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IN-DEPTH FEATURES
Part III
This series recounts the trials and tribulations of the
Jews of Bukhara, from the perspective of Shulamit Tilayov, a
Jerusalem-born woman who spent twenty years of her youth in
Bukhara. At the age of four she returned to Bukhara with her
parents for a short stay, but due to the Bolshevik Revolution
and World War I, their visit turned into a two-decade
sojourn. Ms. Tilayov's memories paint a picture of Bukhara's
splendor and the tremendous mesirus nefesh required to
observe Torah and mitzvos under the Communist regime. Through
a series of miracles, she had the merit to return to the Holy
City and to Shechunat HaBucharim, the neighborhood her
grandfather, Rav Shimon Chacham, helped establish years
earlier.
Part III recounts the Tilayovs' and another family's
efforts to keep mitzvos in hiding, risking their lives to
cling to the Jewish faith. The sidebars include a harrowing
account by the head of a talmud Torah who withstood
terrible interrogations and torture and the rare
hachnosas orchim extended to World War II refugees
under dire conditions.
The harsh decrees and the ongoing suffering compelled some
families to try to flee Bukhara for Eretz Yisroel. In a
number of cases they forded raging rivers under the cover of
night, traversed deserts and were spared from the clutches of
Bolshevik secret police agents by the skin of their teeth --
only to be caught at the border.
Those who were apprehended faced horrible punishments: years
of hardship and affliction, deportation, torture or hanging.
Despite the harrowing accounts of those who were caught, Jews
continued to steal towards the border in the hopes of
reaching Eretz Yisroel.
In 1930, when I was 23 years old, my husband Yitzchak was
sent by the government to oversee a large general store in
the town of Dajar-Kogan, located near the Afghani border.
During the two years we lived there, every month I had to
take a three-hour train ride to Tarmiz, where the nearest
Jewish community was located, to buy kosher food.
Some 300 European government workers lived in Dajar- Kogan
and the rest of the population was comprised of Turks and
Muslims. Yitzchak and I were the only observant Jews in the
town, a fact we concealed from everyone else. I would light
Shabbos candles in a tin case so their light could not be
seen from outside.
As Pesach approached, we faced a serious dilemma. We lived in
a single room adjacent to the store that my husband managed.
Our neighbor was a guard, and his family and the foot traffic
in the store were constantly passing nearby. We were afraid
our secret would be discovered. The guard's wife was a
Ukrainian woman and a virulent antisemite whose prying eyes
were always scanning her surroundings. At the time, informing
was an everyday occurrence and informants were well
recompensed.
One day she spotted me kashering kitchen utensils. I
trembled with fear, for I knew what awaited us: not only
would my husband lose his job, but we would also be sent to
Siberia for many years. Right away, my Ukrainian neighbor
asked if I kept mitzvos, which I denied vehemently. But she
did not believe me, saying she was well acquainted with
Jewish customs.
On Erev Pesach, big signs were posted in the town notifying
residents that a large delegation was slated for arrival to
carry out a "purification" among government workers.
Religious employees, employees from wealthy families or
employees under the previous government would be
automatically dismissed from their positions and sent to
Siberia.
On Pesach Night, it was Yitzchak's turn to appear before the
purification committee. I accompanied him, carrying our son
Pinchas in my arms. The inquiry took place in a large hall.
We stayed there until late at night waiting to be called.
Then we had to sign a declaration, in the presence of the
committee heads, stating that we were not from wealthy
families and were not religious. After signing, we were
released and sent home. This was a miracle from Above.
Coming home we shut the door and latched it tight. Then we
soundproofed the door and windows with carpets and set the
Pesach table according to the Bukharan tradition. I lit
candles and recited Shehechiyanu with great
kavonoh. During my last excursion to Tarmiz I had
obtained homemade matzos and wine as well as kosher
beef and chicken. I had prepared charoses myself and
we held a kosher Seder despite the inherent risk.
When we came to Shefoch Chamosecho in the Haggadah
we sang out loud, forgetting our enemies outside, and
convinced the carpeting muffled our voices completely. But
the armed guard constantly patrolling the store heard our
voices and began banging on the door. We sat frozen in place,
but the loud knocking continued.
