The Heavens Are Empty - Avrom Bendavid-Val [19]
Chapter Two
BETWEEN THE WARS
The devastation of World War I put an abrupt end to the rise of Trochenbrod’s star, its rapidly diversifying businesses and growing prosperity, its increasing weight as the regional center of economic gravity.
Shaindeleh Gluz was born in Trochenbrod in 1913, but in the informal memoir she wrote in 2002 she remembered life there during the war years vividly:
My paternal forefathers were glass blowers. When the glass factory was gone my grandfather became the mayor, tax collector and postmaster of Trochenbrod. He also had a butcher business. My father Zrulik and his brother Itzak ran it.
Grandma and some of her family left for America in 1914, just as I was starting to crawl. There was a lot of unrest in the world. There were rumors of war, and suddenly it happened; war was declared. All avenues of communication ceased. World War I was for real, it was on. There was no way to escape … no more elaborate plans to migrate. Immigration was stopped, there was no mail, no communication … only pain and suffering.
The invading army confiscated money, jewels, silver and all valuables from the town’s people. When the war was finally over, the fighting ceased in our town. All the plundering and killing was over. The young girls came out of hiding, no more rapes, no more deaths of the innocent. The commanding officers and their entourage withdrew from Trochenbrod. My grandfather’s home had been stripped of all furnishings that had been in the family for generations, but we were alive.
The war had taken its toll on my parents, especially my mother. She was very sick. She was always in bed. Things inside of our house weren’t clean and didn’t shine any more. It didn’t smell sweet and good. The aroma of cooking was also gone. Our clothes were torn and neglected. There was little food in the house. Often we were hungry. Mother was too weak to improvise any meals with the little bits of scraps that we had. Most of the time my little brother Yossel and I stayed in bed with Mother to keep warm, but we were so hungry.
Once in a while, while in bed with Mother, Yossel and I would play a game, “Lets Pretend,” with a large collection of well-worn colorful picture post-cards. The cards were of the Statue of Liberty and the teeming Lower East Side of New York. Mother’s family sent the cards to us when they settled in America. From these pictures, Mother would weave wonderful tales of freedom, peace, happiness and plenty.
Shortly after Mother passed away, many more sad happenings began. My little brother Yossel and my father became very ill. Yossel and I shared a tiny bed. One morning my little brother’s body was cold and stiff. His little life was snuffed out before he had a chance to live. He died of smallpox. I suppose that Yossel’s death really caused father’s complete breakdown, healthwise, and his death.
There came a time when we really didn’t have a piece of bread to eat. We foraged in the woods for berries and sour grass. Our bellies became swollen. We found ourselves too weak from hunger, too sick with festering body sores and lice to give a care anymore. We just couldn’t go on anymore. Make no mistake; we were not alone in this situation. All of Trochenbrod was suffering. We became like animals; we hunted for scraps of food; like animals we fought cunningly to survive.
Just when the struggle became too much to bear, when we were ready to succumb to the unknown, fate intervened and help came. One day Trochenbrod was seething with excitement. Since the war was finally over, the ban on traveling had been lifted. The first person to arrive was a rich American. He had been commissioned by concerned relatives in America to go to our town and seek out their relatives. With him he brought letters and money for some of the people. He was also asked to help some of the townspeople to make their way to America. My brother and I reached the center of town just in time to hear the American call our names.
The Austro-Hungarian Empire, also known as the Habsburg