March 15, 1994
Andrei and Tanya were seated at the dining table, with heavy text books and various papers sprawled out. The smell of cooking lingered in from the kitchen, but the two were in lively conversation. Andrei had decided he wanted to study history at University, and the competition for spots at Immanuel Kant was notoriously difficult. Tanya had managed it, only a few years back, and so she was helping him arrange his notes, master his study habits, and prepare for the Arbitur.
They were discussing the Ostsiedlung, the medieval Germanization of lands in Central and Eastern Europe, via the migration from the west of Germans, Ashkenazim, Dutch and Flemings to Prussia, Transylvania, the Sudetenland and many other areas. The process by which this was carried out was largely peaceful - while the process by which these centuries old German populations, 12 to 15 million of them, were deported, expelled, or fled after the war was anything but. At least half a million died in the process, and as many as two and half million according to the West German government. They were mostly women, children, and the elderly.
It could be said that both Andrei and Tanya's decisions to study history was due to their grandfather's influence. Borukh, as he now preferred to be called, had a lifelong love a history, though his education had been interrupted by the war, and he had little more than eight years of schooling. Nevertheless, he was an avid reader, had a keen eye for detail and was a brilliant craftsman with his hands - he supported his family with relatively little difficulty during the Soviet era. Partly, this was due to his knack for a deal and his inexhaustable energy. As his brood grew, they came to bemusedly appreciate they way he guided and assisted in every way he could. He was surprisingly easy to talk to, if a little rough around the edges, and he was deeply respected within his family.
Andrei had eagerly sought out to learn everything his grandfather could tell him about the family's connection to Prussia. The old man told him what he could. That they came from Danzig, which was now Gdansk. He couldn't be any more specific, and if any family records had existed, they couldn't have survived the war in Galicia.
"But we must have come during the Ostsiedlung, right?" Andrei asked his elder cousin.
She shrugged. "Yes, probably. It is certainly the most simple. It would be great to find records."
"Zaideh said they were destroyed."
She nodded. "Yes. Anything in Sukhostav would have been destroyed. He's been back to check. But I have hope."
Andrei shook his head in confusion. "For what?"
"I have been checking libraries and civic record vaults in Gdansk. To see if there is anything from before."
"Before what?"
"We came from Gdansk to Galicia. That's all we know. We don't know when, we don't know why - but I have a clue."
Andrei's eyes widened. "A clue?"
She smirked. "Yes. The first partition of Poland." Andrei's expression betrayed ignorance, so she continued. "You know the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, yes? It was the largest country in Europe for hundreds of years. And it was home to almost all the Ashkenazi Jews. It was surrounded by the three empires: Prussia, Russia, and Austria. In the late 1700s, in three swoops," she made a chopping motion with her hand. "They carved up Poland between them. It was off the map for over a century."
"So we would have to have lived in Poland?" Asked Andrei, trying to follow the thought.
"Yes, Gdansk was part of Poland, then, too. It became part of Prussia in the first partition, 1772. They called it West Prussia. At the time, there were about 20,000 Jews living in West Prussia. In the next fourteen years, until the death of Frederick II, between 9 and 10,000 Jews were expelled, all of those who owned less than 300 Thalers property."
"Was that us?"
She shrugged. "It was half the Jews of Gdansk"
"How much was 300 Thalers worth?"
Her eyes lit up. She was a history major, after all. "Well, a family that owned 200-300 thalers would have owned a house, and livestock, and maybe businesses. They would be better off than most families in Poland or Germany at that time."
"So it was alot?"
She nodded. "Yes. But they called them beggar Jews. Those without 300 Thalers'. And the reason they didn't expel those with more than 300 Thalers? Because if they did, some would have left substantial debts with the Christians. So they were allowed to stay, to give them time to sell their house to a Christian family. They made it so to get married, Jews had to obtain a license they would pay for. Then, they made it so they had to pay for a Christian family to come from Germany and pay their expenses for three years."
He shook his head. "That's awful. So they all had to leave?"
"Almost all of them. They went to Poland. Galicia was part of it at the time. We may have left earlier than this, but probably not later. Anyway, it's the best guess we have."
