better. The rebby was a handsome man, with deep brown eyes, a brown beard and a ruddy complexion, dressed in a brown gabardine coat with matching shoes shined to a high polish, and a white, tieless shirt. He commanded respect, and if anyone was in doubt, one glance at his hands was quite sufficient.
This room, unlike the other, was spacious, with two wide windows, the sun inviting the students to frolic and play soccer. But those games belonged to them, the Goyim. For Jacob, the study of Torah was important. Education was the tool of salvation. Knowledge would make him free.
He studied six days a week, from early morning till late afternoon, and for his efforts every Friday afternoon he was presented with a booklet depicting the lives of great thinkers, rabbis, sages and miracle workers. In time his little head was full of stories of the Rambam, Kozienitzer Magid, Wilner Gaon. Often he would get a duplicate book.
Shlomo Litwak had five children – three daughters and two sons. Occasionally one of his beautiful daughters taught geography, calligraphy or arithmetic, all eyes glued on her. Yet when a child had the right reply, a gentle kiss on the forehead was the pinnacle of happiness. The rebby was not only the object of respect, but also of envy.
One day, before Jacob left for lunch, the rebby reminded him about the tuition money, or "Rebby gelt."
Hunched over a watch, his father slowly took off the "lupa" (magnifying glass), raised his head, and said, "My child, tell the rebby to be patient. With God’s help I will pay him, as soon as possible."
The life of a Jewish father was unquestionably hard. To feed a family of five, with another one on the way, was a chore. Without Rebby gelt and five groschen for sweets, Jacob had no reason to hurry – praying that his father should have a lot of watches to fix, enough money to pay the rebby – meanwhile, "Dear God, could I find fifty groschen, only fifty groschen?"
And lo and behold, a miracle occurred. His prayers were answered. He bent down, picked up the half-zloty, and ran up two flights of stairs, confiding in Mayer Glatt, his best friend, who doubted him. But when Mayer noticed the half-zloty, his attitude changed, and he said:
"Yankel, you know, it is written: ‘Love thy neighbor as thyself,’ and I am not only your neighbor but also your best friend. Therefore it is no more than right to share it." So the money was divided.
His studies continued. In the winter he left the house in the dark and returned after dark. But in the summertime the day was long enough to take advantage of the light.
As soon as Jacob gobbled down his food, he was among the first out to play football. Not having a genuine football, he would use old rags tied with string.
One afternoon as the young boys played with a football made of old stockings, an elderly woman came running and grabbed it, her trembling, shriveled head facing heaven, murmuring. The children were totally ignorant that the ball contained her life savings.
At the end of spring, the city bosses decided to build sewers. Scores of men dug ditches, placing miles of pipes one after another. That summer was paradise. Children called one another through the pipes, even older boys participating, forming two groups, one Jewish, one Gentile.
Among them was a boy Jacob’s age, Yanek Zielinski. His father, the town drunk, spent more time in prison than on the outside. His mother was a madam.
Zielinski took it upon himself to police the playground, something Jacob found out the hard way.
One sunny Saturday afternoon Jacob ran outside to play, but to his surprise his friends were not in sight. He scrutinized the biggest mount and was ready to jump, when out of the blue Zielinski loomed before him, a large stick in his hands, his feet slightly apart, shouting: "This playground is mine. Get lost before I beat you up. If you want to play, go to Palestine."
"Why should I?" Jacob said defiantly. "I live here, and the place is big enough for everyone to enjoy. I don’t stop you and no one is going to stop me."
"No?" the little punk shouted. "You dirty Zhid, Christ killer. I know all about you. You Zhids have no God."
"That’s not true. I am not a dirty Jew, an unbeliever. That’s a lie! I have a God, and He listens to my prayers. Oh, yes," although he didn’t reveal the secret of the other day. "I am a good boy. I have never killed anybody."
"So you are calling my mother a liar?" Zielinski said, raising his stick and throwing it at Jacob. But Jacob was faster, and hit Zielinski with a rock. For a moment the bully was startled, but when blood began streaming down his face, he screamed and ran home.
Petrified, Jacob realized that the bully’s father was not in jail. What was he to do? He couldn’t go home. The father would find him and surely kill him. For a moment he thought of hiding in his uncle Shmuel’s store. He must get away. But where? He started to run, dreading, wondering how long it would take for the neighborhood to find out that a Jew almost killed a "Shaigets."
There was the older Zielinski, passers-by oblivious of the young boy crying, when a young woman appeared at Jacob’s side.
"Aren’t you the watchmaker’s boy?" she inquired in a soothing voice. Then she waited for Zielinski, and faced him.
"What do you want of this child? Look, he is trembling. If you don’t mind, I’ll take him to his father. If he has done anything wrong, let his father punish him."
The huffing and puffing Zielinski, with a contemptuous curse under his breath, turned away, and the good lady walked Jacob home. He immediately ran into the house, and hit under the bed.
His father gave him a severe beating, but his pride was evident, that his boy stood up for his rights, defended his faith, defying the son of the most feared man in town.
