Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

99 Years: The Remarkable Story of Irving Raab
99 Years: The Remarkable Story of Irving Raab
99 Years: The Remarkable Story of Irving Raab
Ebook383 pages5 hours

99 Years: The Remarkable Story of Irving Raab

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars

()

Read preview

About this ebook

When World II came to Poland, Irving Raab embarked on a journey that he could never imagined. Traveling through Russia and into Asia, back through Poland to the English sector of Berlin. He married Esther and on his honeymoon in East Germany he was arrested and charged of being an English Spy, convicted and sentenced to death. Spending more than a year on death row, his wife Esther was finally able to bribe him out of prison. Together they planned to go America, only to be denied entry due to his false criminal record. Finally they were able to come to America and start anew life together.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateDec 13, 2018
ISBN9781642370614
99 Years: The Remarkable Story of Irving Raab

Related to 99 Years

Related ebooks

Historical Biographies For You

View More

Related articles

Reviews for 99 Years

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars
0 ratings

0 ratings0 reviews

What did you think?

Tap to rate

Review must be at least 10 words

    Book preview

    99 Years - Irving Raab

    Years

    Chapter 1

    Life in the Shtetl

    My parents, Abraham Rab and Bryna Lichtenstein, were married early in 1917 in the Village of Wojslawice in eastern Poland by the rabbi, surrounded by friends and family. Their marriage was sanctified in the ancient holy rituals.

    I was their first son, born on January 10, 1918, as World War I was drawing to a close. They named me Itzchak(Izzy) Mordachai Rab. (On some documents I was named Icek Mordko Rab. On occasion, I also was called Etzek and Ezy.)

    My parents were young, in their 20s, and were steeped in all the teachings of our Orthodox Jewish faith. It was a powerful force in our family and community life.

    My father had come from a poor, devoutly religious family and my mother had been orphaned. She was adopted as a daughter by a rich uncle, Hirsch Tervetza, husband of her father’s sister. When my parents were young, Russia occupied that region of Poland after its partition among Germany, Austria and Russia.

    Under the Russian occupation, Jewish children were not required to attend public school, so the children of most Jewish families attended private religious schools, called cheder. They studied religion and learned Yiddish and Hebrew. Children of very wealthy families were sent out of the country to study, but my father, whose family was poor, had no such opportunity. My mother was fluent in Russian and could read Russian books. She taught her uncle’s younger children both Yiddish and Russian, and she had many responsibilities in running the household.

    She was more educated than my father in secular studies and she also knew all about the Bible. Orthodox women are not required to practice many religious rituals of the religion, but she knew them all. She was very, very religious.

    World War I had been devastating to our village of Wojslawice, home to 400 families – about 2,500 people. Most of the buildings had been burned and families worked hard to rebuild. Even when the war was officially ended, the trauma did not end for Poland. In the 1920s, when I was a tiny child, Poland was still fighting to maintain her independence.

    My father had an older bother Michal, who was successful and prominent in our town, members of the Jewish community came to him for help and charity and were never turned away. He had a son Sruel before the war and added to his family after the war. At the beginning of World War I, he was conscripted into the Russian army, and when he returned he was not the same man. He was ill, and then passed away when I was still a young boy. My father took on his brother’s role in the community.

    The people of Wojslawice began rebuilding their houses about 1925. I remember we moved into a new house in 1926. By that time, my father had become wealthy. He bought two lots and built a two-story home, the biggest in the village. It is still there.

    Descendants of royalty, with their vast, hereditary land holdings, gradually were being forced to sell off their land. However, the law mandated that only the children of landowners or their workers were eligible to buy. Jews were excluded. They might own the house where they lived, but not farmland.

    Jews were not normally employed as workers on such estates. They could not take jobs that would force them to work on Saturday because they would not be able to take part in religious practices. There was constant discrimination against Jews – unofficially.

    The bank director, who was appointed by the government to appraise and sell parcels of land to farmers, said to my father, I cannot sell you land through the bank, but I want to help you. So he bought the land in his own name and then sold it to my father.

    Without much formal education, but blessed with keen business sense, my father steadily built a solid reputation in his village and in the surrounding area. As a grain dealer, he dealt with the landed gentry, descendants of Poland’s old ruling families. My father’s reputation for fair play and his extensive knowledge of the markets made him indispensable to his clients. He knew when his clients should send their goods to market and when they should hold back. They never made a potential deal without first consulting my father. When they followed his advice they always succeeded.