Yitzchak turned off the light and opened the door. The guard,
who could not see the set table, asked what the noise was
about and Yitzchak told him I had shouted out in my sleep
during a nightmare. Meanwhile I was so frightened that I
passed out. The guard believed Yitzchak's story. As soon as
he had gone a safe distance, Yitzchak quickly latched the
door shut again and revived me.
We barely had enough matzo to last five days. For the last
three days we subsisted on hard-boiled eggs and potatoes,
earnestly hoping the words at the end of the Haggadah
would come to fruition: "Beshanah haba'ah
biYerushalayim habenuyoh."
A Vacation
Later that year, when Yitzchak completed three years as a
government employee, he was granted a three-month vacation.
Our son Pinchas was still small and we decided to take him to
breathe some fresh air in the Caucasus mountains in the spa
town of Kislovodsk, which draws people from far and wide for
its fabulous views and excellent air. Like the other
vacationers, we rented an apartment with an enchanting view
and surrounded by lush greenery.
Staying in the apartment next door was a Jewish family from
Tashkent -- nice, very respectable people we had met before.
Our apartments were connected by a shared balcony.
We knew fairly little about them. The father's name was
Rachamim Shlomahiov. Later we learned they had fled from
Tashkent and had made foreign passports in Kislovodsk in
order to leave Russia.
One day, policemen came knocking at their door. They heard
the police asking questions about them and grew very alarmed.
Citizens of a totalitarian country are always frightened when
the authorities begin asking questions about them. Rachamim
rushed over to us in a great panic, threw a wrapped package
toward us and pleaded, "Please, guard this package well."
Not knowing what its contents were, we felt apprehensive. But
realizing he was in dire circumstances we could not refuse.
It was clear to me that if the package was found in our
apartment we would come to a bitter end. I quickly hid it
deep inside the oven, in a pile of ashes. Yitzchak told me
that if the police arrive in a few minutes to conduct a
search, I should be prepared to stand nonchalantly as if we
had nothing to hide -- or else he would lose his job and we
would all be sent to Siberia.
We remained in the room overwhelmed by utter panic and fear,
while the police searched our neighbors' apartment. The
Shlomahiov family was staying in the city illegally and did
not have food stubs. It would have been very easy to find
this out. When the policemen finally left, after what seemed
like an eternity, the neighbors came to us as white as chalk
and trembling with fear. We returned the package to them, but
Rachamim begged us to guard it for a few more days. Despite
our fears, his pleas touched our hearts so we agreed to his
request and prayed Hashem would safeguard us.
For three days the package remained with us. We did not open
it and its contents remained unknown to us. The police did
not return, so after three days we returned the package to
our neighbors and Rachamim revealed to us that it contained
the travel documents he had prepared for himself and his wife
and child, two pairs of tefillin, several siddurim and
seforim and even some valuable gold jewelry -- whose
possession was prohibited in Russia. I was astounded by the
Shlomahiov family's mettle and their dedication to Torah and
mitzvos.
Rachamim wanted to compensate us for saving him from
disaster. He offered to give us some of the jewelry as a
keepsake and as a token of his gratitude. Yitzchak and I
declined resolutely, saying, "Sechar mitzvoh,
mitzvoh." Yet Rachamim insisted we accept some of the
jewelry and the next day, following our continued refusals,
he said, "If you're not willing to accept anything from me,
at least let me sell you one piece of jewelry as a
memento."
At the time we did not know this would be the last time we
would see him and the memento would remain with us forever.
We bought one piece of jewelry from him because we knew he
needed a lot of cash to cover his expenses.
Afterwards we discovered that in exchange for bribe money he
had managed to obtain fake passports. Some time later the
Shlomahiov family boarded a boat to flee from Russia, along
with several other families. All of them were caught by the
authorities and executed.
The names of the Jews who met their deaths along with the
Shlomahiov family are Ephraim Davidbiov and his brother and
another family related to him, Hy'd. I have kept the
piece of jewelry all these years, even during my harrowing
journey from Bukhara to Afghanistan. It reminded me of an
observant Jew who clung to the Word of Hashem even in
golus as the lion's jaws gaped before him.
The talmidim of HaRav Eliezerov remained the
community's leaders and chachomim, setting a laudable
example by continuing to study Torah in hiding. Some of them
displayed tremendous spiritual fortitude in their fight to
preserve Jewish tradition.
