A FEW PEOPLE OF OUR SHTETEL

Every human being is unique.  Everyone has his or her individual traits - like fingerprints, each different, and sometimes very interesting.

As I look back at the inhabitants of my little shtetel, I remember some of them more clearly than others.  Some because of their behavior; some by the strong impressions that they left.

The Mailman

The clearest image that comes to mind is that of the shaggy bearded, always busy, tobacco smelling, shamos, the caretaker of our beloved 600 year old shul, the vibrant Moishe Kliske.

Evidently he hardly ever slept or even rested.  At six in the morning he was already in the small prayer house upstairs from the shul.  He swept the floor, arranged the tables and benches, and lit the fire in the corner stove to warm up the large room.  When people came in for the morning prayers everything was clean, warm, and ready for them.  Often Moishe Kliske would act as the cantor if there was no one else capable, or available.

Right after the service Moishe would start his regular daily job – going down to the post office and picking up the mail for all the Jews in the shtetel.  He carried two large pouches, and they were generally filled to the top.

It was a known fact that before delivering the mail he would read all the post cards, and occasionally, he would even steam open some envelopes to read the letters inside.  He never divulged what he read, never gossiped, but he knew what was going on in all of the households - all the intimacies that were revealed in the correspondences in his care.

If someone stopped him and wanted to retrieve any mail, he was sternly reminded that the mail had an address, and it must be delivered to the rightful owner – not picked up in the streets, 

"And how do I know you are not an impostor?, he smiled.

This memory of our mailman triggered still another memory.

FAIGA

I was about 12 years old, and in love with Faiga, a beautiful girl who was about a year older than I.  We went to the same school, but were in different classes.  During recess we stayed in our respective doorways, looking at each other, sighing, but never talking.

I wrote a long love letter to this young lady, professing my love and admiration, and my jealousy, but I could not make myself give her the sealed envelope.  I finally put a stamp on it, found Moishe the mailman in a dark corner, and bashfully explained that I must forward this letter to Faiga.  

"No one, but no one, must see this."

I also pressed some paper money into his hand.  He took it, smiled, winked at me, and told me that he understood, and that he would deliver the letter.

At 14 I joined a young Zionist organization, preparing to go to Palestine.  Faiga was also a member.  We therefore saw each other often, but all our conversations were about the "Alia" – our settling in Israel.  I never touched, or kissed Faiga.  I never even found out if my love letter had reached her, or what her reaction might have been, yet everyone "knew" that we were a couple destined to get married, and that we would live in a kibbutz.

But I had to help my family get settled in America first.  When I left our shtetel, Faiga gave me the only kiss between us, and this was on my cheek.

I never left the U.S.A. to settle in Israel; never saw Faiga again, although later, much later, I heard that she too ended up in the U.S.A.

Memories of Moishe Kliske and my first love remain.

The Sleep Walker

The courtyard in the back of our home led into an alley, a narrow, quiet street that was actually a divider between the Jews, who lived mostly facing the city square, and the Polish homes that led into the country, the villages, and the fields.

This street connected two highways on two of the corners of the square.  I don’t remember ever seeing any horse-drawn wagons using this street, but I remember well most of the people living there. 

A very friendly Polish family lived a few homes eastward from our house.  It was a nice home, with the usual garden, fruit trees, and a collection of children.  The oldest was a young man of about 20 years of age.  He passed our home every morning on his way to work at the small walking cane factory; a building that was converted to a cinema house on weekends, and showed early movies.

This smiling young boy was always polite, and invariably greeted our family by removing his cap, and saying, "Good morning."

One summer night, a night of a full moon, someone saw this young man "sleep walking."  He wore a long nightgown, no shoes, and apparently was fast asleep with eyes closed, arms outstretched, walking the full length of the alley.

First it was just a whisper, "A somnambulist among us?"  Soon it became evident that it was true.  More and more people noticed him sleep walking.  Now he was seen on the tall roofs of the city square!  More people came to watch.  Many stayed up on moonlit nights to see the great spectacle of the youth sleep walking on the very edges of the ancient shingled covered roofs.

And they came from the nearby towns, from Zamosc, Bilgoray, and from even further.  People sat on the railings that surrounded the church.  The "budknas" that were selling soda water, cigarettes, and hot tea remained open, and they did a good deal of business.  So did the candy stores, and the sellers of sunflower seeds.

Our shtetel now had a "night life!" Our sleepwalker became bolder and bolder with his daring.  Some people started to worry that he might fall down and hurt himself, or even be killed.

I heard my mother suggesting to the somnambulist’s mother that she should place basins of cold water around his bed, so that when he stepped down from the bed, the cold water would awaken him.  His mother smiled, and said that she would consider it.

I, too, together with the large crowd, watched him every night now.  One of my cousins, Nathan, pointed out that something new had been added to the boy’s attire.  He now wore pants under his long nightshirt, and he also wore shoes.

We also noticed that some of his friends, very discreetly, followed him, and we speculated that they probably  warned him of any possible danger.

We said nothing.  It was a good spectacle for the town. This lasted about two years, and then this young man married the daughter of the manager of the sugar factory.  The wife claimed that she cured him of sleepwalking, as they were busy making babies.

The shtetel had to find other amusements.

The Little Rabbi

A few homes down this street (on the same Gentile side) in a neat little home set back in the orchard, lived a holy man, a Chassidic Rabbi.  He and his wife lived in isolation.  Seldom did we see either of them in town.