    In my youth, my father had a servant and horses and a carriage. Every day, he would go out very early to visit about three or four landowners. Sometimes, I might not see him all day. His clients couldn’t do without him. Whenever someone came to buy, they had to wait for my father to advise them.

    During summer vacations, my father sometimes took me with him on his business rounds, usually on a Friday when he would stop work early in order to prepare for the Sabbath. Along the way, the farmers used to greet my father by tipping their hats and saying Good day, Pan Rab. Pan meant Sir, an expression of respect. (Among friends and family, my father was called Aba or Abcha.) On those trips, I saw large palaces and stables with hundreds of horses belonging to my father’s clients.

    One day on the road, my father pointed out one man to me, saying, He is a cheater. I will not deal with him, but neither will I try to get even with him. I do not want to make an enemy of him so he would threaten my family. I am driving an open carriage and he may someday hide behind a tree and throw a stone at my head. I was learning that being cautious was a normal part of life for us.

    By the time I was ten years old, I was well aware that my father was the richest man in the area. He worked hard to expand his business interests, buying interests in flour mills, skillfully reading the markets and brokering the sales of agricultural products for his wealthy clients.

    Faith Guides Our Family

    My father was an Orthodox Chasidic Jew, a follower of the Belz Rabbinical Dynasty. He traveled at least once each year to receive a blessing from the Holy Rabbi of Belz. The reason for one visit to the Rabbi of Belz was particularly significant and sad. My mother’s uncle, Hirsch Veintraub , who lived in a village called Tervetza, had become prosperous after he returned from World War I. He was an example to my father in the conduct of his business. He had built up a clientele among the wealthy landowners, just as my father was to do later on, dealing in grain and other agricultural products.

    The turbulent time between the wars was also a dangerous time. Bandits became common along the country roads. When people had to travel by horse and wagon, they usually traveled in groups, keeping their valuables well hidden. Travel between Wojslawice and Chelm, though it was only a distance of 21 kilometers (about 15 miles) was arduous. The village children would dream about making such an adventurous and long journey. In December by horse and wagon over muddy, unpaved roads, it might take 24 hours.

    One fateful day, Hirsch was returning to Wojslawice from Chelm when bandits attacked him. He fought with them but was shot in the struggle. I was a little boy when my mother took me to her uncle’s house. She was upset and crying. When we saw him, he was suffering and bleeding. He died a couple of days later from his wounds.

    At that time, my father was not yet successful. His business was just getting started. A short time after the uncle’s death, my father had a dream. In it, Uncle Hirsch came to him and counted 20 rubles into his hand. My father interpreted that dream as encouragement to follow in the uncle’s footsteps.

    He decided to travel to Belz to consult with the rabbi and after hearing my father relate the dream, the rabbi said, This is a good dream. You are going to be successful. Then he told my father to take out a 10-ruble gold coin for a blessing.

    My father never left home without the gold coin tucked in his wallet. Through the years, as his businesses grew and he became more prosperous, he believed that the dream and the blessed coin were the source of his good luck.

    I remember how important the counsel and blessings of the holy rabbis were to the people of our shetl (a Jewish settlement). Every summer, the Bilgorayer rabbi, the Belzer rabbi’s brother used to visit our home in Wojslawice for about two weeks. People would come to see him – even the Gentiles. Everyone recognized him as a holy man.

    If someone was sick, they would be told, Soon, the big rabbi will come to Abcha’s house. You can receive a blessing. Everyone wrote down his problems and the rabbi, a holy and learned man, would pray that God should help. Each gave a little money and a helper from the synagogue would take care of the donations. People appreciated that my father was helping them by bringing the rabbi to pray for them.

    My mother used to prepare food for 50 or more visitors who would come from surrounding shetls to listen to the rabbi’s Torah speeches. My father used to say to mother, You are working so hard. You should take a vacation.

    No, it is better for me to work and serve these people who have come to listen to the holy speeches. This makes me feel that I do a service to God, our Creator, my mother would say.

    Beggars used to arrive in the shtetl, knocking on doors, seeking charity. In the evening, they would end up at the synagogue. After the prayers for the holiday, the gabbai or shamas, caretaker of the synagogue, would send them to houses where food was available. That always included our house.

    Sometimes, the shamas still needed to find help for one or two people at the end of the day. He would tell them to keep walking around and around outside our house. Do not tell them I sent you. They will not let you go away hungry. You will get as much as you need at Abcha’s house, the shamas would say. My mother often gave them her dinner and she would eat a sandwich. In the shtetl they called her, Bryna the Righteous.