"So you're looking for records in Gdansk from before the 1700s?"
"Yes, exactly. Whenever I get an opportunity. Which isn't often."
He nodded solemnly. "I'll help you. Whenever I can."
She smiled in appreciation. "Your grandfather would be proud."
At that moment, the old man burst through the door, beard longer, holding a large container of a golden liquid under one arm and full bag of popcorn in the other.
"Oy!" cried Zhenya from the kitchen. "Another bobcorn for you! You must be keeping Lev in business."
His face looked grave. "Zhenya, you would not believe the line up. Down the street. People waiting thirty minutes."
Her face dropped. "You waited thirty minutes for the bobcorn?"
His face went stern. "No! He's my grandson. I walked to the front of the line."
She laughed. "Weren't they mad?"
"He told me I have to get in line. I told him, "You give your grandfather the popcorn or I drop your pants and hide your takhes in front of all your customers."
Her shoulders were convulsing in laughter at this point, imagining the scene all too well. "Did you really?" she asked, but she knew the answer.
"Of course! I had to. You should have seen the line!"
She reached over and grabbed a handful of popcorn. She tasted it and nodded in approval. "It's pretty good."
"Here," he said, handing her the container of the golden liquid, navy blue seal wrapped around it. It must have been 10L. "It's the betzel."
"The what?" she asked, confused.
"The betzel. He explained, pointing at the label. It's like liquid butter, but it's vegetable oil. It's why the popcorn is so good."
She looked at the container, marked Becel. "How did you get this?"
He shrugged as if the question were ridiculous. "From Lev. He got it from America."
"They have money, eh?"
His eyes went wide. "They said he saved it all working at the cinema. They bought him the popcorn cart, he shipped over the seeds and the betzel. What did I tell you, huh? That kid's going to be a millionaire. You gotta see him with a crowd. Real chutzpah! "
She rolled her eyes. "A millionaire off bobcorn, certainly"
Looking at the shoes at the entrance, he asked, "Andrei's here?"
Zhenya flicked her nose upward in agreement.
"Excellent" he picked up the popcorn and entered the other room. "Andrei! Oh, hi Tanya! Andrei -"
The boy turned around, "Hey zaideh."
"Useless" said the old man with affection.
Andrei rolled his eyes and began to turn to his book, but his grandfather extended the popcorn to him, so he accepted excitedly.
"You need a job", pronounced the Old man.
"I'm only seventeen"
The old man put on his acting cap and feigned a heart attack. "By your age I was practically married. Your cousin needs help at the weekends. You're going to work for him every Saturday from now on. He's going to pay you."
Andrei quickly looked for a way out. "But it's Shabbat"
The old man barely missed a beat. "Yes. Sunday. You'll work every Sunday. Who knows, you work well enough he might send you to New York."
Andrei didn't seem to buy it.
"You have money, you can take your friends places. Get a girlfriend."
Now he was interested. "Ok zaideh. You can tell him ok"
"Great!" said the old man, clapping his hands together. "That's almost it. One more thing."
"You're shaving your beard?" asked Zhenya sarcastically.
He smiled at her and drew close. "No, my darling, I am never shaving again. I start at the Rabbinical College!"
That drew everyone's attention.
"Wow, zaideh, that's quite a commitment at your age, isn't it?" said Tanya.
He pulled out a chair and sat down, hurriedly explaining with his hands. "Someone has to do it! Why not me."
Andrei saw an issue. "Don't you have to go to university to be a rabbi?"
The old man was prepared. "Yes. I likely won't become a rabbi. But I'm going to study. I'm going to learn everything I can. I never, ever thought I would have this chance. So I must."
Zhenya, who had been staring silently, but who had known him the longest, knew he was right. Plus he needed to be out of the house more often. She turned back into the kitchen. "Well, it's time to eat, everyone. It's certainly been an evening."
The old man was pouring over the books and papers on the table. "Vos is dos?" he asked them in Yiddish,
"We're trying to trace the family back to Gdansk, to see if we can find any records or see where we came before"
"Before? Before when?"
"Before the ostsiedlung."
