Keidan in 1905: Memories of a Preacher's Son

by B.Y. Bialistotzky

   I spent some time in Keidan in 1905, when I was 12 years old. My father took me with him as he traveled as a magid [itinerent preacher] among the towns of Lithuania. He wanted to teach me Gemara by himself, which is why he took me with him. Thus I saw many well-known towns.

   In every town, my father had to "report" to the gabbai [administrator] or the shammes [sexton] regarding his sermon in the synagogue. I remember that my father always preferred to go to the shammes rather than to the gabbai. The gabbais were frequently angry and haughty, while most of the shamosim were kind-hearted and friendly Jews.

   I remember that the gabbai of the large synagogue in Keidan said to my father: "It would be better if you moved on. At the moment, we have here the preacher of Shirvint and the preacher of Muzir. What do we need a third magid for?"

  The shammes of the synagogue, on the other hand, said to my father: "Our Jews will hear you. Those other two will move on soon".

    In Keidan, they loved a preacher, the local tradesmen especially. In other towns as well, the people loved to hear the preacher. Magids fulfilled an important function in Lithuania. Their influence on the public was not less than that of the Chasidic "miracle workers" in the Ukraine, Poland and Galicia. But instead of bringing marvels, the preacher would bring ethical teachings and lessons that sank deep into the heart. Avraham Reisen, our great author from Koidanov in Minsk province, described such preachers lovingly in his stories.

   There was one famous preacher from Lithuania, who practiced in Vilna at the time of the Gaon. He was known as the Magid of Dubnow. From Lithuania also came the unique Magid of Kelm, who described Hell in his sermons in a manner no worse than the Italian Poet [Dante] in his poem "Inferno". The Preacher of Grodno, Elyakum Getzel, also practiced in Lithuania. He was a unique sermonizer who attracted many students to preach after him. My father also saw himself as a student of Reb Elyakum Getzel. Thus, the two famous preachers -- the Magid of Shirvint and the Magid of Muzir -- strongly influenced the public. Some of the preachers displayed a bit of what we would call today "popular acting" or "theatricality". The preacher would arrive with songs, music, poetic pictures and parables. There were preachers who also used humor in their sermons. They had deep words for more educated Jews and knew the secret of simple words for the simple masses or for the Jewish women.

   Some of the preachers also included a message of social justice in their sermons. The great magid Elyakum-Getzel used to establish societies, mainly of workers, and preach simple sermons to them separately, so that they would better understand. He would also learn Mishna and Chumash with them, and tell them wonderful parables . . . From his workers' societies, there sprang many Jewish cultural officials and future labor officials. Other preachers in Lithuania behaved in a similar manner. Their ethics were not just unique ethics, taken out of a book. Their ethics frequently contained social ideas.

   I have heard the Magid of Shirvint, and I still see him alive, a broad-shouldered Jew with a wide, bony face and a high forehead. His preaching music was a rather enthusiastic challenge to God. There was something revolutionary within him. He had claims against the public, but he also pronounced claims against the creator of the world. Why was the suffering of the Jews so great? It was obvious that he soon became reconciled with God and immediately returned to attacking the public . . .

   Two or three years after I was in Keidan, I found the same Magid of Shirvint in a tragic state, in Shirvint. He started liking alcohol and used to drink to intoxication. This situation brought him to a sort of mania. I saw him lying in a side-room of the synagogue in Shirvint. From time to time, the former Preacher would stir, one of his past sermons would spark in his brain, and he would run to the pulpit. He would start preaching in a singssong voice, without caring whether there was anyone in the synagogue to hear him or not. There, on the mattress, in the side chamber of the Shirvint synagogue, he gave up his soul.

   The second preacher whom I met in Keidan was a sermonizer in song. He was more musical and indubitably theatrical. He wore a shoulder-knife, and his fair hair and blue eyes cast a mischievous light around him. He was closer to the modern type of preacher, who appeared because of Zionism - the "sermonizer". Tsvi Hirsch Maslianski, who lived and worked for a long time in America until his death, was, as I recall, the father and the classic example of all the sermonizers. Masliansky's influence in "the old country" was mainly in "Greater Lithuania" - in Kovno, Vilna, Grodno, Minsk and Suwalk provinces.
 
   Let us now return to my recollections of Keidan. The Shirvinter and the Muzirer went their way, and my father preached his sermon. After the sermon, an old tailor took him for a cup of tea. He lived next door to the synagogue. In his apartment, we found two young tailors, his apprentices. Later, a few other tailors arrived. It was as if the tailors of Keidan had a historical pact among themselves.

   A few days later, I heard from the mouth of the old tailor himself about a unique historical event. This was the true story about the revolt of Keidan's tailors which took place at the beginning of the 19th century, in 1815 or thereabouts*.

   The story goes as follows: Once, all the upper-class gentlemen of Keidan became angry with a tailor because he dared to come to the synagogue wearing a velvet yarmulke, at a time when only a "gvir", or wealthy man, was permitted to wear such a thing. The tailor was fined. This incident angered the artisans of Keidan, and they broke out in revolt. There were bitter arguments, and even fistfights. These incidents came to the attention of the Count, and later even reached Petersburg.

   This was no minor matter, O tailors of Keidan, workers of Keidan! They would not let others oppress them. Eventually, the gvirim were forced to submit, and the tailors of Keidan always recalled with pride the uprising of their fathers' fathers, who could come to the synagogue with velvet headgear on their heads and silk coats on their bodies, just like the haughty upper classes.
         
("Lita", pp 1214-1217)
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* Q.V. the book "Lita": Dr. Mark Vishnitzer, "yiddishe melokhe un bal-melokhe zakhn in lita".