WHY GRANDFATHER WAS CALLED ‘LUMER SHMUEL’
Originally published in SHAFTS OF LIGHT ,1997

In a town where practically everyone had also a nickname, my grandfather was called Lumer (lame) Shmuel to differentiate him from other Schmuels, such as Shmuel dehr Katzev, the kosher butcher, or Shmuel dehr Dion, the judge, and so forth.

Grandfather had a distinct limp.  One leg was shorter.  Occasionally, he used a walking cane, but mostly, when he bought shoes or boots, he had a shoemaker add a 2-inch platform on the sole of the left shoe to compensate for the shorter leg.   He got along very well, never displaying any handicap.  He once told me how he became crippled.  Because they caused his injury, he had a lifelong hate for Russians.

In relatively modern times Poland was invaded and divided several times by her neighbors.  The occupiers were the Russians, the Germans, the Prussians, and even the Austrians.  Sometimes it was the fault of the Polish rich classes, who fought among themselves, but most of the time it was rooted in pure desire for conquest and expansion.  The invaders made life in Poland very harsh and bitter.  Polish language, religion, and culture were severely suppressed.  Every so often the Polish people revolted.  Blood was shed.  Sometimes they managed to gain some freedom, even through it was very little.

When Napoleon on his march toward Moscow needed protection in the rear, he reestablished a free Poland, and when the French armies retreated, Poland fell again.  More strife, more uprisings, the patriotic Poles never gave up.

Grandfather’s family for generations backed Polish independence with money, provisions, and advice.  During one of the resurrections, when grandpa was a little boy of eight, a group of Cossacks invaded our little town.  They beat up and robbed all suspects of the revolt.  Our family was pointed out as sympathizers.  The Cossacks smashed into one home taking out all valuables.  They wrecked the woodworking shop.  When one soldier started to beat up one of the hysterical women, the then eight-year-old boy grabbed a piece of wood and began to hit the Russian.

This was hardly an even match.  The Cossacks almost killed the little boy.  They did manage to break his left leg in two places.  The bones were never set right, and when healed, the leg remained a couple of inches shorter.  Grandpa never forgot nor forgave.

Around 1863 a very big revolt broke out in our province.  I call this area "our triangle."  It includes our town, (Sherbershin), Bilgoray, and Goray, forests and hills, deep valleys, remnants of medieval castles, forts, and many villages.  The Poles fought valiantly, but they had no modern weapons or trained commanders.  The peasants fought merely with sabers, old rifles and scythes.  The Russians sent conscripts into this triangle.

The Polacks were encamped on the hills, but they soon ran out of provisions.  Although they controlled the narrow highways, they could not engage the Russians.  My grandfather and his father loaded up a big wagon with provisions, and carefully went up towards the hills near Goray.  They saw smoke coming up from a deep ravine. The boy crawled through the bushes, and then saw a large unit of the Russian Army dug in with many rifles and a field kitchen with lots of food.  The boy then spotted a big brass cannon.

Father and son rushed with the news to the partisans.  When night fell and with the Tsarist army well fed, maybe even drunk, and safely asleep, the Poles descended from their positions on the high ground.  They killed most of the Russians, took all the food, but the most useful gain was the cannon.  It won them many battles and eventually a large degree of freedom from the oppressors.

Years later, when I was with my grandfather on a wagon going to a wedding in Goray, he pointed out the ravine and the nearby hills.  He had a great-satisfied smile on his face.

"I got even with the Cossacks, didn’t I?"