Jacob became a hero, feeling ten feet tall, but to the rebby he was still Yankele, his little student. The rebby burned Jacob with extra assignments, and reminded him that there are more important things in life than fighting, that the most significant task is the study of the Torah. Anything else is rubbish.
Jacob was hurt, his ego deflated. He had expected more from his rebby, whom he respected. His zeal, eagerness, and enthusiasm for study lost its luster.
One sleepy morning Reb Shlomo asked Jacob a question, slapping his face when he didn’t have an answer. Concealing his tears, Jacob said, "Nobody has the right to hit me, only my father." He took his books, and started for the door.
Suddenly the rebby stood in front of him saying, "Where do you think you’re going?" and grabbed his ear, pulling him all the way to the far corner of the room. But as soon as he turned, Jacob dashed out the door, slamming it behind him, and ran home.
His father was bent over his work. Zysyl and Laibl were still in school. Mayer cradled Moishele to sleep. It was his mother who noticed.
"What happened, my child? Your ear is bleeding. Did someone try to pull it off?"
Sobbing, Jacob related the incident.
His mother stopped the bleeding, wiped his tears away, and left. When she returned, she said "Shlomo Litwak is not your rebby anymore."
After that, Reb Mayer took over Jacob’s tutoring, but it was not the same. Jacob was homesick for his old cheder, the tall, majestic rebby, and his pretty daughters.
Soon after, his Hebraic education was discontinued, he was enrolled in the elementary school, and the funds for the Cheder were channeled toward his younger brother.
Schools in Radom were not officially segregated, but somehow Jewish children were ridiculed with clock-like regularity, insulted, showing up with a bloody nose, a lump on the head, or a kick in the rear, never noticed by the teachers – only when a Gentile boy complained that a dirty Zhid wanted to kill him was any action taken.
Parents, weary of the continued complaints, took upon themselves the responsibility of this task. Subsequently the children were transferred to an old house, tutored by Jewish teachers and supervised by a Jewish principal – inadvertently, the school becoming segregated.
Classes started in the fall. Meanwhile, Jacob had time to frolic, and to take care of his younger brothers.
An unusual phenomenon occurred one day that startled old and young alike. The sun got covered by the moon, only a faint, bright, glittering ring visible, like night in the middle of the afternoon. The elders called it "Lyke Chame," a solar eclipse. Jacob was warned not to look directly at the sun, but only through a dark glass.
Through the glass Jacob saw the image of a man in a long black robe, with a long beard, black hair and bushy eyebrows, leaning on a cane, dangerously close to the rimmed precipice. Jacob ran home, approaching his father, shouting "I just saw Moses, up there, on the sun’s edge, any second and he will fall off! Oh, Father, let’s save him, please!"
Raising his head, his father said, smiling, "My child, no one has ever seen Moses. Your imagination is vivid, and I like it."
"But Father," Jacob insisted. "I did see him. Come see for yourself, Please, hurry, before it is too late."
"All right, all right, I’ll be there in a second."
Out the child ran, but the imposing silhouette and his tremendous beard was not there anymore. Moses had shown himself to little Jacob only.
Summer ended too soon. Games, frolic ceased. Children of all ages flocked to their schools.
Although he was a stranger to the school, Jacob had to walk the greater part of the Skarshever Street, around a fenced-in park closed to vehicular traffic, its distinctive charm the pride of the city, and the Lublin Street.
In the spring the park awakened from its long sleep. The grass turned into a green carpet. Tulips, roses showed off their colors. Lilacs with their titillating fragrance. Squirrels chasing one another, birds chirping, the tiny ones experiencing their first flight. ...
In summer, oaks and chestnut trees offering shelter, small shrubbery looking up with envy, children splashing at the fountain, little girls and boys playing.
Every Saturday and Sunday the park was transformed. A stage was erected at the most spacious plaza, with rows of benches, and the populace listened to a military brass orchestra, to popular and classical music. Men and women in their festive garb, dancing far into the night.
And then autumn, leaves, a kaleidoscope of shades and hues, lined the park. Flowers faded, and only the hardiest remained. Squirrels stashing food, bees collecting the last nectar. A myriad of trees, young and old, swaying as in prayer until the snow, like a white blanket, covered them and put them to sleep.
Then winter, children romping, skating, playing in the snow, having fun, but not Jacob. His mother would not allow it, claiming she did not need children with broken legs or pneumonia. It was enough that she had to cook, wash, and men. Doctors she could not afford.
But when a deep snow covered the street, halting all traffic, then and only then she relented, and Jacob had a ball, rolling in the snow, making snowmen, throwing snowballs, sometimes a rock hidden in one of them shattering a window.
Each city, or town or village, had strange people roaming the streets, and Radom was no exception – one in particular causing panic. As soon as she appeared Jacob ran home. Not only children feared her, but grown-ups as well.
She was "Helka Pooy," a hunchbacked creature with a long, crooked nose. She frequented the garbage containers, her long, crooked stick searching, poking.
