My grandfather's name was Avraham Aharon. He was born in
Stolin, a small town in White Russia, a poor country with
extensive forests and gushing rivers, beautiful lakes and
large swamps. Despite the great poverty and the hostility of
the government, Jewish life thrived and was rich with
accomplishment, culture and a love for Eretz Yisroel.
Our family name from days gone by was Etzioni, man of the
tree. Avraham Aharon's grandfather had already done business
in the lumber trade and that was where the name came from. He
rented tracts of forest from the Polish landowner, cut down
its trees and floated the logs down the river to be processed
in the sawmills. Grandfather's father, Asher Lemel, was a man
who combined work in the tree industry with working as a
sofer stam. He wrote Torah scrolls, tefillin
and mezuzos on parchment. He would also write,
amazingly, blessings on small grains of wheat.
Grandfather Avraham Aahron became orphaned from his father
when he was twelve years old. Right afterwards, he began
working with his brothers in the sawmill and building wooden
roofs. He was quickly found to be a diligent lad with golden
hands. He loved his work very much and was dedicated to it
and his reputation as an excellent carpenter spread.
Grandfather Avraham Aharon was a smart man and beloved by
everyone.
Many eagerly sought his doorstep, either for a personal
request, advice and encouragement or for financial help. Many
Jews of the town, like most Jews in Russia and Poland, were
people of difficult circumstances who weren't always able to
obtain food, nor could they afford to heat their homes. They
went to sleep at night, not always knowing whether on the
morrow they would be able to feed their large families or
would be forced to go hungry.
The harsh winter with the cold and snow was especially
difficult for them, and Grandfather, as was his custom, with
a shining face and much gentleness, never turned away any man
who approached him. His hand was open and generous and he
would secretly bring food, clothing and logs for fuel to the
needy. Grandfather's sisters, Chava and Miriam, were also
clever women and strong-minded and were often consulted on
business matters. They were known for their acts of kindness
and generosity.
Grandfather had a small barn with two cows, Devora and Repke.
Devora was a regular cow, not particularly bright, but Repke
had a reputation as a smart creature.
Early in the morning, when it was still dark, Ivanchik, the
Russian shepherd, would take the cows out to pasture. They
grazed in the green meadow and towards evening, he would
bring them back to the yard. Clever Repke would return by
herself to the wooden gate that Grandfather had built.
Lifting her head, she would butt gently with her horns, and
raise the piece of wood that served as a latch. Then she
would easily push the gate open with her shoulder and step
gently inside.
Grandfather once brought home two beautiful cats: Mishka with
black fur and green eyes, and Mazutz with brown eyes and
soft, thick white fur. They soon earned a reputation as the
best mousecatchers in town. People would often show up and
ask to borrow them for their services.
The ones who really enjoyed the beautiful cats were the
children. Their devotion to the small children was so great
that if one of the older brothers sought to `put a child in
his place,' the cat would leap up and stand between them.
Grandfather built them a wooden platform above the stove so
they could warm themselves. Flexing their muscles, with a
light leap, they would clear the stove and land on the
platform. Every morning, after Grandmother Tzirel finished
milking Devora and Repke, Grandfather would take some of the
fresh milk and pour it into a saucer, from which the cats
lapped with lip-smacking pleasure.
In the winter, the river that flowed by the town would freeze
over, creating a glittering white skating rink. Grandfather
built a wooden sled, and properly attired with colorful
woolen handknitted hats and thick woolen socks, soft felt
boots and leather overshoes, he and the children would all
head for the river. Grandfather would pull the sled after him
until nightfall, when they all returned home, tired and
happy.
*
Stolin was a district town surrounded by smaller towns and
villages, each with Jewish populations too small to justify
setting up schools. Grandfather extended his hospitality to
two young boys, distant relatives, who lived near Stolin but
too far from the local school. They became part of the
immediate family.