Chassidic rabbis generally have followers - some have thousands all over the world that live by his teachings and blessings.  This Rabbi had very few followers.  On  Saturday nights his home was surprisingly quiet.  We did not hear the singing, or the chanting, nor the wise words spoken by the Rabbi, yet it seemed that his few followers were very loyal to him, and that they supported this man who was holy to them.  They even attributed some miracles to this recluse who spent his entire life with the Holy Scriptures. The miracle to me was that he was able to survive in the shtetel.

Josefu and Friends

Across from the Rabbi’s home, several homes further down, almost near the highway, but close to the alley, stood a neat, elaborate white painted house with a gated entrance.  A man that I remember as Josefu lived in this house.

He was a neatly dressed man, who, every morning, walked slowly to the prayer house, carrying his velvet-embroidered pouch containing his talis and tfilim.

He was a pious man, a giver to charities, yet to support himself, he kept some "nafkis" – young peasant women to service men who cared to pay the price.  The girls, who were always free to leave, accumulated a little money for a dowry, and then returned to their villages to get married and raise their families.

After his prayers, and after his breakfast, Josefu was always seen with his personal friend, Nathan Shapiro.  This 40-year-old bachelor was not a merchant, nor a dealer, nor did he do any work at all.  His uncle supported him, his mother, a spinster sister and a younger brother.  They lived in part of the big "kamienice" – stone house, just waiting for something to happen.  Nathan wore nice clothes, but what made him noticeable was the hard, wide brimmed, straw hat that he wore all year round.

Nathan and Josefu were always sitting in the teahouse, or in one of the budhkas, drinking glasses of hot, sugary tea, reading whatever newspapers were available, and discussing politics.

Then something new happened.  A matchmaker came from Bialistok, interviewed Nathan, showed him some photographs, and made him some great offers.  Nathan then disappeared for a short time, came back, gathered his family, and went to the far off city to get married to a very rich young lady.

We didn't see Nathan for over a year, and then there he was again in the teahouse with Josefu, as though nothing had happened, except he now wore new good clothing, new shoes, and a new straw hat.  He stayed in town for a few weeks, and then he disappeared again.  We heard that he became the father of twins.

The Naked Bride

My uncle Meyer was a handsome man.  He was also recognized as a "ladies man" – women adored him.  So it was no surprise that the most beautiful, the most desired and admired young woman in our shtetel caught his attention.  He began to woo this 19-year-old rich beauty.  It was evident that she enjoyed his attention, and returned it in kind. 

On Saturday nights when the young people went "shpaciren" (to get about), to walk in groups on the main street of the city where light flirtation went on, I spied my uncle and this young woman embrace, and occasionally kiss.  I liked this, hoping that soon this woman would be by aunt.

Meyer became serious.  He talked about putting up a home for his bride to be.  Eventually he sent an emissary, a matchmaker, to his intended’s parents. They said "NO!"  They had chosen a delicate scholar to be their son-in-law.

Meyer went to see her parents, describing their love.  They showed him the door.  My uncle became desperate, and arranged to meet his beloved alone.  It was not easy.  The parents forbade any contact, and finally locked up the young lady so that she could not continue meeting Meyer.

As time went on, things did not change for the better.  The parents announced the engagement of their daughter.  My uncle was despondent, and finally listened to the entreaties of  the matchmaker, and went to Chelm where we had family.  There he met Cypora, also a great beauty, full of spirit and passion.  Eventually they were married.  Meyer started to build their home.

Rumors started that the young woman of our shtetel, the earlier object of Meyer's affection, was seen stark naked, stark crazy, sitting in the middle of the town square, screaming obscenities.  It became worse over time.  No one could restrain her.  Finally her parents locked her up in a small room, put steel bars over the windows, and installed a metal door.  Her screams were heard all over the town – and then silence.

She had beat her head against the metal, cracked her skull, and bled to death.

We all went to her funeral, but my family, and most of the town’s people, shunned her parents who died shortly after their daughter's death.

Berl the Grebtzer

The last house in our courtyard (that ended at the back street) was occupied by Berl the "grebtzer."  The house was very old and was leaning to one side dangerously.  It was inhabited by a very large family with half naked children running about.

I think that they were the poorest Jewish family in our shtetel.  Berl was the only one to provide some income.  It was not easy for him.

We always heard him getting up around five in the morning, six days a week.  He sent out strange noises, which were his involuntary reactions to the hard life he led.  It was a combination of a cough, a sigh, and a burp.  That is why we called him the "grebtzer."

This terrible sound emanated from him at intervals of about every two seconds. The sound followed him as he left his home, as he walked in the dark towards the city square, and and as he turned near the hospital and church towards the peasant villages some miles away.  We could hear him gradually disappear, as the noises became fainter and fainter.

Usually when he came back at night he carried on his back a sack of grain, or potatoes, or beans to sell at a small profit to some other Jewish merchant.  One evening we saw him return with a large calf tied down over his shoulders.  It looked as if he wore a huge fur collar.  Sometimes, many times, he returned empty handed.

On Fridays he came home early.  He would go to the ritual bathhouse.  When he came back, he was calmer.  His house was in order.  His wife and children were dressed better.  The Sabbath table would be set; two candles waited to be lit.  There would be a challah covered with a clean cloth.

Every Friday, when my family baked bread to last the whole week, they also baked bread and a challah for this family.  My mother discreetly delivered the bread and  challah, and she also included the candles – sometimes a few pieces of fish were added as well.  I am sure that some other families also contributed to the shabas meal.

Those nights, we heard nice, pleasant sounds coming from the old house.  Sometimes we even heard Berl singing.  This made us all very happy.

The very next day this poor man would start again in his difficult quest to earn a bit of money, and the deep, sad, sounds returned.