Life and Death of a Shtetl

Biographical Episodes 

by Victor Breitburg

Born in Kaminsk May 8, 1927

Some excerpts from the story are of my return to Lodz. In 1938 I was eleven-years-old, and it is from that perspective that I write.

In the center of the shtetl was a market. Every Wednesday, the peasants brought their commodities there. Money seldom was exchanged, most of the time they used the old fashioned way of bartering. On the right side of the market there was a church, a little distance away there was a Jewish synagogue.

In 1997, against the advice of many people, my wife, the Polish driver and I returned to Kaminsk. From Lodz it took us less than two hours. What I found was a small, beautiful, modern town. First, I went to the police station, just to let them know I am an American, and that I came to visit the place where I was born. When I inquired about the Jewish Cemetery where my Grandfather was buried, I was told it does not exist anymore. Now, where the cemetery area once existed, there are houses.

Next, I went to the Magistrate's office to try to obtain some documents. At the entrance to the Magistrate’s office a group of men congregated and were drinking alcohol. The Polish driver was not too happy to cross the entrance. I felt it took me a long time to get here, and I am going through that entrance. Somehow, the fear I had as a youngster for Poles, I left in Auschwitz. I walked over, and politely asked them to open a passageway for my wife to enter.

The receptionist was a young woman who greeted us, and asked if she could help. I told her I wanted to obtain my own, and the birth certificates for many people in my family. She gave me a room number, and said we would find somebody there who could help. The designated door was half-open, and I noticed a woman with the looks of a typical civil servant. She ordered me to wait outside. At that that point my face flushed with anger and I asked her in an impolite voice to repeat what she just said. I saw she was taken aback by the way I spoke to her. This time she used the word please, and said she would be with us shortly. Within a few minutes she came to the door and invited us into her office.

She gave my wife a chair to sit in, and retrieved another for me from an adjoining room. This time she was full of smiles and asked what she could do for me. I requested my birth certificate, and those of my father and mother.

Not only did she get my and my father’s birth certificates, she also got the witnesses' deposition papers. My mother’s birth certificate was another matter. No records were found; I assumed that she must have been born somewhere else. She then asked if she could do anything else for me and said she hoped to see me again. I thanked her and bid her goodbye.

Now we were ready to explore the town. At its center there is a memorial for soldiers who died on the first day of the war. Around the park there is a row of family houses, and the old church was still there. We walked to where once the Temple was, but could not find the place. The demography changed, there was no resemblance to what I remembered. Any trace that Jews ever existed there is gone. Gone was the market. Now, in its place, are modern stores. Gone are the Jews, the Temple, the mikvah, and gone is the Kaminsk I used to know. We returned to our car and left. There was no reason for us to spend any more time there.

The only thing was left for me was the cherished memory of the summer of 1938...

Lodz, June 1938

Living in Lodz during the summer is like living in a baker’s oven. In a 
textile town, most of the time the factories worked double-shifts. The smoke from the tall chimneys mixed with the summer heat, it became unbearable to live there. I did not care about the pollution, all I knew was that vacation was approaching, and I had passed all my tests with a C+.

I had survived the fourth grade with an anti-Semitic teacher. I got off easy with him, because my father was a veteran of the First World War, and so was he. Our teacher loved to terrorize us. Even though most of the students were Jewish, he could not have been fired, because he was an officer in the reserve of the Polish army. So was my father, but my father outranked him.

Now, it was time for most of us to play football to our hearts' content. In Lodz, we lived on 11go Listopada 58, between Zeromskiego and Zakatna. Next to our building was an Army barrack with a complement of a couple of thousand soldiers. Normally, at this time of the year, they went away for their summer maneuvers. This year they did the training on the premises. It was strange to stand on the roof and watch them, as they played a make-believe battle using bayonets on dummies. The drums of war were felt all around us. 
In March 12, 1938, Austria was annexed, and it became part of Greater Germany.

Vacation, June 1938

My parents decided that this year we were going to spend our summer vacation in Kaminsk. We all looked forward to our school vacation, but it meant I had to leave all my friends, and spend the whole vacation in the little village of my birth. My mother was excited about the prospect of spending the summer in Kaminsk. As soon as our vacation began we were on our way. My father stayed behind in Lodz, and promised he would join us shortly.