    Most of my memories of my mother are of her deep and constant devotion to faith and family. She was beautiful, but she was serious and very, very religious. She lived her whole life for her family.

    After me, five more children were born to my father and mother – two sons, Moshe and Elukim Gecel, then a daughter Feiga Bluma, and two more sons Zalman Mechel and Israel Mendel.

    My father was strict and sometimes used the belt to discipline us boys when we misbehaved. When that happened, my mother would object and would cry with us. My Father’s grandfather said to my mother, don’t cry, in the bible King Solomon said Spare the Rod, Spoil the child. Like King Solomon, he believed it was his fatherly duty and did not relent. He would tell me, Now, Izzy, kiss the belt and promise not to do it any more.

    Not many families were as comfortable as we were. Yet, even our nice house by village standards might seem small to someone from New Jersey in the 21st Century. I wonder what my grandchildren might think if they were able to see how we lived.

    We boys slept three to a bed when we were young. When she was very young, my sister slept in my parents’ room and later she slept in the living room. Our maid slept on a cot in the kitchen. We had no running water and we had an outside toilet. Poor people didn’t even have that.

    A village water man carried water from the river and came daily to our house. For a few cents, he filled the household water barrels. Then the water would be strained through a series of fine cloths to remove the sediment, so it could be used for drinking and cooking and other household uses. (In our Vineland, New Jersey home, we have a drawing, made from a photograph taken by a visiting school friend before the war. It shows the very same village water man I knew as a boy.)

    I looked up to my Uncle Mikail Rab, my father’s older brother. Mikail was an unusual man, well over six feet tall, handsome, educated and sophisticated. He had been called up to serve in the Russian army during WWI and had a distinguished military career. He was admired by everyone for his charm, intelligence and goodness.

    Mikail also had lived under Russian occupation. In those days, mobilization meant that a young man could be snatched off the streets without notification to his family. He would simply disappear into the military ranks and be counted as lost. The Czar’s agents paid mercenaries called catchers to do this dirty work.

    However, Mikail was fortunate enough to thrive and survive in the Russian military. After WWI, Mikail came back to Wojslawice and rebuilt the synagogue that had been ruined. He was a benefactor in many other ways. Because no one had running water, keeping clean was a difficult and time-consuming part of the daily ritual. Uncle Mikail built a Turkish bath house, not just for Jews, but for the whole town. When he died in 1927, he was so admired that a school holiday was declared. At that time, Mikail was the town’s leading citizen. After his death, his younger brother, my father, took over that role.

    Jewish Life

    In the United States, Jews do not live apart as they did in Poland. There, Jews needed to fulfill their religious obligations. The principle of praying in assembly as expressed in the Torah was especially important. God is saying, When you pray together, turn to me and I will answer your prayers. Thus, Jews gathered together. Their numbers became concentrated in small towns, called shtetls. They wanted to be able to pray every day, to go to the synagogue and to observe the rituals.

    In such close-knit communities, Jews helped each other through bad times and share the joy of the good times. Our closeness was also a mutual defense against the anti-Semitism that was always there, beneath the surface of Polish society.

    Poles (non-Jews) lived generally in rural settings, on small plots or farms, growing small crops and raising a few chickens or livestock. They would come to town to work at whatever odd jobs were available. Sometimes, Jewish families might even hire Poles to perform certain tasks, but they didn’t mingle much unless it was to conduct business. Otherwise, Jews lived a separate life and talked a different language. They talked Yiddish except in business; then they talked Polish.

    A visiting religious dignitary, like a Roman Catholic bishop, might visit Wojslawice for some event. A welcoming delegation, which included the town rabbi and some boys from the Yeshiva, greeted the guest and presented the traditional welcome gift of bread and salt. The people might occasionally share a common prayer or blessing, but that was done to keep peace in the country. After the VIP left, the differences remained. (In Wojslawice, besides the synagogue, there were a Roman Catholic and a Russian or Greek Orthodox Church.)

    Hard Life of the Poor

    Because of entrenched bias in hiring practices, Jews in Poland necessarily gravitated to the service trades like barbering, tailoring, shoemaking, carpentering, roofing, baking and the like. On average, a family might earn about ten to fifteen zlotas a week – about $3. Some families also received money now and then from relatives in the United States

    How some people lived, you cannot imagine. Many people went hungry. There were just ten or twenty Jewish families who had small stores which allowed them to make a decent living.. When I was about ten years old, I had a friend in cheder (Hebrew school). His father used to buy household supplies on discount –things like matches, candles, needles and so on. He would then walk long distances to the farming villages to sell them for a small profit. It was a hard life.

