I Shall Live Page 2

  The following pronunciation guide will help English-speaking readers to pronounce the names of Polish locales that figure prominently in the story:

  I shall not die

  I shall live

  I shall tell the story …

  Hrubieszów:

  Before World War II

  When they met for the first time, my father, Lejb, took one look at my mother, Golda, and promptly fell in love. And no wonder: Golda was a beautiful young girl with a sweet face, perfect features, big brown eyes, brown hair, and a peach-like complexion.

  Lejb was an aggressive, impatient young man who didn’t believe in the customary matchmaking; he decided on the spot that Golda was the girl he would marry. Since he was on a business trip from Łęczna, where he lived, to Hrubieszów, where Golda lived, he couldn’t stay long that first time, but as soon as he returned home he began writing her love letters every day. Unfortunately he could write only in Yiddish, and not very well at that. His youngest brother, Moshe, remembered Lejb sitting for hours writing letter after letter, tearing each one up and starting again. Moshe, a mischievous and inquisitive boy of six, would later collect the torn bits, and with the help of his older brother, Hejnach, try to decipher the language of their brother’s ardor, but they never succeeded.

  It took a couple of years, but at last Golda succumbed to Lejb’s persistent courtship. They were married in 1908, when both were twenty-six. Golda’s one condition was that they make their home in Hrubieszów, to which Lejb agreed.

  Lejb’s father, Jankel, and his mother, Sarah (Surcia), were money lenders and dealers in grain; they also held an exclusive license from the Russian government to sell salt in Łęczna. Jankel and Sarah were unhappy with Lejb’s decision to move to Hrubieszów, which was fifty miles away, but they knew that once he had made up his mind, no amount of persuasion would change it. Of their seven children—Usher, the eldest, Lejb’s younger brothers, Bucio, Hejnach, and Moshe, and the younger sisters, Golda and Ryfka—it was Lejb who showed the greatest promise as a businessman.

  The Strum family had been in Hrubieszów for many generations; Golda, her parents, Mordche Hersh and Sarah, and her brother Abraham (Abuś) were all born in Hrubieszów, and the family had lived there from as far back as anyone could remember.

  At the turn of the century Hrubieszów was a sleepy town, built around a central square where the important stores and the best apartments were located. The rest of the town, consisting mostly of small one-and two-story houses and shops, fanned out from the square. Only a few streets were paved, and most of those were of cobblestone, over which horse-drawn carriages clippity-clopped. On rainy days in the spring and fall the mud in the unpaved streets was so deep that wagons often got stuck and had to be pulled out.

  Jews had been living in Hrubieszów since the Middle Ages, the first Jews having arrived there not long after the village was granted the status of a town by the king of Poland in 1400. The first historical reference to a Jewish settlement in Hrubieszów dates back to the year 1444. Mention is made of a Hrubieszów Jew, Eliaser (Elias) who in 1445 made a trip to Kiev to obtain merchandise from the East. He and the other Jews in Poland were part of a Jewish migration from Western Europe to the East which began in the eleventh century and continued for hundreds of years, under the pressure of massacres by the Crusaders and of many other religious persecutions.

  Polish Jews and Gentiles alike suffered the depredations of successive waves of invaders—Tartars, Cossacks, Turks. But the Jews had always lived almost totally separated from the Gentile population, as was the case in most of the towns and villages of Poland and Russia. Many Jews did not speak Polish at all, or at best only broken Polish. At home they spoke Yiddish, and their customs and culture were different, too, as was their appearance: most of them wore beards and long earlocks, yarmulkes on their heads, and black caftans.

  Their religion was the key to their existence, and precluded any assimilation; life on earth was secondary in importance to the one hereafter. Because they had caused them so much misery, Christianity and Christians were viewed with deep suspicion. Although Jews had lived in Poland for centuries, it was still to them a foreign land. Many civil rights, privileges, and sources of income were denied them; to earn a living they had to depend on crafts and trade. They were the tailors, the shoemakers, the candlemakers, the money lenders, the tradesmen, and the storekeepers. By 1897, Jews constituted about half the population of Hrubieszów, more than 5,000 out of 10,500.

