Pa is now in the Vizhnitz Old Age Home in Bnei Brak. He
spends most of the time in the Beis Midrash studying, but in
the evening, needs a bit of company. Mrs. Rosengarten finds
reminiscing a stimulating and important activity for her
father-in-law, and coaxes his fascinating life's story from
him in nightly installments.
Ma took all of our savings and bought another passport. In
the middle of a stormy night, we went together to the Rebbe's
house to ask for a brocha. He held my hand for a long
time; his eyes turned to Heaven and he prayed that angels
accompany me on my journey. When he let go of my hand, I
still clung to his.
"I leave all that I possess in your safe keeping," I dared
tell the Rebbe, then left quickly to cross the Polish border
while the storm still raged. My plan was to trek across
Europe till Italy or France and from there, to sail to
America.
As soon as things settled down in Europe, I'd come back home.
Everyone knew that a man couldn't take his family along to
America. Though the streets were paved with gold, the stones
were all treife. It was no place to bring up Jewish
children.
Along the way I recognized Shloimele Shlissel who'd also
hidden in the sub- cellar of Duvid Meilech's shul those
sixteen months. It was a joyous reunion, full of tears.
Shloimele was waiting to board a ship that was going to
Canada, where he had an uncle. Right then and there I decided
that I'd forget my plans of reaching America and join
Shloimele instead. I was certain that ours had not been a
chance meeting; I felt that Providence had led me to
Shloimele so that we should stay together. But the ship to
Canada was leaving in a month. Where could we hide until
then?
"But, Pa, why did you have to hide at all? I thought you had
passports."
That's true. but when you know that you're a criminal and a
fugitive from the law, you always imagine that somebody will
notice you and bring you to the authorities and once they
detain you and start questioning you, you get all mixed up
and say the wrong things and they beome suspicious. Like the
saying goes, "Oif di ganev brent die hittel." The
criminal is always nervous; he's sure that everyone is
pointing him out. Well, that's exactly the way it was with
me. I was terrified to be around people, lest someone start
asking me questions. The agent who sold us our steamship
tickets also realized this and for a nice price, he got us a
hideout in the forest, a cabin that hunters lived in during
the winter. For money, he also brought us bread twice a
week.
After all the wandering and living in fear, the month in the
forest could really have been a time of peace for us, except
that we were so frightened that we jumped at every sound. And
there are plenty of sounds in a forest.
One day towards the end of our wait, I went out to pick
berries and got bitten by an insect. In a few hours, my foot
swelled to twice its size. Shloimele kept begging me to let
him bring a doctor, but we both knew that it might be our
end. After a few days, when the pain was already unbearable,
I took my pocket knife and slashed open my leg in the spot
where the poison seemed the most concentrated, sucked out the
pus and covered the open wound with leaves.
By the time we boarded the ship, I was able to walk again.
and by the time we had crossed the ocean, the foot seemed to
have healed.
"Pa, that's the foot?" I asked, in almost a whisper, nodding
to his elevated leg. "You could have died from the
poisoning."
I know. Maybe the leaves contained some healing ingredient.
Hashem was good to me. Pa raised his eyes and heaved a
deep sigh.
The first thing that Shloimele and I did when we got to
Canada was to look for a shul. You can't imagine the joyous
welcome we got when we entered. There were a few
landsleit there who had left Poland several years
before and they wouldn't let us go until we had answered all
of their questions about their families and told them
everything that was going on in die alte heim.
Shloimele Shlissel went home with his uncle and I became a
boarder in Notta Neiger's house. The next day Notta took me
around to a few factories and I ended up with a job sewing
matresses.
Like many others who crossed the ocean without their family,
the only life I knew, before and after work, was in the shul.
Shul was the only place where we felt at home, where we could
forget that we were in exile.
We organized a chevra shas and a chevra
mishnayos. Early in the morning, before we even prayed,
we studied and at night after work, we covered the daf
yomi. The one thing we were certain of was that we didn't
belong there and that we must never forget who we were or
lose our Jewish identity.
There was never any question of our remaining in Canada. We
hated the New World with a passion. We longed for and dreamed
of die alte heim, with its rich Jewish tradition and
dedication to Hashem's word. Even if we were forced to remain
there several years because of political unrest in Europe, we
would never bring our families over because, like America,
Canada was also considered a treife land, and no place
to bring up children.
Before leaving Cracow, Ma had told me that after I'd find a
job in the New World, I should save my money and not send her
any, that she'd manage on her own between the sewing and the
inn.
I worked hard and scrimped on all my needs. I was there
because I had no choice, but I knew that the day would come
when I'd return home and I was determined that when I did, I
would have something to show for those bitter years of
exile.
