Jewish Childhood, Russian Youth
Publisher's foreword
Grigory Iosifovich Tseytlin (“Uncle Grisha”) (1890-1971) was the brother of my grandmother, Rakhili Iosifovna Rubinstein (1889-1971). In addition to his brother, his grandmother had two sisters: Aunt Anya (kind and affectionate, dentist) and Aunt Sonya – a complex creature with a contentious, unpredictable character. When I was a child, I was afraid of Aunt Ani, who felt it was her duty to see how my teeth grew and changed.The smell and taste of Aunt Ani’s fingers moving in her mouth (she had previously rubbed them with alcohol) remained one of the memories of her. Aunt Anya was married to uncle Joseph (Ezersky), a pharmacy pharmacist, they lived in a small house on the Moscow station Factory. Not far from them, in half of the other, blown by all the winds of the building, lived a lonely aunt Sonya, enmity with neighbors.I remember a live goat in the yard of Aunt Sonya, he was taken from a goat and given to me (five-year-old) in my arms to hold like a child. The sisters were childless, and the only son of Uncle Grisha Joseph (Asia) still did not marry, there were no grandchildren. Uncle Grisha got up every day at dawn, got on the train and went to Aunt Sonia to help her with the housework. He rarely came to visit us.One day he unexpectedly brought and handed his grandmother a small table for needlework - perhaps the rest of their common parental property? The table still stands at our cottage. My younger brother uncle Grisha several times gave straw cartridges with visors covered with blue cotton. My brother never wore them, but we used them in the game: stood opposite each other at a distance of a few steps and tried to throw a card on the opponent’s head, up to ten times.The loser was named "Uncle Grisha." You could be twice (and three times) Uncle Grisha.
A memory from my adolescence: on a warm autumn day, my parents hired a car and drove my grandmother to the Factory – to see and, perhaps, say goodbye to their sisters in advance: the long road and communication itself were already difficult for them. My brother and I were taken with them. When we arrived, Uncle Joseph, a good-natured old man with a huge white mustache, was working in the garden, tidying up the empty beds. Aunt Anya came out on the porch.Both of them were delighted, though confused by the surprise of our appearance. The house was clean and quiet, as in a museum. Aunt Anya died first, followed by Aunt Sonya. After that, Uncle Grisha began to visit us regularly, on Saturdays, at 9 a.m. (some family members were still asleep at that time), always with a cake, and very soon left. On one of these Saturdays, with excitement, he took out a thick manuscript from his bag and left it for a day - until the next morning.On Sunday at exactly 9:00 he came and took the folder away, flatly refusing to extend the reading deadline. There was a baby in the house (my daughter), we were tired and frozen. Nevertheless, everyone read a considerable number of pages with interest, passing them to each other, and my mother then wrote her uncle an enthusiastic letter. Twenty years after the death of Uncle Grisha, when I was preparing for publication in the magazine "New World" memories of E.G. Kiselyova (see).On this site, my mother reproached me: you type someone else's old lady, but forgot about your cousin. Asya, the son of Uncle Grisha, as it turned out, kept the coveted folder. Mom was retired. Her brother taught her how to use a computer like a typewriter.
Reading the memoirs of Uncle Grisha, I was particularly keen to catch the infrequently flashing shadow of his third (in seniority) sister. Judging by the manuscript, she did not play a big role in his life. They were not spiritually close: his grandmother probably did not take the questions so acutely. My grandmother loved to tell me and my brother about her childhood, about the priestly daughter Elena Ivanovna, who taught her literacy.A special place in the grandmother’s stories was occupied by the father of Elena Ivanovna, the decorated priest of Father Sinyakov. One day during class, he quietly came from behind and put his huge palms on her shoulders. She died of fear. The father said with sympathy, “What, girl, does cancer alone paint grief?” When she finished the story, her grandmother invariably added: “I will die, I will not forget these words.”Father Sinyakov became a favorite character of family tradition, his grown-up brother often referred to his wisdom. In her youth, her grandmother studied for several months in Yuriev (Tartu), where she met a student Raevsky. He was a naturalist, that is, a biologist. All his life, his grandmother kept his letters, often remembered him and refused to marry him.Rajewski once asked her, “Rakhil Osipovna, why were the Jews expelled from Egypt?” “They didn’t kick them out, they left themselves!” replied the grandmother and was offended. I do not know whether this conversation resolved the matter, whether the student Rajewski loved my grandmother as much as (now I understand) she loved him, and in general, what was his fate.I can only say that many years after my grandmother’s death, my adult brother, breaking away from the telephone conversation, answered without hesitation the question of Raevsky’s name – Georgy Yevgenyevich.
In preparing the publication, I took the liberty of dividing a single body of text into several separate parts. One of these chapters ("Pogrom") was published in the magazine "Rodina" (2002 No. 4-5). I hope that the proposed memories will be read and commented on by specialists. Some of the evidence here seems to me very valuable. For example, the friendly relations of those sent to the city.Gomel Cossacks and Jews before the official signal for the pogrom sounded: "A Cossack part appeared in the city." They did not show much anger towards the Jewish population. Jewish boys rode on Cossack horses, helped them bathe in Sozh. Or the legend that Nikolai P in his youth was in love with a girl named Lia Livshits. My attempts to find out anything from historians have failed.But Uncle Grisha speaks of this love in passing, as a fact, apparently well known to all Gomel Jews of the early twentieth century: “...Who inspired such cruelty to the hapless king?” Stolypin, whom he called his mentor, or Leah Livshitz, with whom he was in love with his mindless love? Stolypin, as you know, was killed by a Jew Bogrov. Leah was taken from the heir to the throne by the mayor.”
I close the "family" introduction with a more official reference about Grigory Iosifovich Tseytlin (she prefaced the magazine publication):
G.I. Tseytlin, an energy engineer by profession, was born in the village of Goretsky district of Mogilev province in a very poor family. His father, due to poor health, was forced to go to the city of Gomel, where he worked occasionally as a small employee in the office, then as a sales agent, and sometimes gave private lessons.His earnings were not enough to support the family even in the village, and his wife kept a small shop in a nearby village, where every day, afraid to leave for the night, she carried all her goods in a heavy shoulder bag.According to family legend, this woman, famous for her strong and direct character, very beautiful in her youth, preferred the hapless Joseph Zeitlin to other suitors, because he was one of the descendants of the legendary scribe, rich man and philanthropist Joshua Zeitlin, a personal friend of Prince Potemkin.The Jewish Encyclopedia confirms that the student of Rebbe Aryeh-Leib Joshua Zeitlin, who helped Prince Potemkin as a supplier and contractor to build the city of Kherson and tried (although unsuccessfully) to petition Catherine P for the expansion of the rights of the Jews, died in 1822 in his estate "Ustya" in Mogilev province.
Until the age of ten, Grigory Tseytlin with his mother and three sisters lived in the village, then was sent to his father in the city. Soon the whole family moved to Gomel, as his home burned down. Parents, barely making ends meet, sought to give children a full education and, above all, to teach them not only to read and write, but also to speak Russian correctly. That plan was a complete success. The memoirs of Grigory Iosifovich Tseytlin cover the period from his early childhood to the end of the revolution.They clearly show how the Hermetic national life of the late X1X-th - early XX-th century explodes from the inside, and the Jewish childhood of the author and his peers abruptly turns into Russian youth. The chapter “Pogrom”, illustrated by the photo from the family album mentioned in the text, just describes the peak of this fracture.
Elena Olshanskaya