  Life was hard in Hrubieszów, as there was virtually no industry. The Polish peasants were poor, and opportunities for Jews were limited. There were a few well-to-do families, but most lived in poverty. The daily diet consisted of bread, potatoes, herring, and soup; the more fortunate families had chicken and fish on Saturdays, but for hundreds there wasn’t even enough bread, and many Jewish children were undernourished, pale and hollow-cheeked.

  These conditions and many restrictions caused a few of the Jews to resort to questionable business practices. This gave the anti-Semitic Poles a reason to brand all Jews as dishonest. Most Poles viewed the Jews with suspicion; to them they were a strange people, a foreign body thrust into the midst of Polish society. They couldn’t understand why Jews held to their traditions and religious beliefs with such fanatic dedication, and they resented them for it. Danger was everywhere: Polish hooligans threatened pogroms and Catholic priests spread anti-Jewish propaganda, poisonous lies, even telling their congregations that Jews killed Polish children and used the blood to make matzohs for Passover.

  But later, when some Jews tried to become assimilated into Polish society, the Poles resented that too. Jews were thus faced with a dilemma: If they kept to their traditional language and culture, they were hated and mocked for being different; when they tried to behave like Poles, they were laughed at and rejected.

  The relationship between Jews and Poles had become a vicious cycle. Each had good reason to mistrust the other, but it was the Jews who bore the brunt of the abuse because they were the minority. And the centuries of invasions, destruction, and mass killings in this part of Europe had hardened the local population to bloodshed, which was an all-too-common sight. It didn’t take much to start a fresh outbreak of violence against the Jews.

  This, then, was the town Lejb came to settle in. Golda’s family was poor and could do little to help the young couple. Her mother, Sarah, had borne sixteen children, but in such primitive conditions that only Golda and Abuś had survived, the others having died either at birth or as infants. Golda’s father, Mordche Hersh Strum, was a likable and respected man, but he never made much money; he dealt in grain, occasionally selling it to the army, but that wasn’t enough business to support a family. He was also an eytse geber (adviser) to people with problems, and although he didn’t charge for his services, neither did he protest when a client discreetly left some eggs, a chicken, or a loaf of bread with Sarah; after all, a man had to feed his family. And he was a specialist in repairing hernias, at which the townspeople believed him to be more expert than any doctor.

  The first few years were hard for Lejb and Golda. They lived in a small cottage on the outskirts of town, and there were many days when they had no other food than milk from their cow. But gradually, with Lejb’s industry and intelligence, their situation improved.

  At first the Jews in Hrubieszów were suspicious of Lejb, but he was smart and energetic, and soon people began to take notice of the hard-driving young newcomer who often beat his competitors to the punch. It was not long before he won their respect and even admiration, which was not unmixed with envy. Here was a young man without connections who was making more money than most of the established businessmen.

  With the outbreak of World War I, Lejb, Golda, and their three small children—Fred (Niuniek), born in 1909, Felix (Felek) (1910), and Sam (Shlojme) (1911)—faced many dangers. The opposing armies—first the Germans and the Russians, later the Poles and the Russians—were often fighting in and around Hrubieszów, and wh
enever the Cossacks were in the neighborhood they ran amok, looting and burning houses. My parents liked to tell of an incident that occurred during one of the Cossack raids. A huge Cossack armed with a rifle came into their house, put some of the family’s valuables into a sack he was carrying, and was about to take the only loaf of bread they had. Food was scarce during the war and the children started to cry, so Lejb with great courage pleaded with the Cossack to take pity on them and leave the bread, as he had nothing else to feed his children. At that the Cossack pulled out a large knife. The children started screaming, but the Cossack smiled and cut the loaf in two, saying, “I’m a fair man—half for me, half for you.”

