Pages From The Zabludow Yiskor Book:

Zabludow; Dapim Mi-tokh Yisker-Bukh , editor: Nehama Shavli-Shimush, Published by Former Residents of Zabludow in Israel, 1987 (Hebrew) Translation from Hebrew by Ziva Rosenhand
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The Old Synagogue of Zabludow: 1635-1939, a Model by Moshe Verbin, Kibbutz Yakum

Holocaust Chapter

 

I Saw my Ruined House
By Reizel Wagman Bachrach

When I came from Russia to Bialystok, immediately when the terrible war was over, I decided to visit my hometown Zabludow where I was born.

Though people warned me about traveling to small towns, because there was still no quiet and gangs roamed the roads – I couldn’t resist the experience [temptation]. And I convinced Rosa Bialystotski, Pearl Bialystotski and my sister-in-law Teibl Wagman to go to our hometown to see what had remained.

Shocked and astonished we stood in front of the gloomy scene that lay before our eyes. The town was desolate…from far away we could see the two church steeples that were not damaged -- the Catholic and the Pravoslavic churches. Here and there were houses. Among the few houses the Bilsk Bet Midrash and the house of Rabbi Jochanan Mirsky (may the memory of a righteous man be blessed) – a miracle indeed; I’m looking for the place where my house was. I’m looking and am unable to find it. There was no sign whatsoever.

Tears are choking my throat…the blood in my veins is pounding in ever-increasing rhythm. Pictures from the past are chasing each other in my burning mind…I am searching with my eyes and with my hands…for this is the place where I was born and educated…the place where I spent my childhood, both happy and sad…there I sat all my precious days…I was married there and there they stood the Chupah in my house near my father’s bed (may he rest in peace) before his death.

I wake from my nightmare and drag my feet through Mukevitz alley to the new cemetery. The Christian street where the old cemetery is untouched. However in the cemetery area, in the place where there gravestones the cows and sheep of the goyim are grazing and wandering.

The new cemetery is totally ruined. All the gravestones are shattered. Pieces of my father’s gravestones, Nachum Wagman (may he rest in peace), are scattered all about. I pick up some pieces and read his name…

In a heart wrenching and indescribable sadness we are whispering the holy Yizkor for our dear ones that were cut off from life. We leave the cemetery and graves, our beautiful town Zabludow that just previously had blossomed and was full of life.

 

 

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