This year we went luxuriously, by bus. The roads from Lodz to Kaminsk were not up to par. After six hours of driving and stopping in several places we arrived in Kaminsk. Tired, sleepy and perspiring we stepped off the bus. My younger brother Felek, who was only six-years-old, was grouchy all through the trip, because he had straddled a broken seat. I changed with him several times to no avail. My father’s sister Yochvah and my uncle Yitzhak were waiting for us at the square in the center of town. After greeting and kissing us several times, we were on our way to where we were going to spend 
our next ten weeks.

My Uncle Yitzhak guided us through an unlighted street to a one-room apartment, and lit the naphtha lamp. He said a welcome prayer and a blessing for our safe arrival. He then helped us unpack, and when my brother and I were ready to go to bed, he once again blessed us. When he left my mother said he was the mirror image of her father.

Coming back to Kaminsk from Lodz was like returning to medieval times; there were no electricity, movies, trolley cars, or theaters. All the night I heard the sound of crickets, which kept me awake. The naphtha lamp was extinguished, and the room was pitch black. Everyone was sleeping except me. I quietly went over to the door and walked out to see the stars. Even though it is sixty-odd years later, it is funny how one remembers certain things.

Last semester we had an introductory course in astronomy, but I never had a chance to observe stars in total darkness. I never knew there were so many stars in the sky. I was awe-struck looking at the stars all around me as though they were trying to touch the ground. I kept turning around and around until I felt that I was getting dizzy. Something majestic must have created such a magnificent panorama. After a while I went into the house and went to sleep.

Within the next couple of days I explored Kaminsk. Not far from our place there was a tannery, and the smell was quite strong. I did not have to know from which direction it came, your nose told you. Even today I can associate that smell wherever I am. On Wednesday, I had to get up early because it was market day. By early dawn you were able to hear the horse-drawn wagons with their metal-rimmed wheels pounding the cobbled stones as they brought produce to the market. I was eleven-years-old, and strong for my age. Like in Lodz, I decided to solicit the vendors for part-time work. Even in Lodz, I started to do errands for people to make some extra money, so why should I not do it here. I earned twenty-five groshy (about twenty cents) from each vendor. It was the horses that kept me in business: I used to feed, clean, and brush them.

I was never afraid of horses. There was something in me that wherever there was a horse I had to become acquainted. This experience helped me in Auschwitz. When asked who can work with horses, I raised my hand, and the experience showed. After a while I was getting more work than I could handle, and I enlisted two of my cousins.

My mother’s Aunt lived past the market, and she was always good for some milk and crumb cake. In her house she had a loom where she wove custom textiles. I watched as her fingers moved the special piece of wood that divided the threads. Like magic, the material kept growing. Looking at that woman, I observed that as she worked, she never took her eyes off me: "You look like Yitzhak’s son, all the Shloimo Vigdor's have a certain trait. All of you are very curious." I was always a very curious individual, and wanted to know how things were done.

At the market, the peasants sold everything they grew on the farm. The Jews, in turn, were cabinetmakers, tinsmiths, glaziers, tailors, and shoemakers, and each hawked their own ware. It was noisy from the goats, cows, chickens, etc. There even was a Shochet there. People bargained, and after arriving at an honest price, they smiled because everyone thought that he or she had outwitted the other.

My Uncle Yitzhak owned the mikvah and also was the Gabbai of the Shul. Come Friday, I helped out at the mikvah. Friday morning, every married woman went to the mikvah to get ready for Shabbat, men, in the afternoon.

My cousins and I used to hoist water from the well. At the end of a pole, a rope was attached, from which a water bucket hung down to fetch water from the well. On the other end of the pole was a counter-weight to help lift the water from the well. I don't remember how many buckets of water we had to bring up to fill the boiler, but it took many hours. How primitive it was to work that way. I used to think, why don’t they use a simple electric pump? What I did not realize, was that you cannot run a motor on a naphtha light.

I asked my mother if I would save enough money from my enterprises, could I buy a dog?

"Wait till your father comes and we will discuss it."

Within a week my aunt Sheindel with her two children came to Kaminsk. Reizel was one year younger than I was, and her brother Shloimo Vigdor was only four-years-old. Reizel also came from Lodz, but we were very different. She was more of a protected child than I. When I was nine-years-old I started to go the movies by myself; Reizel was not allowed to go by herself. I was worried that I was going to become her baby sitter. I spoke to my mother about it. 
After a short while, my mother in her wisdom said, "I guess you will have to protect her." I knew it. "Ma," with a pleading and whining voice I asked, "Do I have too?" at this point the conversation ended. Not enough I had to take care of my brother, now I will have to take care of a girl who will follow me wherever I go.

