Memoirs of a Grandmother: Scenes from the Cultural History of the Jews of Russia in the Nineteenth Century, Volume One
384
Memoirs of a Grandmother: Scenes from the Cultural History of the Jews of Russia in the Nineteenth Century, Volume One
384Hardcover(1)
-
PICK UP IN STORECheck Availability at Nearby Stores
Available within 2 business hours
Related collections and offers
Overview
In Volume 1 of Memoirs of a Grandmother, Wengeroff depicts traditional Jewish society, including the religious culture of women, during the reign of Tsar Nicholas I, who wished "his" Jews to be acculturated to modern Russian life.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780804768795 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Stanford University Press |
| Publication date: | 06/25/2010 |
| Series: | Stanford Studies in Jewish History and Culture |
| Edition description: | 1 |
| Pages: | 384 |
| Sales rank: | 1,060,003 |
| Product dimensions: | 6.30(w) x 9.10(h) x 1.00(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Memoirs of a Grandmother
Scenes from the Cultural History of the Jews of Russia in the Nineteenth Century, Volume OneBy Pauline Wengeroff
STANFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
Copyright © 2010 Board of Trustees of the Leland Stanford Junior UniversityAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-8047-6879-5
Chapter One
4. A Year in My Parents' House
I. Part One
Summer and winter, my father used to get up at four in the morning. He was meticulous about not walking four ells from his bed without washing his hands. Before putting a bite into his mouth, he would recite the early morning prayers in a happy mood and then proceed to the room in the house that was his office. On the walls were many shelves in which numerous folios of the Talmud of all types and eras lay arrayed in good company with other talmudic and Hebrew works. Among them were old, rare editions of which my father was very proud. Besides a writing table, there was also a high, narrow table, called a shtender, as well as a comfortable arm chair and a footstool.
My father would settle himself quietly in his chair, bring the candles that had already been lit by the manservant closer, open the large folios that lay there waiting since the evening before, and begin to "learn" in the familiar sing-song. So the hours passed until seven in the morning. Then he drank his tea and went to the synagogue for morning prayers.
In my parents' home, the day was divided and time designated according to the three daily prayer services. Thus, in the morning, we would say that something was "before or after davenen" (prayers); later in the day, "before or after minkhe" (the afternoon prayer). Twilight was called "between minkhe and maarev." In a similar manner, the times of the year were called after the holidays; thus, it was "before" or "after Hanukkah," "before" or "after Purim," and so on.
My father came home from the synagogue at around ten o'clock. Only then did business activities begin. Many people came and went-Jews, Christians, managers, soldiers, business associates-and so on, all of whom he dispatched by midday. Lunch was around one o'clock. After the meal, he took a short nap and after that, tea. By that time, friends with whom he discussed Talmud, literary questions, and important events of the day had already made their appearance.
At the beginning of the 1840s, my father wrote a commentary to the Ein ya'akov, which he called Kunmon bosem, and some ten years later, he had an extensive collection of his commentaries to the entire Talmud published under the title, Minkhas yehuda. He gave neither work to a retailer for sale and distributed them only to his friends, acquaintances, his children, and above all, to many batei midrashim (study halls) in Russia. Unfortunately, most Jewish scholars of that time and many centuries before it, including scholars of Talmud, made the great mistake of disregarding dates or not specifying them precisely. Thus, in his own work, my father gave his family tree, which numbered many rabbis and geonim beginning with his grandfather and going back ten generations, yet he noted none of their dates of birth and death. Of what value was the life of a single individual, when only Talmud study was the true wellspring of life?
That is how my father felt, a man who, faithful to the teachings of his ancestors, devoted himself to their teachings and to the service of God.
He usually said minkhe gedole (the afternoon prayer) at home, very early. For maarev, he went to the synagogue again, from which he returned at around nine o'clock for supper. Then he just stayed at the table, talking with us about this and that. He was interested in everything that went on in the house and with us children, sometimes asking about the progress of our lessons. (My mother used to provide for Jewish tutors-a melamed and penmanship teachers-as well as for tutors in Polish and Russian.) Here my father was told of all the happenings at home and in the city, while he for his part told us everything that he heard in the synagogue and the issues that had been discussed there. For us this was the best entertainment, the most interesting newspaper. We called these talks, "the slipper gazette." In those days, unlike today, there were few newspapers, and they were not very accessible.
My father had an impulsive nature and reacted to events with considerable emotion that he communicated to those around him. We children used to linger at the table, eager for his shrewd comments. He would tell us about famous men, their feats and their religious habits, and about Jewish law. We loved and respected him more than anyone else we knew.
I still remember the names of two people he used to talk about. The first was Reb Selmele, the other Reb Heschele. Reb Selmele (a younger brother of Rabbi Hayyim Volozhiner, whom I will mention later), a child prodigy, immersed himself in Talmud study so fervently that he often forgot to eat, drink, and sleep. He became weak and pale and his worried mother begged and begged him to eat, but in vain. So the mother used her authority: she appeared one day in his little study chamber with a piece of pastry in her hand and ordered him to eat, telling him that every day at this hour, she would bring him a pastry that he had to eat. The young man submitted to his mother's will. However, before he began to eat, he recited the section, kibbud av vo'em from the Shulkhan arukh-the commandment to respect one's father and mother.