HaRav Simchah Grodetzky, HaRav Eliezerov's leading
talmid, who preserved his legacy, influenced all of
Bukharan Jewry during this difficult period and showed
tremendous self-sacrifice in his efforts to buttress the
walls of the Jewish faith. He wrote a memoir that recounts
the physical torture and tyranny to which the authorities
subjected him for teaching Torah.
"On the night of the 13th of Nisan the melamdim at the
talmud Torah, including myself, received a summons to
appear the following day at the GPO, which caused great
alarm. That night I went from one melamed to the next
asking them not to divulge the truth about who was
responsible for organizing and uniting the talmud
Torah, telling them to say only that the parents hired
and paid them on an individual basis. The law permitted a
father to teach his son Torah or to hire a tutor, or even for
several parents to hire a teacher together as long as there
were no more than seven children studying together in one
group.
"Before I went to the GPO I said Tehillim and asked
Hashem Yisborach to have mercy upon me in the
zechus of the lomdei Torah, for all that I did
was for His honor.
"When I arrived I ran into several melamdim who had
already been questioned. They told me they had held to what
we agreed to say and apparently had been believed. I, too,
went in to speak with the interrogators and said I had no
ties with the other melamdim, but merely come to the
beis knesses to pray. They claimed I was the
instigator and the leader. I replied that this was a lie and
that the fact I sometimes study Torah with talmidim
between mincha and ma'ariv was just because the
Jewish custom was to study. I added that a rival must have
lodged these false charges against me and that all of the
clamor that had been stirred was wholly unfounded. They
accepted my explanation and I left.
"I saw I would no longer be able to maintain the talmud
Torah openly. Right away I selected the top seven
students and sent them to study in a distant city. Boruch
Hashem I managed to continue this holy work until 5695
(1935), when I was taken into custody. This time when I came
to the GPO the jailers treated me in a coarse and undignified
manner. From the start I felt a change in their conduct
toward me compared to the previous incident. They had brought
me in to [torment me] until I died under their coarse
hands.
"They wanted only one thing: for me to admit I was the
leading organizer in Bukhara and that all of my teachings
were intended to strengthen and buttress Judaism. Of course I
denied all of the accusations and insisted I was not an
`instigator,' but they were determined to break me and then
certainly I would open my mouth and admit everything.
"All night, starting at sunset, I sat in their office as the
investigators sat around me asking about every detail,
whether relevant or irrelevant, primarily to confuse me. I
spent several such nights without sleep or food except for a
bit of bread and a bit of water.
"The reshoim found a new method of handling me: They
placed me in a tiny prison cell where I had to stand on a
wooden stool with my legs spread. The stool was placed over
foul water full of dead animals, and if I shifted my weight I
would fall into the water. The air had a damp stench and
various fleas and flies and strange bugs crawled all over me,
taking no heed of me, wandering into my eyes and ears.
"I had to stand like this day and night until the following
session, and only if I stated an urgent need would the
soldier guarding me escort me, wait for me and return me to
the miserable cell. Despite the horrible suffering and
torment, I decided not to speak up or admit a thing, and I
asked Hashem to put an end to the terrible captivity.
"The daily interrogations became repetitive. My senses were
dull by this time and the interrogators would jump on every
word I uttered as if they had uncovered contradictions to
what I had said yesterday or the day before. But I remained
as steady as a rock, my mouth shut tight like a mute, waiting
for the end to arrive.
"My only moments of respite during the course of the day were
when I left the cell for urgent needs, but I could only make
such requests a few times per day. One day, when I was taken
from my cell, suddenly I heard my wife's voice crying out. In
broken sobs she shouted and pleaded, `Simchah! Until when? I
am sure you'll find me in the grave. I don't have the
strength in me to bear it. Please, for my sake, Simchah . . .
Simchah . . .'
"I recognized her voice and I could no longer withstand it. I
shed no tears and made no sound, but stood still as if in a
dream. And the truth was, this time they really broke me. I
decided to confess to all of the allegations and I told my
guard I had something important to tell the investigator. The
soldier, who was guarding alone, left his post and went to
call his commander.
"At that very instant I fell asleep standing above the water
and suddenly, in a dream, I saw my friend and companion, R'
Rafael Nachman HaKohen, saying, `Simchah! Don't break. We are
praying for you. Soon you will be released.'