My father and my Uncle Eizel, my mother’s brother, came to stay with us for a week. We went over to my Grandfather Emanuel’s house. It was a modest three-room brick house. This was the house where my father, my Uncle Moisho, and my two Aunts Pearl and Shaindl were born. When we came in he was seated studying the Gomorrah. Slowly, he stood up and embraced my father, when he turned around to me, I knew what was coming next; he was going to pinch my 
checks. I was right, he did it.

After a short conversation we left. Next we went to see my grandfather’s property. He owned a couple of acres of farmland that he leased to a farmer. As we were walking I felt my shoes getting wet. I took off my shoes, but the water was ice cold.

"Why is this water so cold?" I asked.

"Pull out a carrot and eat it," my father said.

I did and it was very sweet, but I still couldn't get the connection.

"We have an underground spring here." I still couldn't get the connection.

"Will I be able to raise horses?" "Maybe," my father answered.

My two cousins, who were helping me at the market, were getting rich. Whatever money we made we divided in three equal amounts. When the market closed, I started to teach my two cousins and some other Hassidic boys how to play football. Until my Uncle Yitzhak found out. He told them to go home and study their portion of the Chumash, for that week. Well, I didn’t get away so easy either. After being rebuked, he was looking at my football. There was anger in his eyes: "You will kick this ball to the gutter and never touch it again!"

This ball was my birthday present from my Uncle Moisho, my father’s brother.

"You will do as I tell you and then you will go to the mikvah and clean 
yourself, because this ball is made of pigskin. Make sure you grab my two sons because they have to go to the mikvah too. Before you enter the mikvah you take off your clothes, and wash yourself in the nude with the well water and then go to the mikvah."

"Uncle Yitzhak, you will not tell mother about the non-kosher football?"

"I will not tell her, but from now on, I would like to see you in the Temple every Friday night."

I knew, and he knew, this was blackmail, but I would have done anything not to create a revolution.

A couple weeks later my Uncle Yitzhak brought me a kosher football.

Friday night I went to the Shul, but I never learned to pray as fast as the rest of the congregation. Before I was able to finish a quarter of a page, my two cousins had finished the whole page, as a matter of fact, they did not even need to have the prayer book with them; they had memorized the whole Friday night service. After a while I was looking forward to Friday. After finishing all the work, I also went to the mikvah, and then returned home and changed my clothes for the Shabbat.

As the sun was setting, there was a transformation going on amongst the Jews. The hassle of the week came to an end, and they were ready to welcome the Shabbat. All the day my mother helped my Aunt Baila prepare food for the evening. On Friday, we looked forward for the feast of honoring the Queen of Shabbat.

I was wearing my best suit, my black shoes were shining, with a white shirt and a yarmulke on my head, I was ready to go to the Shul. My Uncle Yitzhak came in, dressed in a black, wide-rim hat (Shtromel); a long, black silk, unlined coat (Kapot); white socks; and black shoes, he looked like a Rabbi. My mother’s eyes shone with pride. "You look like a Rabbi," she commented; I saw a bright smile on my uncle’s face. My two cousins were dressed the same, except for the skullcaps on their heads.

We went outside and a throng of people going to the Shul met us. It was a beautiful sight to see men bedecked with shiny Kapitas and Shtroim. They went to the Rabbi’s house to accompany him as a procession to the Schulte Temple. The Temple was packed, I don’t remember whether the Shul had electricity, or not. Everybody in Kaminsk belonged to the Orthodox sect.

After the service was finished and the people started to go home, you knew which house was Jewish. Instead of the naphtha lamps, there were Shabbat candles. My uncle greeted everyone with a good Shabbat, we washed our hands and sat down at the table. My uncle said the prayer over wine and over chali. We all broke off a piece of the challah, recited the prayer over the bread, and started to eat.

After the meal, we all joined in prayers and songs of welcoming the Shabbat (Zimiris). The Shabbat day was a day of prayer and study, but not for me. I had enough of prayers. I went to the Shul, and when they started to read the Torah I used to sneak out. I went and picked up my cousin Riezel, and promised to show her what a river looked like; it was not a real river, matter of fact, just a running stream.

I really enjoyed her, even all the times she was scared. We both lived in Lodz, and she was going to school around the corner from our house. Because the school so near, she always joined us for lunch.