    One day, my friend’s mother gave him a piece of bread and a lump of sugar and told him, "When you come to the cheder, give your food to the rabbi to hold. Don’t eat it at one time or you will be hungry all day." The rabbi gave him a piece of the bread and sugar and the rabbi broke off a small piece of the sugar and ate it. My friend started to cry, but the rabbi said he was hungry, too.

    Helping Each Other

    Jews always formed charitable and service organizations to advance the common good. Judaism prescribes that every man and every woman must perform good deeds to help others. Women belonged to a society known as Le`nath Hatzadev. When money was collected, everyone gave according to his ability – from a few cents to perhaps hundreds of zlotas. In this way, even the poor knew that by participating, they were also helping others and fulfilling their religious obligations.

    This mutual aid took many forms. Thermometers, for example, were a luxury few families could afford. The community purchased three or four for the whole town and borrowers had to sign them out, like library books. The organization also might have a hot water bottle, bought with contributed funds, and loaned out for a sufferer’s use. If the borrower were not prompt in returning the items, the family would not be allowed to borrow one the next time a child ran a fever.

    Patent medicines, like aspirin, would be doled out as needed. With only one doctor for three or four towns, families relied on their own resources and help from their community organizations. When people got sick, neighbors said a prayer for them and gave them hot soup. Very ill persons would be taken by horse and carriage to the doctor more than ten miles away, and then on to the hospital in Chelm if need be.

    One time, my mother was sick and my father brought the doctor to see her. Such an event also attracted other residents of the shtetl to our house. They would stand in line, hoping to see the doctor for a fee of two zlotas.

    My father saw a woman in line and he asked, Why are you going to see the doctor? She replied that her son was sick; his skin was yellow. My father said, Don’t waste your money on the doctor. Take the two zlotas and go buy him a chicken and cook it for soup. He is hungry. Chicken soup was always the best medicine.

    People could not just go to a telephone and call the doctor. In Wojslawice, there were only four telephones. One was in the post office where people used to pay for the call, one in the government hall where the police station and municipal offices were housed, one in the prince’s palace and one in our house. Even if you owned one, there were very few other people you could call – perhaps only a hospital or a government office.

    Buying bread from a bakery was a luxury. Mothers would bake on Friday so the family would have bread for the Sabbath and for the following week. Every Friday, families would donate something from the week’s baking, like a challah, to share with poor families. This act was a mitzvah, or good deed that would be credited to a person’s account in heaven. Our family would always give extra loaves. Women then would go from house to house and distribute challah for the Sabbath to other families according to their need.

    Different benevolent societies had different roles. When a couple married, the parents helped to get the house together as best they could, but many families still needed assistance. The society might provide linens, a table or a bed and more was solicited from the neighbors. People believed the younger generation should be able to get married so everyone pitched in.

    In Europe then, most Jewish people met and married through a matchmaker and dowries were an important part of the marriage tradition. I once overheard a conversation among my father and a group of friends. They were discussing the importance of the right match in carrying on the family name and religious traditions. One friend remarked that he had seen me out and about with a young lady and wondered if, someday, I was going to make a match.

    I clearly remember my father saying, If my son finds a girl and wants to get married, fine. I will go to his wedding and give him a nice present. But if he marries a girl I choose, then I will match the father’s dowry. If he gives his daughter 100,000 zlotas, then I will give 100,000 zlotas. The traditions of the family were a powerful force in the lives of young people.

    Another society, called the Fellowship of Holiness, assisted with funerals. My father was a member. He often helped with preparation of the deceased and helped to organize the observance, the speeches and food for the mourners. In fact, whenever anyone was in need or when people came to town needing help, lodging or food, they were sent to our house. There were no hotels in the villages. Travelers had to stay in homes.

    When potatoes were ready for market, my father would buy several loads and put them in our basement to give to the poor, especially before Passover. The shamas would announce this in synagogue and people would come to our house with baskets to pick up some potatoes.

    They called him Abcha, I wrote in a remembrance book about our village, which was published after World War II. Everyone knew him and they would say, ‘Go to Abcha; he will help you.’ In the surrounding villages they knew if you had a problem you could go to him. He had a good heart and was always ready to help people in trouble. Our house was open to all.

