Rochale Alperovitz

Her brother Yaakov wrote; ....The matzahs in the guest room would be covered with white sheets, and I would hold a lit candle and father would hold a wooden spoon and a goose-feather. We would go window by window and Abbah would clear every gram of Chametz and would say, "Call Chameerah, the Eeshal Belshoodee." On the morning of the evening of Passover, we would get up very early. Since my father was his parents' oldest boy, every year he would do the Seeyum of the Maschitah. We would hurry to pray with the first minion. After the first prayer, we would drink Le Chaim in the synagogue and return home. When we would return, we would find that the last rooms were already prepared for Passover, and Emmah would not let any of us enter. At 10am we would eat the last Chametz meal. Father would take the wooden spoon that was covered and tied and would burn the Chametz in a little oven would say, "Asher kidshanu bemitzvotav, vitzeevanu al beuoor Chametz." All the town's furnaces would be burning. According to the rules, the furnaces must be so hot that the rocks would glow red like fire and throw sparks. From every chimney, you could see smoke coming to the clear spring skies. The fear of fire was large, particularly in Smorgon Street, where there lived a thrifty misery Jew who never cleaned his chimney. The smoke that came from his chimney was somewhere between black and red. We are all in a hurry that day. We cleared the last dishes in the bathhouse, we took down the Passover dishes from the attic. Now, my mother gives me and my sister, Rocheleh, a new job, Lachtosh Misot, to fix the matzot. This is a difficult job, but I have no choice. Most of the work I have to do. My sister, Rocheleh, who is very tricky always managed to get away. She would say, "Yonkel, my stomach is hurting me awfully," and she would run to the yard. She would return to help for two minutes, then say, "Oh, my hand is tired. You do it Yonkel, in return I'll give you some nuts. I'm mixing and mixing and I'm so tired that I can't feel my hand." Dressed like noblemen, I in a new suit and my new shoes that are a little big for me, my mother put cotton in them, Father in his black and white suit we go to the synagogue. After the Mariv prayer, my father sends me to bring Saftah Gelkah Alperovich to the seder. Saftah Gelkah, tiny and skinny, her face full of deep lines, but her little eyes still sparkling with light, never seems to get old. I dearly loved my Saftah (grandma) Glekah. She always had a present for me. A cucumber from her garden, wild pears, and others. When I would come to Saftah, I would find her all dressed, shining in her black dress and jacket, I would take her to our home for the seder. Father sits at the head of the table, reclining on pillows. Next to the white pillow cases and the white tablecloth, my father would appear a little pale but his eagle eyes shined and his Hertzel beard had a few white hairs was all very groomed. And mother, it's a miracle, she worked so hard, when did she find time to get dressed and look so beautiful! Everything in the house is shiny and clean. The wine in the glasses seems to be winking in the light. Father reads Kalah Machelanah, I ask the four questions, and then we read the Hagadah. We eat and drink from the wine that warms the body. There is one thing that I was never able to do: steal the afikomen. I would watch my sister with seven eyes, but she would always be first and not only that, at the end she would mock me and point at me. The next day, Stach and Yachmeena would get rewards for the painting of the house. They would get the wine that we used for the 10 plagues and call it Makot. My little sister would say, "Stach, Mechnah, makot?" Stach would make a happy facial expression and would tell his wife, "Smatzah! Davie yashtah!" Each home in town had a seder. Many homes couldn't afford real wine and they would use another beverage, usually honey water. In houses that couldn't afford Cheft fish, they would eat the Yazga fish. Nevertheless, matzah was in every home and people would say the hagadah very intently. There was a story about one Jew in town, who came from the synagogue and saw the wine bottle on the table, couldn't wait for the seder and started drinking glass after glass. When his wife begged him to read a little from the hagadah, her drunken husband answered, "What is there to read? We all know that the Pharoh was son-of-a-gun" While I'm telling that story, I must tell the story of Abremel Eibender who, came to the synagogue the day after Passover limping and on his forehead he had a big bump. Everyone was wondering. It was known that Abemel was not a wild man, he would not touch a fly. And his wife, Yonah, is a peaceful person too. So how was he so injured? Mayeebel would not answer the questions but in Kurenets, you couldn't keep a secret and eventually we found out. Since he was a very devoted Lebabovitch Chasid, he had a tradition not to only tell the exit from Egypt, but to" live" the exit from Egypt. He would put a big pail full of water in his house. On his shoulder, he would put a big bag. Moreover, like the fathers of our fathers, he would quickly jump from one side of the pail to the other as if he was crossing the sea. However, that Seder was not a lucky one for him, and his foot fell into the pail and that was how he was hurt. ...

Years passed and I experienced many, many hardships – the first World War with all its horrors and disasters – my beloved sister Rochaleh passed away we did all that possible to save her from the death sentence – to no avail. We brought her the best specialists we could find and then my father called three rabbis and this Beit Din of the Living brought their words as a scroll that was signed by witnesses that my father transfers all the years of his life to his daughter Rochaleh. In the synagogue, another name was added to her name, the name Chaia, which means “alive”. Fathered hired minyans of Jewish people and they sat days and nights saying passages from Psalms. We went to all the graves of our relatives in the cemetery, and we cried and begged them that they should ask for pity for her in front of the Chair of the Holy. But her fate was not to be changed…

Not many days passed, and next to the fresh grave of my sister Rochaleh, another mound was created. The grave of our wonderful, beloved mother. A bundle of tears choked my throat when I announced in a pitiful, hoarse voice, bitter passages of farewell. “Yit gadal, viyit kadash, shmaya raba…"

A year passed, and in one gray, wintry day, I stood in shock in the cemetery and in horrible fear I saw how Meir Raphael from Chevre Kaddisha (a burial society) put dust on the eyes of my father and covered the grave…