One morning Jacob took a short-cut to school through the park, following the sledmarks in the freshly fallen snow. Not a soul was around, only a tense silence interrupted by the whistling of the wind.
Suddenly, Helka Pooy, in one hand the long cane, in the other a bag thrown over her bent shoulders, closed in. Jacob’s heart stopped. He began to run, dropped a book, not daring to retrieve it, at last reaching the school, relating the experience to one of his classmates, a bright-eyed girl.
That was his first love affair, Jacob tossing in his sleep, calling the girl’s name.
"Who is Esther?" asked Mayer. "Do we know her?" All laughing, teasing. "Yankel is in love. Yankel is in love."
At first he felt embarrassed, self-conscious, but after a while he cared no more.
One of Jacob’s friends, Chaim Kupfer, was blessed with a beautiful voice. He and his younger brother accompanied their father, the best cantor in Radom.
Chaim lived at the other end of the city, a barrack-like house near a depot, muscular men servicing trucks, shipped all over Poland – to Warsaw, Lodz, Cracow, as far away as Lvov and Vilno. On the far side of the depot was an orchard, an open space as big as a football field.
One afternoon, as he pursued the ball, Jacob was kicked by a big bully. Though it hurt, he outmaneuvered the bully, and scored the deciding goal.
The following morning he could not move, waiting for the bell to ring, barely reaching home, his mother noticing hit.
"What is it?" she asked.
At first Jacob played dumb, but his limp betrayed him.
"Come here," she commanded. "Let me see." His right leg was swollen, the knee fiery red and blue.
For the first time, Jacob had to see a doctor; rather the doctor came to see him: Dr. Pomrok, a middle-aged gentleman.
Stretched out in bed, the doctor examined the sore spot, Jacob biting his lips, not daring to complain; he played with the big boys, then he must behave like one.
The doctor opened his satchel and took out a tube, a long needle, one recalling the time when Dr. Yantche injected children’s buttocks, arms, screams filling the clinic, Jacob closing his eyes. But it hurt his little sister Malkele more than him, she was the one who screamed.
After a couple of days he recuperated, and continued with the chores of growing up. But he had learned his lesson: to be more careful, not to try and outsmart bigger boys.
The friendship between Chaim and Jacob grew steadily, he partaking in his father’s Saturday service, the improvisation and interpretation of the liturgy made his head spin -- learning that at the next High Holy Days, the great Chazan would do the services in his father’s shtibel.
A couple of weeks later, his father brought the good news, Jacob faking surprise.
The High Holy Days start in autumn, beginning with the first day of the Hebrew month of Tishri – Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year, and culminating with Yom Kippur, the day of atonement. Young and old, rich or poor, sick or healthy, to be exonerated by "Prayer, Charity, and Repentance," a stamp of forgiveness and redemption.
The day before Yom Kippur, the children gathered around the table, father with a rooster over the heads reciting a prayer in Hebrew (zai halipoosyi, zai kapooroossy, zai hatarnygol yailech lemyissu). True to tradition, sacrificing the fowl for their sins, and if not a rooster a live fish or a coin served the purpose.
His mother was busy cooking, baking; father and his four sons were on their way to the mikveh, then all separately went to shul to recite the afternoon prayers.
These were indeed sacred, solemn days, one having the distinct feeling of being in the presence of angels.
"Vemaluchim Yaichufaizin, Evyom Tzom Kippur Yochaizin, Veyomrim Hinai Yom Hadin." (Angels tremble, observing the fasting of the day of forgiveness, pronouncing the day of the trial.)
After sundown, mother said a silent prayer over the lit candles, all waiting for the feast to begin, toward a fast to last until next sundown.
Estranged neighbors came over to make up, wishing Jacob’s parents a happy New Year, then all rushed to the shtibel, to hear the rendition of Kol-Nidrei.
And then came Succoth. Eight days of commemorating the tabernacles, Exodus from Egypt, and years of wandering.
Housewives serving the families in a tent-like communal Succah with fish and kreplach, an arduous chore, especially on a rainy day.
But Symchas Torah was the epitome of it all. The small temple was transformed into an exuberant revelry, feasting on homemade cakes, cookies, strudel, wines and spirits, supplied by the congregants, one outdoing the other.
Yankel Osub, paragon of the neighborhood, a stately, handsome Chassid, actively took part in these glorious festivities, with the Torah around the pulpit, whirling, embracing, kissing her like a loving bride.
Young boys, and children with their flags, red apples, hugged the Torah in a tumultuous gay dance long after their bedtime, imitating and often surpassing their elders.
Each season the holidays were celebrated with more love, devotion, adoration. Many as the result of continued singing lost their voices. Their veneration, spontaneous devotion to God, unrestricted, unmotivated, and therefore justifiably appreciated.
The congregation was happy, having the exalted feeling that the Messiah was on his way to gather the children of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, lead them from the "Galut" to Jerusalem, return to their homeland, Eretz Israel, the land of milk and honey.
 |