The happy period of my life was definitely that of my childhood in the town of Suwalki, Poland, where I was born two weeks before "Shevuoth" in 1899. For my mother and father, my advent was a great occasion of joy. This story of my birth I had heard told and retold over and over again to friends and neighbors. In those days, it was the custom in all the small towns, for fathers and mothers to delight in boasting of the wisdom and exploits of their children during the early summer holiday while celebrating the first harvest and the granting of the Torah.
The sun had risen in its proper time, when the clock struck 6:20 in the morning. The rooster, of course, must have crowed at just the right moment and awakened the neighbors on our street. And I, the newly born, most certainly awakened my two year old brother with my first cries . . . for he resented my arrival, as well as the interference with his sleep.
My parents were Mordecai Meyer and Chana Klejman. My father, who was my mother's senior by about 25 years, was a kindly, pious respected man, well-versed in the Torah. He utilized his knowledge and his learning, as modern vernacular would have it, in "volunteer work." That is . . . between the late afternoon and evening prayers he would spend his time lecturing to Jews about the source of the laws of the Talmud (the Gemorrah) . . . and would interpret for them the moral codes, as set forth therein. He was a great narrator and an extraordinary interpreter of the Bible, with all its nuances.
My father was a man who was steeped in the laws of the Torah, devoting his whole life to learning. He would also devote whole afternoons to teaching Jews the lore of Rabbi Jacob's Commentaries and their sources. Saturday evenings he would hold forth with the Jews of our community in the large synagogue, opposite our home. His beautiful Sabbath nigunim (melodies) could be heard, of a summer evening, at great distances. We small children would accompany him in chorus.
The holiness of the Sabbath and the holidays that permeated our family life left its imprint on me, as well as on the other children . . . from which, to this very day, I draw my personal strength.
I also recall how our father would saw up huge logs, and then split them down to stove size, much in the manner of an experienced woodsman (woodcutter). These he would stack in huge piles, in preparation for the winter.
My father would rise very early in the morning and chant his morning prayers, as was the custom of religious Jews in those days. He would then put flames to wood prepared for the purpose, under a huge copper kettle, which was bolted to the wall and filled with water. This kettle had a brass faucet from which we drew the boiling liquid all day - for ourselves, as well as for guests who came in for tea.
My father would wait for us children on our arrival home from school. He would see to it that all hands were washed; that we recite the prayer that preceded the meal; that we behaved properly at the table. He would not permit us to speak while our mouths were filled with food. In other words, he taught us etiquette from the "Shulchan Arukh"*. If all of this was adhered to, I do not recall. . but it certainly did no harm.
* * * My home town of Suwalki was close to the German border (formerly East Prussia). For that reason our town was guarded by great numbers of soldiers. Many people would come to our home to eat. These were chiefly construction workers, engaged in erecting huge barracks for the Russian military.
My mother was very capable in business matters. She was the one who directed the household and was the provider of our livelihood. She went to the market to purchase all the necessary produce: the fowl, the fish, potatoes, all the greens - and whatever else was needed for our inn. She would cook, bake, serve the customers - and even attend to the bookkeeping herself. All the accounts were kept in her head, and she remembered what everyone owed. Many of the customers ate on credit, and often there were those who left town without paying their bills.
We were five children: four sisters and my one and only brother. He was very shy and very handsome; but when it came to learning, he was not very industrious. My pious father, certainly must have desired that his first-born son become a leading rabbi amongst Jews. However, this was not to be, and this was a great disappointment to my father.
The girls of the town gave him no rest, so he was constantly involved with them. He would say to my father: "Let Chaya Rochel do the studying . . . she will benefit from it more than I will." Shloime Nachum grew up with his companions to become a progressive Poale-Zionist (Labor Zionist). He learned to operate a printing press - and later became a typesetter.
He vas still a young lad when he left home. He settled in Grodno, secured employment there, and also found his prospective bride, whom he later married. In a matter of a few years, amidst great joy, they became the parents of two handsome children - a son and a daughter. When the Second World War broke out, his daughter was nine, and the son was fifteen. Hitler - of infamous and hateful memory - destroyed the city of Grodno and annihilated all the Jews. My brother, his wife and his two dear, beautiful children met their untimely end in Hitler's crematoria.
I was the second child in the family . . . a brat of a girl, who loved to sing and dance. Nevertheless, I was a good student. At fifteen I graduated from a private school, where I studied the Polish, German, French and Hebrew languages as well as required Russian language. When I graduated, I received a citation for my excellence as a student. My prize was a beautifully illustrated edition of the book, "Robinson Crusoe" in Russian.
From my earliest childhood I read and committed to memory the most popular works of the Russian poets. And with what zeal I recited "Borodino" by Lermantov. I studied Pushkin, and his profound, thought-provoking lines would clear the pathway to my Yiddish soul. With tremendous feeling and pathos, I would also sing Nadson's love songs.
Later I developed a more mature approach and came to read the "Brothers Karamazov" and "The Idiot" by Dostoievsky. I became aware of the fact that there were Yiddish writers for the first time in the home of the Liss'es where I would visit my girl-friend. This occurred when I noticed some huge tomes with the words "Der Yud" (The Jew), imprinted on their spines. Her father, Abraham Liss, it appeared, was an enlightened Jew, who already at the beginning of the 1900's subscribed to the monthly periodical, "Der Yud". At the close of each year he would have the twelve issues bound into a heavy leather-covered volume, with the titles and the dates (the years) imprinted on the bindings of the tomes in gold letters and numerals. It seems that it was fated for me to make this discovery.
On the pages of "Der Yud" I found, and thirstily devoured Sholem Aleichem's monologues, poems by I.L. Peretz or tales by Mendele Moicher Sforim, such as "Die Kliatshe" ("The Nag"), "Benyomen Der Driter" ("Benjamin the third") and other excerpts from his precious works. I also read, with great interest, the works of other fine Yiddish writers of that period. And what Yiddish daughter was unable to read Yiddish with those wise, flowery, poetic words, to while away her time. Thus I fell in love with Yiddish body and soul, as the saying goes . . . and soon began to read Sholem Aleichem's monologues aloud to our neighbors every Friday night. Observing the great satisfaction that we all derived from his writing and from my reading, I never gave it up . . . till this very day. In Sholem Aleichem's writings I discovered my milieu . . . and fell in love with him forever!
* * * The eldest of my three sisters was Chiene Rivl, a hard-working girl with a healthy attitude toward domestic tasks around our home. After I left Suwalki, she married a young man from Grodno. They settled in that city and lived a simple, peaceful life. After a while they became parents of two lovely girls. To my great sorrow, they all met the same unfortunate fate that befell my only brother and his family.
My second sister, as pretty as was her name, Sheineh Esther, was barely seven years old when I left for the States. She grew like a budding flower. Not only was she beautiful in appearance, but grew up to be an excellent teacher of the Hebrew language in the Suwalki High School. She also was a lover of the arts, and an ardent follower of the local dramatic circles. She married a young man of our town, David Rubenstein, who was also a teacher. They lived a modest life together, with their daughter, who bore the beautiful, biblical name of Shulamith. Shulamith was an extraordinarily intelligent child. Tragically she and her family all met a martyr's death.
My youngest sister, Bashe-Gitl, was five years old when I left home. She also married a lad from Grodno, a bookkeeper by trade. Their marriage took place at the very beginning of Hitler's assault on our Jewish people. Most unfortunately, Basha Gitel and her husband lost their lives in the Holocaust.
* The collection of laws and prescriptions governing the life of an Orthodox Jew.