This day, for the first time, she asked me whether I liked girls. I avoided this question. The summer was coming to an end, and I was almost sorry we would have to leave the shtetl. I was so busy I didn’t have time to miss Lodz. I got to know a lot of people. Many were pupils of my Grandfather Shloimo Vigdor. When they heard my name, they told me stories about him and what a good Melamed he was. The same time, they started to praise my Uncle Yitzhak by saying that he should have been a rabbi.

When my father came to bring us home, he asked me if I would like to come back to Kaminsk. I told him I wanted to spend two weeks with my relatives in Belchatow. My mother’s aunt, Hilda Haft, lived there, and they dealt with horses, and I also wanted to spend some time in Piotrkow with my Aunt Ruchel. I knew that on their orchard they bred horses.

I went back to school, and once again I got Kmiecz, the anti-Semite, as he still was my home teacher.

The first assignment was how one spent their vacation. I wrote about the Wednesday’s markets: how I worked there and saved some money to buy a dog. I also wrote about the tannery, and of my hours spent watching the men working there. I described how leather was transformed from the hides of cows. I spoke of the Jewish life there, and its difference from life in Lodz.

I wrote about the water that came from the earth, how clear and cold it was. I told of my father teaching me to ride horses, and how my mother taught me to milk a goat. My mother was milking a cow, I asked who taught her -- you watch, and then, you try. I described how my mother and I went to pick mushrooms in the forest after a rain. I wrote how hard I worked to earn some money, to be able to buy a small puppy dog. I wrote as much as I could about the Jews, of their lives, and the existence of a little shtetl by the name: Kaminsk.

For the first time in my life I got an A+ on my writing, but he was still an anti-Semite.

My father told me everybody knew me in Kaminsk, and my Uncle Yitzhak would like me to come back.

I did not go back to Kaminsk in 1939, it had to wait until 1997. September 1938 Hitler demanded that the Sudetenland, a part of Czechoslovakia, and which had a large German population, should be annexed to Germany. The German grievance was that the local German populations were discriminated against and must be liberated and annexed to Germany.

British Prime Minister Chamberlain signed an agreement with Germany; the right to occupy Sudetenland in order to avoid further aggression. The pact was signed; and Prime Minister Chamberlain came back to London, with a declaration of "Peace in our time."

A couple of months later, to be exact, March 15, 1939, Czechoslovakia was swallowed by further German aggression, and Czechoslovakia ceased to exist.

Kaminsk, like any other area, prepared for war. September 1939, Kaminsk had thousands of Polish troops stationed there. Germany demanded a corridor from Germany to the bi-national city of Danzig (Gdansk). Poland refused with the slogan, "We are not going to give one button from our uniform." Within a couple weeks of fighting, Poland gave up their whole uniform.

A couple of days later, German forces invaded Poland; on the first day of the war, Kaminsk was bombed to oblivion. The only building spared was the Church. This unexpected attack on Kaminsk caused many fatalities among the civilian population including my cousin, Shloimo Vigdor; he was the oldest son of my Uncle Yitzhak.

My Uncle Yitzhak was drafted to the Army and later released as a prisoner of war. He came to our house, but nobody had the heart to tell him about the loss of his oldest son. We never heard from him again. We wondered if we were right not to tell him. The whole family mourned for this wonderful young scholar.

In 1997, while in Warsaw, I went to the Jewish Museum, and in the archives I read that my Uncle Yitzhak became the Elder of the town. As Elder of Kaminsk, my uncle, in his letters, describes the plight of Jews there. My uncle’s name disappears in mid-1941, but my Aunt Baila, and four of her children were still there. By the end of 1941-42, Kaminsk became Jew-less.

I bought a little puppy dog, but it died four weeks later. In later years I owned three dogs, all of them boxers. Their total life span was twenty-odd years. I still ride horses whenever the opportunity presents.

While visiting my daughter, Denise, at her college in Phoenix, Arizona, we decided to take a trip to Los Angeles. As we neared Los Angeles we had to cross a mountain. I noticed a horse stable nearby. We stopped and inquired whether the horses could reach the mountain peak. They could. We saddled three horses and, leaving my wife Lucille behind, we went forward. We had a guide from the stable who took us to the peak of the mountain; from there we all looked at the rim of the Pacific ocean beyond. We were transfixed by this panorama, I turned to Denise and Myra and said, "Life is beautiful."

If anyone would like to add anything about Kaminsk, please address your comments to victorsb@aol.com or seflaum@aol.com. 

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