"Totally stunned I awoke to the sight of the investigator
standing before me and asking what I wanted. I began to cover
up my request and apologized, saying I had been half asleep,
but the truth was that I could not move, and even if they
killed me at least I wouldn't go to the grave a liar. The
investigator issued a string of invectives, spitting out, `We
have yet to show you with whom the truth lies!'
"They continued to torture me for 17 months. On the 17th of
Kislev 5697 (1937) I received a telegram from my wife that my
release had been approved in Moscow. The merit of dedication
to Torah is what saved me from my persecutors."
During the Second World War, hundreds of Jewish refugees from
Central Russia poured into the cities of Central Asia,
including Samarkand and Tashkent. Polish refugees also
arrived in Bukhara. HaRav Eliyahu Mani left aside all of his
affairs and totally dedicated himself to assisting these
homeless refugees. He was a major hachnosas orchim
organizer and committed others to rescue activities.
In Carmena and Nur-Mateh, towns not far from Bukhara,
refugees were placed in gigantic baskets once used to
transport wholesale fruits and vegetables. Now they were
filled with live, persecuted people who had been brought by
camelback. During the summer heat, the streets were normally
deserted by day, but now so many Ashkenazim were flowing into
Bukhara that people filled the streets as if it were
motzei Shabbos or motzei Yom Kippur after
ma'ariv.
HaRav Eliyohu Mani delivered a droshoh in the beis
knesses in which he said there were diamonds rolling in
the streets -- i.e. mitzvos waiting to be performed -- and
that the refugees had to be provided food, housing and jobs
and all of their other needs had to be met.
People would bring them to live in their homes or courtyards
and the wives would cook food for them. Among the refugees
were Rav Eliezer Gurvitz and Rav Neta Barkan. All of this
help was extended without compensation.
On one occasion, sixty refugee families arrived in the city
of Samarkand on Shabbos. Since there was no eruv in
the city the question of whether food could be brought for
them immediately arose and was posed to Rav Chizkiyohu's
beis din. The rov stopped in the middle of his
shiur and ruled it was permitted to carry food for
them due to the possibility of pikuach nefesh. The
Jewish area of the city was divided into thirteen streets
based on the number of participants at the shiur, and
each of them went to his designated zone to bring food to the
refugees and see to their needs.
HaRav Eliyahu Mani, brimming with the excitement over the
mitzvoh, went to the home of a wealthy Jew where he was given
permission to take all of the Shabbos food off the oven. "I'm
sure nobody in the house will starve," he said, "but the
refugees are very hungry. This is truly pikuach
nefesh."
HaRav Mani was busy most of the hours of the day in the holy
work of administering assistance. Once he asked his brother,
Gavriel, if he would be willing to take in six refugee
families. R' Gavriel agreed. Then his brother said, "Had you
refused I would have sent them to you anyway!"
These were years of great hunger during which many people
died of malnutrition. Others contracted typhus, which was
spreading at the time. HaRav Mani's children were
hospitalized with typhoid fever and recovered, but he caught
it and succumbed to the disease at the age of 47, leaving
eight orphans behind.
"In 1943, in the middle of the war, there was a very cold
winter," recalls Professor Preib of the Brit Yotzei Bukhara
Be'eretz Yisrael. "There was almost no wood available for
heat and many people became severely ill. A stream of
suffering refugees arrived in Bukhara seeking shelter.
Despite the difficult circumstances prevailing at the time,
we helped them. They were given food, clothing and even
assistance in finding work. Our homes had four or five rooms,
so we could make two available to refugees. When large groups
of refugees arrived we would house them in the central
beis knesses.
"My grandfather was a doctor and a father to eight children.
To this day I remember how he would go from one sickbed to
the next among the bloated, sick and bleeding refugees.
`Who's Jewish?' he would ask. Then he would take the Jewish
patients to his home and treat them with devoted care,
ensuring they recovered.
"A portion of the refugees who fled Poland managed to smuggle
diamonds or gold under their clothes, but those who came to
Bukhara from the Soviet Union were really poor. We hosted
them in our homes, treating rich and poor alike, and shared
our bread with them.
"During those years, bread was rationed in Bukhara and a mere
400 grams [14 ounces] per person was issued upon presentation
of a ration card. We stretched this limited amount to share
it with the refugees. During chagim and simchas
we would invite the refugees to dine with us. To this day
there are Ashkenazi families that are grateful to the
Bukharan families that saved their lives, and still visit
them on holidays."
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