While still a child, the second, Reb Heschele, was very clever and witty, qualities he retained into later years. To him the kheder was an abomination, along with the rebbe and the assistant who forcibly dragged him to school every day despite the fact that, being a very high-spirited child who loved his liberty, he resisted fiercely, hands and feet flailing. One day his father asked him gently why he so resisted going to kheder.
"I am insulted," he replied, "that the assistant drags me along the way he does, in such an undignified manner. Why is it that when someone wants your presence, they send you a messenger who politely invites you to accept the invitation? And sometimes you say, 'Of course, I am delighted to come!' and sometimes you say, 'Thanks, but no thanks,' (that is, you go, if you want to, but I certainly won't)."
His father promised him that he, too, would now have the courtesy of an invitation, and he instructed the assistant to do just that. But the next time, when the assistant cordially invited the little boy to follow him, the boy answered, "Thanks, but no thanks!" Another time he put both socks on the same foot in order to make the assistant search endlessly for the other one.
Both my parents were God-fearing, affable people of distinguished character. This was the prevailing type among the Jews of those days, whose life's work above all, was love of God and one's fellows. The better part of the day was consumed in Talmud study. Business was done only in allotted hours, even though my father's business often involved hundreds of thousands of rubles. He and my grandfather Simon Semel Epstein belonged to the class of podracziki, contractors, who played an important role in Russia in the first half of the nineteenth century because they had extensive business dealings with the Russian government, taking over the building of fortresses, highways and canals, and supply of the army. My father and grandfather were among the most highly regarded of these contractors, having distinguished themselves by rigorous honesty.
We lived in a large, grand house in Brest with many richly appointed rooms. We also had a coach and excellent horses. My mother and older sisters had much jewelry and beautiful, expensive clothes. Our house lay outside the city. To get to it, you first had to cross a long bridge that spanned the rivers Bug and Muchawiez and went past many small houses. Then you would turn to the right, go straight ahead for about 600 feet-and then you stood before our house. The house was painted yellow with green shutters. The outside had a large, venetian window, flanked on each side by two more windows. In front of it lay a narrow flower garden surrounded by a wooden fence. The house had a high shingle roof. The whole property, including vegetable gardens, was surrounded by a row of tall, white poplars that gave the house the appearance of the manor house of a Lithuanian lord.
Jewish family life in my parents' house, as in others in the first half of the nineteenth century, was very peaceful, pleasant, earnest, and sensible. It made a deep and unforgettable impression on my memory and that of my contemporaries. There was no chaos of manners and morals, customs and values, as is the case today in Jewish homes. Jewish life of that time was harmonious, with an earnest character, the only worthy kind of Jewish character. It is for this reason that the traditions of our parental homes have remained so sacred and beloved to us to this day! We, however, suffered much grief in forcing ourselves to submit in our own homes to a completely different way of life, which I daresay, bequeathed to our children few edifying and even fewer pleasant memories of their parents' homes!
Our parents' pedagogical tools were love but also firmness. And the right remark helped resolve many a difficulty.
An episode:
One morning my father, having returned from the city, found me alone in the street, weeping. I believe a playmate had taken away my doll. He became angry that I had run out without an escort and asked snappishly why I was crying. I, however, was so upset that I was not able to answer him and began to sob even more violently. That made my father really irate, and he exclaimed:
"Just wait, the rod will help you answer!"
He grabbed hold of my hand and pulled me into the house. My father had a rod brought and got ready to thrash me soundly. I became completely still and looked up at Father dumbfounded-I was never punished with the rod-and sputtered in amazement,
"But I am Pessele!"
For I was convinced that my father did not recognize me and had made a mistake.
And it is thanks to this self-confident behavior that I was spared the rod. Everyone standing around laughed and begged for leniency for me.
I particularly loved to work in the vegetable garden, digging up potatoes and other vegetables. I would ask the half-frozen women first for the spade, then the rake, and would bustle about briskly until the sharp autumn wind drove me indoors. After all the vegetables from our garden were stored in the cellar, much was still bought in the market. Then the crucial work began: pickling cabbage, which kept many poor women busy for a full eight days each fall. According to Jewish law, one must search meticulously for and remove the little worms that nest in vegetables and fruit, but especially in cabbage, and every single leaf was taken off each head of cabbage, held up against the light and inspected closely. My pious mother was very meticulous in the fulfillment of religious rules and used to give the women a special reward for each maggot found if the cabbage was particularly fat and of the best quality, with few worms, because she was worried that the women would not be sufficiently attentive. I watched this work as happily as that in the vegetable garden because the women would sing all kinds of folk songs that moved me deeply and made me weep, but that also often made me laugh with all my heart. I still remember many of these songs that are so dear to me!