  It was at about that time that Abuś, Golda’s younger brother, whom she loved very much, was arrested by the authorities on suspicion of being a Leftist and jailed in Lublin, the largest city in the region. Ignoring the dangers of an area that was infested with bands of army deserters and bandits, Golda left the three small children with Lejb and went to Lublin on foot, hitching a ride by horse and wagon whenever she could. In Lublin she went directly to the chief of the Russian police and made an eloquent plea on behalf of her brother. Impressed by her courage, the chief promised he would release Abuś soon, and indeed did so.

  On her way back home Golda heard rumors that there was a food shortage in Hrubieszów, so she bought as much food, mostly bread and potatoes, as she could carry. With twenty or thirty miles to go, she couldn’t get transportation and had to walk, carrying about forty pounds on her back. When she finally arrived back in town, she learned that there had been no food shortage after all, and her Herculean effort had been unnecessary. She did, however, win the admiration of many for her courage and tenacity.

  The war brought not only danger but opportunities as well. In the winter of 1918, all supply routes to and from Hrubieszów were cut off, causing a severe shortage of coal and wood. Houses went unheated in bitter cold weather. A neighbor happened to mention to Lejb that he had heard of an area not far from town where the soil was especially rich in peat; supposedly the local farmers were burning it in their stoves to heat their houses. Lejb immediately went to see for himself, discovered that the story was true, and set about hiring farmers to dig the peat. He organized a caravan of thirty wagons to carry it back to Hrubieszów, riding at its head. At first the townspeople were skeptical, but Lejb showed them that it worked, and they gladly bought the peat from him for fuel.

  Lejb repeated this operation several times, making a good profit on the venture. By the end of the war he was prosperous enough to buy the largest building in Hrubieszów. Real estate prices were then very low, and he knew a bargain when he saw it; he bought the only three-story building in town and moved his family into the second-floor apartment, which consisted of six large rooms and a maid’s quarters. This was by far the most luxurious apartment in town, since most of Hrubieszów’s houses amounted to little more than one-room shacks. Soon after that, Lejb took on a partner, Moshe Lichtenstein, a dealer in fabrics, and in one of the shops on the first floor of Lejb’s building they opened the largest fabric store in town.

  After the war ended Lejb continued to prosper; he was quick and decisive, and not afraid to gamble when the odds were in his favor. He began buying great quantities of corn, wheat, and other grain from the local Polish gentry, who owned most of the land. Most of the grain he sold for export, but he also opened his own granary and bought a half interest in a local flour mill.

  Lejb and Golda had wanted a little girl, so they may have been disappointed at the first sight of me, on October 13, 1923. By then Lejb had become the wealthiest man in Hrubieszów. My first memories are of being catered to by servants and being made much of by my parents and three brothers, who were twelve to fifteen years older than I. My parents still wanted a girl, however, and at last their wish was granted in February 1926, when my sister, Hanka, was born. My mother was forty-three.

  Hanka was a beautiful little girl, fair-skinned, with large, shining brown eyes and straight brown hair. She was adorable, and everyone wanted to play with her. As the only girl in the family, for a while at least she became the center of attention, but my parents evidently made sure I was getting plenty of love too, because I seldom remember being jealous of my sister.

  Fred was a tall, very handsome young man with wavy dark hair and brown eyes. Felek was of medium height, nice-looking, with expressive brown eyes, brown hair, and smooth skin. Sam, the youngest of the three, was about Felek’s height, with grayish-brown eyes and wavy blond hair, which became darker as the years went by.

  I was a shy little boy, always absorbed in my own thoughts. One of my earliest memories is of a resort where my mother and we five children stayed one summer for two or three months. I was not quite four, and remember vividly the thousands of flowers surrounding the small villa we had rented. Father used to come for weekends, and once he brought his sister Ryfka (Regina) with him. There weren’t enough beds, so Regina slept in my bed. Already I was conscious of the difference in our sexes, and can still remember how embarrassed I was, sleeping in the same bed with a woman. At home I still slept from time to time with my parents in their big bed, but of course that was different—Golda was my mama.