His hospitality was extended to one and all, and even
Christian Russians who arrived with wagons laden with
merchandise knew they could find a place to sleep in his
barn. Grandfather would help unharness their horses, lead
them to the trough, give them some hay, and spread some hay
on the floor for his guests. After breakfast the next
morning, he would help harness the horses and would part from
his guests in great friendship.
Antisemites were not lacking in Stolin, however, and one day,
as was a common practice, they set fire to Grandfather's
wooden house. With great courage, he rescued his family from
the flames, but extinguishing the fire, even with the help of
kind neighbors, was beyond his power since all water had to
be fetched from the well at the end of the street.
Grandfather was not one to despair and the very next morning,
he had lumber brought and began building the new house, which
was soon completed.
*
Grandfather was a chossid of R' Asher, the last
Stoliner Rebbe. Every year, the Rebbe would ask him to bake
the matzos for Pesach for his court. Grandfather, Grandmother
and the entire family were recruited for the task. They
enthusiastically kneaded, flattened, scored and baked the
matzos in the special oven.
Jews sensed the impending threat; the children, grown up
already, understood that there was no future for Jewish life
in the Diaspora and decided to immigrate to Israel.
Grandfather and Grandmother followed them. At their farewell
party, Jews and gentiles parted from them with great love and
emotion.
Grandfather Avraham Aharon arrived in Little Tel Aviv at the
beginning of the 1930s when he was sixty and took up
residence in a large basement apartment on Chovevei Zion
Street near Dizengoff Square. With no extensive forests in
Israel, he had to adapt himself to the new and difficult
reality.
The British ruled and the economic situation was terrible.
But Grandfather made the best of things and with his golden
hands, took on any available work, always with a kind smile
spread across his face.
Before Pesach, Grandfather busied himself with kashering
pots. In the yard, he placed a water tank on two rocks with
plenty of water and lit a large fire underneath. From time to
time he added wooden boards and when the water boiled, he
took his pots, kettles and other utensils and with large
tongs first dipped them into the scalding water with great
enthusiasm, and then dipped them in a tank of cold water
beside him. His many neighbors also brought them their
utensils to kasher. I loved to watch Grandfather work near
the hot water tank.
Tel Aviv is very hot and humid. Towards evening, Grandfather
would take me in my small stroller to the beach and when I
was bigger, I would walk alongside him. Grandfather was used
to walking straight with his hands behind his back, and I,
too, would straighten up and put my hands behind my thin back
and tell myself that I was just like him.
Grandfather practiced the same hospitality in the new city,
even though his financial situation was difficult. He gave
his bed to a landsleit who had escaped the threat of
the Nazis. Immigrant relatives and acquaintances knew that
they would find an attentive ear and financial assistance at
his place.
One day, Grandfather saw four young people sitting on benches
in a public park. A gregarious person, he went over and
talked with them. They told him they had arrived in Israel a
few days before; they had no work, their money was gone and
they were unable to rent any form of shelter. Grandfather
took them to his home where Grandmother Tzirel served them a
hot meal. Afterwards, he took them to the roof of his
building. He sectioned off a part with blankets and old
clothes, acquired mattresses from neighbors and already that
night, the young people had a place to lay their heads.
Grandfather Avraham Aharon died when I was six. They brought
his body to our home and laid him down. Large candles burned
at his head. I was thunderstruck. How could such a good and
wise grandfather have died? I walked about engulfed by
sadness, fear and dread, and only calmed down after my mother
explained that Grandfather had gone to Heaven and from there,
he continues to help his children and grandchildren.
Grandfather's memory burns strong in our hearts. We always
mention him, not as a deceased person but as someone alive,
who accompanied the family with concern and advice. Before
making any decision or tackling any problem, my mother asks
herself: What would the wise Grandfather have done? And she
does the same. When we meet people who knew him, they always
extol his sterling qualities.
Grandfather is gone, but his wisdom, love of people, of
humanity, his honesty, intelligence, limitless generosity to
those near and far, his love of work as a value, his song and
his kind smile will remain with us forever.