It was a perfectly calm life!
Nowadays, in the age of steam and electricity, it seems to me that we live much more quickly. The hurried bustle has also had an effect on people's minds. We grasp many things much more quickly and comprehend so many complicated ideas without effort, whereas earlier, people could not grasp even the simplest fact. I will cite one example that has stayed with me all this time.
In the 1840s, my grandfather built the great road from Brest to Bobruisk for the government. Along the route were mountains, valleys, and marshes, so that a wagon trip took two full days, while a person could have made the same trip comfortably on the main road in a day. Naturally, everything spoke in favor of the project, which was a considerable one for those days; but even in higher social circles, there were skeptics who expressed doubt and said: "As long as anyone can remember, it took two days to travel the road from Brest in Lithuania to Bobruisk, and here comes Reb Semel Epstein and tells us that he will cut it to one day's travel. Who is he? God? Will he put the other stretch of road in his pocket?"
In the second half of the seventeenth century the roads in Lithuania and in many parts of Russia were utterly desolate. Endless grasslands, marshes, and in some parts, virgin forest, stretched for miles, until the great Tsarina Catharine II had highways laid out, with birch trees planted on both sides. The side roads, however, remained very dangerous for pedestrians, whom people dispatched from place to place as couriers, as well as for travelers in sleighs and wagons. This was especially so in winter, in the deep snow. To overcome this danger, the mail coach was introduced. This consisted of the troika-the team of three horses-and the mail coachman, called a yamshezik, a rough, dull, and always-inebriated peasant who lived and died with his horses. The kibitka, a clumsy little carriage, whose four heavy wheels were attached to two flat wooden shafts on which a half-covered hamper lay, was also much used; so was the telega, an equally podgy little carriage without a hood. The horses' harness was made of thick leather, heavily embellished with sheet brass. The middle horse had a yoke over its head, with an immense bell hanging from the center.
The post stations, at intervals of about twenty to twenty-five versts, had as clumsy and authentically Russian a character as the cart: a large room with white-washed walls; an enormous divan, covered with black oilcloth; a long, wooden table, also covered with oilcloth, on which a tall, narrow, dirty samovar, encrusted with green mildew stood; and a smoke-blackened tea tray with filthy glasses. The tall, thin station master, who was always drowsy, dirty, and unkempt even in the middle of the day and was dressed in the filthy uniform of a subordinate, with its tarnished, dull, brass buttons, completed the portrait of the typical post station, one that remains vivid before my eyes even after sixty-five years.-
Only the wealthier people could use the mail coach, especially the higher-ranking soldiers and the couriers, who sent messages by horse from the capital cities to a provincial city, something people use telephones and telegraphs for today.
The common people used simple wagons covered with canvas, which were drawn by two or three horses. The better types used the tarantass, a half-covered coach that rested on two thick wooden shafts, or a Fürgon, a carriage completely covered with leather, with a door in the middle. It was quite common to see these wagons, full of passengers, stuck in the open fields because of a snowstorm.
It was only in the early eighteenth century that these inconveniences were remedied by the construction of the highways. Now no mountain, swamp, or forest prevented swift travel, and the carts moved along on straight and level roads. Security was enhanced by the fact that, aside from the post stations, guard houses with watchmen were also set up. More comfortable transportation made mobility possible for people; trade and commerce expanded amazingly quickly, and by the beginning of the 1840s, the need for even faster means of conveyance became clear. This is when they came up with the so-called diligence, a quite comfortable wagon with two compartments that carried twelve to fifteen people a day from place to place for a reasonable price. It was drawn by three horses and driven by a postilion, who wore a special uniform and played a traditional melody on his trumpet. In Russian Poland, people called this passenger vehicle a stenkelerke, after the entrepreneur; in East Prussia, it was called a journaliere. In general, people were very satisfied with this accommodation and thought there would never be anything better.
For all this, however, by the mid 1850s, even in Russia, people knew about the invention of the railroad, and by the beginning of the sixties, you could already travel large stretches in the Tsarist Empire by rail. In the forties, it took seven days by mail horse to cover a distance of 800 versts; by the sixties, thirty hours by rail sufficed.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Memoirs of a Grandmother by Pauline Wengeroff Copyright © 2010 by Board of Trustees of the Leland Stanford Junior University. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
Note to This Edition, to Translation, Transliteration, and Illustrations....................ixPreface and Acknowledgments....................xiii
Map....................xviii
Introduction....................1
1. Preface by Dr. Karpeles....................89
2. Foreword to the Second Edition....................91
3. Preamble....................93
4. A Year in My Parents' House....................97
I. Part One....................97
II. Part Two....................149
5. The Beginning of the Era of Enlightenment....................173
I. Lilienthal....................173
II. Yeshiva Boys [Bokhurim]....................186
6. In the New City....................193
I. It Was a Pretty Picture....................193
II. One Sabbath....................203
III. Eva's Wedding....................209
7. The Change of Garb....................219
Notes....................233
Bibliography....................343
Index....................359