David had a brother, Aryeh, whose descendants now live in Brooklyn, NY. In 2005, I was fortunate enough to have a pre-Channukah dinner with Aryeh’s grandson, Henry (Chaim), and his family. I had met Henry once as a child. A tantalizing door way opened that night. They told me the following story. See also The Menorah Story.
Insert picture to the right of that night with Henry and Nusha, Esther at Serele and Joseph's house.
(Ukraine)
57°34' / 19°74'
Translation of portions of: Tismenits; a matseyve oyf di khurves fun a farnikheter yidisher kehile
Edited by Shlomo Blond
Published in Tel Aviv, 1974
Jews in The Economic Life of Tysmienica
It is my duty to mention here those Jews who, with their talent, established the industrial infrastructure of the Jews of Tysmienica, and contributed to the economic development of the city until the outbreak of the Second World War. They met the same fate as the 6,000,000 Jews who were murdered by the Nazis.
5. The Haberdasher Industry
Mendel Kern
Aryeh Erlich
Michel Markman
Yitzchak Scheiner
Monio Spiegel
32. Glassmakers
Aryeh Erlich
Lishe Erlich
Mendel Erlich
Feivel Brecher
A parallel branch of rabbis
Grows down our family tree,
Glassmakers, scholars, haberdashers
Mirrored by our balanced bough of
Teachers, salesmen, inventors, locksmiths.
The story begins in 19th century Tysmienica,
Mecca for the industrious Jew,
Repository of intellect,
Model of the Ukraine.
The story is axed apart by Russians, Germans, and hometown anti-Semites.
My great grand-uncle Aryeh, a prosperous merchant,
Credited some with too much integrity.
They paid him back with the end of a rope around his beard, the other to a horse’s tail,
Innocent animal killing innocent victim.
The guilty ran free.
Quick! Across the river, in a boat smaller than a table.
Piloted by river guides on both shores, silently passing
A living tightrope connecting pilot, passenger, and vessel…faith, fear, and freedom.
Our family’s limbs bent in the balance.
Aryeh’s daughter-in-law, Scheindel, her arms covering her children, Chaim and Nusha,
The bullets should hit her trunk first.
The fog of insanity, the tug of war. Limb from limb.
Germans and Russians on either side,
Not waiting for the boat to land,
Shooting hatred into quaking waves.
But you can’t kill a tree with a gun.
And you can’t drown a tree with water.
Somehow, this time, the rope spares the slaughter,
Our line still intact.
Scrambling up the opposite shore,
The escape route to Krakow, to Seelig, to family, abruptly detours to Siberia,
A latent blessing, shut up in a cattle car
And spilled out far away in a displaced and destitute state.
This becomes far better than Krakow, the sense of home now a senseless hell.
And miraculously, the story continues.
We survive Siberia, then Tashkent, Uzbekistan
We tell the story of the wild erness,
How education was valued above food
How we bled in the snow with nothing
Between us and the cold
How food was meant for only one gender
How we were lucky to live together
And not with strangers
Through the years, the family branching out,
Planting in America,
the pruning of serenity and prosperity,
Strengthening our roots.
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