OUR SHABBAT IN SHEBRESHIN

Our Sabbath (Shabbat) started on Fridays.  To be exact, about 6:00 on Friday mornings. I would hear my mother get out of bed and prepare herself for the big event of baking bread that had to last all week.  I recall that one day as a young child I too got out of my bed and told my mother that I would go with her. She didn’t resist very much. She pulled down my nightshirt, took my hand, and leading me in my bare feet, crossed the few yards to my grandfather’s house, where my grandma was already awake and moving about.  The kitchen was brightly lit, the large brick stove and oven were fired up, and there were piles of sifted flour on the table. Some dough was already rising.

The kitchen was adjacent to my grandparent’s bedroom, and the door was seldom closed.  Grandpa saw me coming in, smiled, and beckoned me to come join him in his bed. He put me on his chest. I buried my face in his beard.  It smelled of spices. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the warmth.

We watched the two women prepare the baking – sifting and kneading.  First the white flour for the twisted Shabbat Chalah and other white dough baked goods, and later the dark rye to bake in round loafs, sprinkled on top with the caraway seeds.  When the bread was fresh it was soft and delicious, but since the baking was done only once a week, toward the end of the week it became hard and stale, and required a lot of garlic and onions to make it palatable.

The baking was for our entire family.  My uncles lived nearby, and the baked goods were divided between all of us.

But first came the Pletzel the Bialy – these were made from the first batch of rising white dough. My mother rolled and rolled until she was satisfied that it was perfect. She then formed it into a round disk about the size of a plate, very thin in the center, and soft at the edges.  She sprinkled it generously with black poppy seeds and shredded fried onions, covering the whole bialy with sweet butter, and then she beckoned me to come and eat it.

It was the very best that any food ever tasted.  To this day I still can feel the warmth and the aroma -- and it has never been duplicated again.

Next came my grandfather’s turn.  He got up, washed himself, went into another room, put on his prayer shawl (Talith) and performed his first ritual prayer.

Finished, he took his favorite silver wine glass, filled it with vodka (about 4 ounces full), drank it down straight, and sat down near the already set table with the buttered bialys, and ate them with what we called "coffee," but was actually hot chicory and some burned crushed grain.

Satisfied and happy, he went into the woodworking part of the house and started to sharpen the tools and the saws.  There was no electricity and everything was done with hand tools.

Soon my uncles joined us along with my father.  They all sat down to eat the warm baked goods.  This was the Friday only treat.

A little later my mother extracted a fistful of dough from the dark rye mix and molded out what we called Platkis.  These were oval shaped, and longer than the white pletzel, and the centers were buttered and covered with sesame seeds.

This was served for the helpers that worked in the shop.

My aunts and some neighbors came in to pick up the Chalas and their bread, and to taste some of the salty cookies and the Mandelbrot that was also baked solely on that day.

As soon as the baking was finished, the kitchen was cleaned up.  Everything was put away for the next week, and the ritual of preparing for the Sabbath Tshulim started.

Since Jews couldn’t cook on Saturdays, the main meal had to be prepared the day before. Hugh earthen pots were filled up with derma (stuffed carrots, potatoes, chicken, beef, onions, and some spices). When the pots were full they were covered, sealed, and put into the extremely hot brick oven.

Neighbors also brought in their pots, and all were arranged in the oven that ultimately was also sealed.

The food was simmering constantly and the oven was not opened until the next day when the Shabbat Goy (the gentile woman hired just for this purpose) came to help with the work that was prohibited for us to do on a Saturday.

While the women were preparing the Tcholent, the men started to prepare themselves for the Shabbat.

At about 3:00 in the afternoon. they would quit their work, and almost all of them went down together to the river bank where the "Turkish" steam bath occupied a very large building. Inside it was hot and steamy.  The men went up to the highest benches where the steam and heat was the hottest.  They took along scrub brushes or occasionally twigs with them.  They sweated, scrubbed themselves, and made male noises of delight.  I would also go with the men, but I sat on the lowest bench where it was cooler.

After about two hours, the men came down and immersed themselves in the cool river water that ran through  the bathhouse.

At last, clean and happy with shinny faces, we emerged and went home to change all our clothes to the Shabbat garments.  The shoes and boots had been polished by the women.  The ladies also changed into their Shabbat clothing. Everyone looked clean and relaxed, and the men then went to the Shul to pray.

When they returned home, candles had already been lit and blessed by the women.  The kerosene burning chandelier was also lit. The Chalah, which was covered with a satin cloth, was in front of the candles.

We embraced each other and wished each person a good Shabbat. Grandpa recited a prayer and we would sit down to eat.  But first came the singing sanctification of Kiddush, followed by the tasting of the freshly made raisin wine (occasionally we had real red wine with a label that said "Kosher La Pesach").  Afterwards freshly cooked fish, with the skin still on the outside, was served.  Grandpa blessed the largest piece of fish, and he often took the head for himself.  Occasionally he would pick out some small special morsel and give it to me.

Then came the kugel, the noodle soup, hot and full of spices, the delicious chicken and compote, then finally the tea and freshly baked cookies.

It was a glorious afternoon and evening, and a great meal. With smiles on our faces we went to bed to sleep and rest.

We awakened early for the big day. The Shabbat Goy was already performing her chores.  She lit the stove, turned off the chandelier, and put away the previous night’s dishes; all the things that were prohibited for Jewish women to do on the day of rest.  She also opened the sealed oven and took out the various sealed pots.