  Regina was then in her early twenties, a pretty, full-bodied girl. When we were in bed she tried to hug and kiss me, but I turned my back to her and pressed myself against the wall as hard as I could. I refused to face her. The whole episode upset me very much. It upset my aunt too; she couldn’t understand my behavior. She stayed with us for about a week, and throughout that time I avoided looking her in the eyes.

  Another early memory was of a Christmas tree. At that time the tenants on the third floor were a Polish teacher and his wife, who had a little boy about my age named Jasiek. At Christmastime they would invite me upstairs to see their Christmas tree and play with Jasiek. I remember being overwhelmed by the beauty, warmth, and glitter of the tree; an aura of charm and mystery surrounded it, and Jasiek and I spent hours playing around it. I thought of the tree often during the following months, and couldn’t wait for the next Christmas to arrive.

  Although I loved all my brothers very much, my memories from that time of Fred, the eldest, are rather hazy because he went to study medicine in France when I was only four or five. He had been at the head of his class in the Hrubieszów gimnazjum (gymnasium, or high school), but by then the Polish universities were admitting very few Jewish students, and practically the only way Polish Jews could get into medicine was by going abroad.

  It was at about that time that I had my first experience of violence. I was five, and until then the only violence I had known was when Mother gave me a spanking. She never hit me hard, and if I cried it was mostly from injury to my pride.

  But one day I was playing out in front of our shop when I noticed a commotion a few doors away, near the leather-and-shoe store. I had strict orders from Mother not to wander away from our building, but curiosity won out and I went to see what was going on. A customer was arguing with Shlojme, the owner of the store, who was a large man with a brutish face. Shlojme made leather boots from large pieces of hide, which he had hanging both inside and outside the store and from which customers could make their selections. The man was complaining about the fit of some boots Shlojme had made for him, and Shlojme refused to fix them. The argument grew louder, and I saw Shlojme raise his arm and strike the customer. Apparently he had been holding a knife in his hand—for cutting leather, probably—because suddenly the man’s head and face were covered with blood, which dripped onto his shirt. A wave of nausea and terror seized me. I ran back to our shop and threw myself into Mother’s arms, crying hysterically. I couldn’t speak for some time afterward, and had nightmares for months. Even several years later I would wake up with the image of the man’s bloody head vivid in my dreams.

  I learned to read when I was four. It came to me very easily, and I don’t remember anyone ever teaching me. Soon reading became an obsession. Hrubieszów had a library w
ith several thousand books, and from the time I was six I used to visit it every day except Sunday to pick out books to take home. My first love was Westerns. I read dozens of Zane Grey’s tales of the Wild West, but my favorite Western author was Karl May, a German who never visited America but could spin marvelous yarns about cowboys and Indians. I remember feeling sorry for the poor, brave Indians whose lands were gradually being taken from them, and yet at the same time admiring the dynamic, rambunctious Americans who were continually on the move, vigorously expanding across the vast continent.

  When I ran out of Westerns, I turned to mystery writers like Edgar Wallace. One evening when I was about six I was sitting at my table with a thriller whose Polish title was something like The Fraternity of the Large Frog. It was about a murderous English secret society, and I was utterly engrossed in it when Mother came in and told me it was time to go to bed. I promised her I would in just a few minutes, when I had finished the chapter I was reading, but by then I was too caught up in the story to stop. It scared me so that I was afraid even to move, and besides, I couldn’t tear myself away; it was late into the night when I finished the book. By then I was so petrified I could only stare straight ahead, not daring to look either left or right. I was even breathing shallowly, from terror that at any moment the villain would come and get me. I remained frozen in that position until around four in the morning, when Mother woke up and saw the light on in my room. I was so relieved when she came in that I fell into her arms and would not let go of her for a long time.

  When I was six, it was time to start school. I was to go to the large state elementary school, the only one in town. The first day Mother helped me dress, packed me a lunch, walked me to the entrance, wished me good luck, and left. Inside the schoolyard I was overwhelmed by the sight of all the screaming kids chasing one another around and fighting while waiting for the classes to begin. Suddenly a loud bell rang. That was the last straw; I decided this wasn’t for me and ran back home.