    School Days in Wojslawice

    For us, family life turned around religion and school. I usually rose early, about 6:30, to go to the synagogue to pray and to study with the rabbi. Then, I would go back home to get ready to attend Polish public school. If you didn’t go to school, they would come to the house to see if you were actually lying sick in bed. If you weren’t sick, they would punish the parents.

    One day, my brother stayed home from school and before the day was out, the principal was knocking on the door. There was my great-grandfather, with gray hair and beard, teaching my brother from the Bible. They called him Old Zisha; he was the oldest man in town. He told the principal to sit down and observe. After a while, the principal said, This is fine. I can see that he is learning more here than he would be at school. My grandfather, my father’s father, died when I was about five or six years old.

    When boys misbehaved at the synagogue, Old Zisha would scold or punish the troublemakers, no matter whose sons they were. Mischievous children were warned, Be careful, Old Zisha will get you.

    The government public school, located about a mile and a half from the Jewish section of the village, was a challenging experience for all the Jewish children. The Polish boys often taunted us Jewish boys. Our parents, however, warned us not to fight. God will help you. Only fight with Jewish boys, they were warned. ‘If you fight and hurt any Polish boys, their parents could start a pogrom.’ " (A pogrom usually took the form of organized retribution against Jewish families.)

    One Polish boy, a tough guy, used to beat up other boys in school. One time the boy came to me, took the whole bialy and ate it all up. I protested loudly, saying I would be hungry all day at school and he replied something like, To hell with you. Go away. You are a Jew!

    Everybody was afraid of him, but after the bully had stolen my lunch a couple of times, and on one occasion, my hat, I decided I had had enough. My lunch was certainly worth protecting – it was usually freshly baked flat bread, a bialy, made with fine white flour from my father’s mill, crusted with onions and poppy seeds and spread thickly with butter by my mother. Few students in the public school, including the bully, would have had such a fine lunch.

    The next time the boy threatened me with a beating if he didn’t get the bialy, I finally challenged him, Try me! So we fought.

    I hit him so hard that he fell down and began to cry. Just give me a piece, he whimpered. No, I said. Now you get nothing!

    Word spread like wildfire around the shtetl. I had beaten the worst bully in the public school. Better yet, no pogroms followed. Suddenly, at age nine or ten, I had acquired a reputation as a strong boy who could not be intimidated. My friends said they felt safer when I was around. If they heard I might not be in school, they would stay home as well.

    Teachers in the Wojslawice public school were mostly fair. One incident remains clear in my memory. The teacher assigned a patriotic poem to be memorized. It began, in essence, I am a small Polack; I wear a white eagle … The white eagle has been the symbol of the Polish nation from ancient times.

    I was called on to recite the poem and I did so – quite well, I thought. As soon as I was finished, a girl asked the teacher, How can he say he is a Polack? He’s not. He’s Jewish. When he says he is a Polack, it is not true. When I say I am a Polack, it is different.

    The teacher replied that I was indeed a Polack, the same as the girl, but different only in that I followed the Moses religion. The girl then said, Why is it written by the Church that Jews killed our God?

    It wasn’t these Jews, was the teacher’s reply. Not these Jews. She meant well.

    Because of the language difference, Polish children had the edge in language arts, but teachers recognized that in other areas, like math and science, the Jewish kids held their own admirably. Sometimes a Polish student would ask, How can he know that? He’s Jewish. More often than not, the teacher would suggest that Polish and Jewish classmates should work together in learning to solve difficult problems.

    Boys then, as they are now, were just boys. We fought. We played. We had fun. We were not anxious, as our parents were, about the political instability that plagued Poland. We were just being boys.

    I remember the first car that I ever saw. Some boys from the town came running and said, They have something wonderful there! They have a machine with no horses! It was about 1926 or ’27. A group of us decided to chase the car to see if they could catch it. People at home said there must be some magic. How can it run itself without a horse? they wondered.

    Football (soccer) and basketball were favorite games. The rabbi who instructed the Jewish boys at the synagogue didn’t allow such frivolous pursuits, but we were beyond his reach at public school. Sometimes the teachers would just say Go out! when they tired of us.

    The Big City Beckons

    I finished seven grades in public school and in 1932, I successfully passed an examination for admission to the most prestigious rabbinical seminary in Warsaw – Beth Midrash Gavoha Theological Tachkemoni. Even after passing an examination, a boy’s admission

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1