We did not go to Shul on Saturdays.  We had our own congregation that came to our home on Saturdays.  A corner of our home housed an ark with two Torahs.  A few cut out prayers hung nearby. It gave me assurance and security that God was in our home, and that nothing bad could ever happen to us.

The men, numbering about 30, came to our home.  They prayed and read from the Torah while the women were in the next room with the doors open so they too could listen and participate.

After the service was over, the room was cleared, the big table was covered with the Shabbat tablecloth, and the big meal of the day commenced.

The pots of steaming Cholent were brought out and served along more gefilte fish, and still more and more goodies.  All the time that food was being served, my grandfather, who had a pleasant singing voice, was singing Zmiros; songs of praise, thanking God, and the wives and families for making the Shabbat such a wonderful holy day.

I loved the Zmiros, but alas, I never had a good singing voice.  I tried but Grandpa just smiled.

Right after the heavy meal the men retired to their bedrooms, closing the doors behind them.

Soon the wives, too, silently went into their bedrooms, locking the doors behind them.

On Saturdays we all ate in the same room.  After the meal the very small children played hide and seek, while the older ones went to the market place, sat on the fence near the church, and flirted with the passing young people, and gossiped a little.  The older children went to the library or to political meetings.

One day I heard a nasty little girl saying that her parents go into the bedroom to pray to God to give them more sons.

The parents came out after the siesta.  They were generally smiling and looked happy.  The men sat around a table on our veranda.  The women brought out hot tea and plates filled with cookies and other baked goodies that had been baked on Friday.

We had an understanding to never talk on the Shabbat about work or of other unpleasant subjects.  Saturdays were for joy and rest, and to be very happy.

If it was a warm day, my cousin Nathan and I were summoned, given pitchers, and ordered to go and bring back soda water.

Across from the hospital, where the highway made a very sharp turn, there was a corner shop where we could get sodas.  It was in a basement.  We walked down to this cool room which was above a sub-basement filled with big blocks of ice that were cut out of the frozen river in mid-winter.

These ice blocks were covered with saw dust and they lasted all year.  Between them were long cylinders filled with gases connected to a faucet that dispensed the soda - soda that created all those bubbles that always tickled my nose.

Saturday was the biggest business day for this merchant, even on cool days.

People came in and ordered sodas for themselves and their companions. Everyone treated someone else.

On a shelf were many jars filled with jams and juices. The person doing the dispensing would put in about two teaspoonfuls of the colorful and fragrant jams or jellies into the bottom of the glass as people smacked their lips with pleasure.

Since no Jew was allowed to handle money on a Saturday, and it was also prohibited to write down what and how many purchases, everything was on an honor system.  It was expected that on Sunday or Monday people would come in and settle their bills, and they did.

Nathan and I rushed home with the sodas.  The women served their men using our own ingredients; putting in a lot of syrup and jams, mostly strawberry, blueberry and blackberry.

Occasionally Nathan and I were sent to the spring to bring back the purest cold water.  There were very tall hills across from the flour mill, but at the very bottom was a small depression and spring where the water oozed out very slowly. The water formed a small pool that drained under the road to the river.

We never used the water from the pool, rather we put our jars to the very mouth of the spring where the water came out so very slowly; crystal clear and pure and ice cold.  We then ran home fast to the delight and satisfaction of our parents.

Occasionally we heard that there was a Magid in the prayer house next to the Shul.  All the men went to hear the lecturer who was usually a good storyteller.  The place was full of attentive listeners.  The Magid told stories from the Talmud and the Mishna, but mostly he delighted his audience by telling about the strange Jews that he himself had visited all over the world.

One Magid described jet black Jews – only their palms were white; Jews with slanted eyes; Jews that had their own palaces and thousands of acres of land, some that were heads of government, or actually rulers.  Then he stopped and looked at the congregation, and said that since the prohibition to polygamy didn’t reach or even apply to these strange Jews, they all had many wives.  He even knew of one that had 500 wives!

This brought howls from the audience and shouts of: "Why couldn’t this happen to me?"

This Magid went around the Jewish homes the next day with an outstretched hand to beg for money towards a dowry for his daughters.

A few days later he went to the next town to do the same.

We came home and told the women what had been learned from the storyteller.

We started to watch the sky – waiting for the first star to appear to tell us that the Shabbat was almost over.

Reluctantly convinced that indeed the day was over, that the stars were out, we all sighed and came inside and waited for grandpa to start the Havdolah - the separation of the day of rest from the workdays.

A multicolored candle, actually a twist of several thin, many colored strands was used only for this occasion.  The head of the family lit this and sang the Havdolah.  He poured some of the Shabbat raisin wine onto a plate, and extinguished the flame in the wine.  We again embraced and wished each other a "Good Week."  The silver spice box that was on the table was picked up.  Ours was silver, and carved in the shape of a medieval castle about 12 inches high, and had a flag on top about 4inches wide.   In the center was a door that opened, and the inside was filled with aromatic spices.  This was passed around for everyone to smell and to remember the good Shabbat that just passed.

We sat down at the table; some food was warmed up – mostly left over from the big meal. Again we wished each other a "Good Week," and reassured all the family that there would soon be another day of rest.

After the full happy day I described I went to bed.  When I woke up in the morning I heard my grandfather in his shop, a small file in his hands rhythmically sharpening the band saws.

I felt warm and secure.  I knew that soon we would have another rest day.