Page 51 - The Legacy of Abraham Rothstein - text

Moshe Itzel and his brood

synagogue, not singing but reading the prayers loud and clear,
stopping often to draw air into his sick lungs. It was pathetic.
Moshe Itzel lived to about seventy-five years of age. Despite his
asthma, he retained a clear mind and walked around on his cane and
ruled his brood to his last days, an ascetic living on very little food. At
his demise we did not live in Pelcovizna, and I was not at his funeral.
He was buried in the district of Novodvory, about fifteen miles from
Pelcovizna. Asthma is not inherited; it comes from a bad cold if it is
prolonged and not cured. In his youth he was a strong man, as could
be judged from his seven children.
My father was a healthy and sound man, who could punch like a
hammer and never needed medical care. Berl, next oldest to my
father, was a powerful man who could fight at fifty like a man of
twenty. Berl, with his six sons, had many fights with the Poles who
tried to beat the Jews in Pelcovizna. They feared him. Many times it
happened in that little town when Poles attacked Jews and the cry
went out, “They are beating Jews!”, Berl with his sons grabbed
anything at hand and ran to the rescue, dispersing the attackers. They
were strong and stout, big meat-eaters, which naturally made them
ferocious. The Poles in the neighborhood feared them. Berl was a
simple man, good-natured and charitable. He visited the sick and was
handy in emergencies like fires, floods, and drownings—which
happened often on the Vistula River. Berl was as softhearted as he
was strong: when anybody in the community was struck by grief,
when he saw people sick or dying, tears rolled down his face. When
Berl had a couple of drinks he would cry and hug and kiss everybody;
my father, after a few drinks, would philosophize and then curse the
politicians and the princes and their ministers.
Berl was also the head of the chevra kadisha, the burial society
found in every town inhabited by Jews. It was an honorable job, and
a mitzvah to provide a free burial for rich and poor. In the case of a
pestilence like cholera, people took sick all of a sudden, had dysentery
and convulsive fits, and passed out in a few hours. There were no
doctors around, so a three- or four-man squad from that organization
would go around to houses of the sick and rub their bodies with
alcohol to circulate the blood and bring back their health. They saved
many of the stricken ones. My mother and father were stricken on a
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