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There was this young man - at that time it was called - golden youth. He played the banjo, a fun boy. Anyway, he courted me there. Moryc. Zilber... Zilbersztajn? No, I don't remember. But his name began with a 'z.' At the store they thought he'd be a great match for me. And finally we got engaged. And it wasn't just an oral agreement, you had to write on this piece of paper, it was called 'ksyba.' [Editor's note: ketubbah, but an engagement agreement is called 'tnaim,' meaning 'conditions', 'tnoim' in Yiddish.] There was this special Jew who came, he was deeply religious, and he wrote there that I... actually I don't know what he wrote! That I was his fiancée, that I would spend my entire life with him, I don't know what.
I had my dowry all ready, in a basket under the bed. I didn't work on Saturdays, so I didn't have food then. So on Saturdays I had to spend some money, on sleeping, on bed linen, there wasn't much left. But I was always nicely dressed, elegant but modest. This fiancé helped me, to be honest. He gave me a ring, a fur coat and it was good.
That was in the 1920s. This fiancé also liked to play pool, when he finished work on Friday, he'd run off to play pool. Once he even forgot he had a date with me. I went home and I waited for him to pick me up. And my later husband, Dawid Birencwajg, was a friend of his. He rented a room from his sister. And that's how they met. My husband was a freethinker by then. But to say the truth, I didn't know what that was. I was used to tradition.
Anyway, this friend [Birencwajg] came to me. He said, 'Gucia [abbreviation of Gustawa], why are you sitting here waiting for him? He won't come, go to the movies with me.' I wasn't so worldly, to run around like that, so I told him, 'No, I can't, because my fiancé is supposed to come.' And he said, 'You won't marry him.' I said, 'Why?' And he replied, 'Because you'll be my wife.' I took this lightly and said, 'What stupid things you're saying.'
I admit it, I broke up with that fiancé of mine. Because Dawid would come round, take me to the movies, here, there. And that was when I started sharing his views a bit - freethinking views. He really wanted us to live together without getting married. I was working, trying, doing the best I could. He was already accused of something, with leftist issues, I didn't know. And he went to jail.
I had this stack of letters which he wrote me from jail. That he was dreaming about me at night, about my long neck, I didn't even know what, but those were really love letters. I knew that he was lonely, so I always tried to arrange for a package for him [to be delivered] to jail. There were such merry guys there in prison, that they would eat it all up and not give him anything. My boss's factory was opposite the jail. The prison was at 13 Gdanska Street and my owner had a factory at 14 Gdanska Street. He spent a lot of time in there, managed to write some love letters, and they finally let him out.
I had my dowry all ready, in a basket under the bed. I didn't work on Saturdays, so I didn't have food then. So on Saturdays I had to spend some money, on sleeping, on bed linen, there wasn't much left. But I was always nicely dressed, elegant but modest. This fiancé helped me, to be honest. He gave me a ring, a fur coat and it was good.
That was in the 1920s. This fiancé also liked to play pool, when he finished work on Friday, he'd run off to play pool. Once he even forgot he had a date with me. I went home and I waited for him to pick me up. And my later husband, Dawid Birencwajg, was a friend of his. He rented a room from his sister. And that's how they met. My husband was a freethinker by then. But to say the truth, I didn't know what that was. I was used to tradition.
Anyway, this friend [Birencwajg] came to me. He said, 'Gucia [abbreviation of Gustawa], why are you sitting here waiting for him? He won't come, go to the movies with me.' I wasn't so worldly, to run around like that, so I told him, 'No, I can't, because my fiancé is supposed to come.' And he said, 'You won't marry him.' I said, 'Why?' And he replied, 'Because you'll be my wife.' I took this lightly and said, 'What stupid things you're saying.'
I admit it, I broke up with that fiancé of mine. Because Dawid would come round, take me to the movies, here, there. And that was when I started sharing his views a bit - freethinking views. He really wanted us to live together without getting married. I was working, trying, doing the best I could. He was already accused of something, with leftist issues, I didn't know. And he went to jail.
I had this stack of letters which he wrote me from jail. That he was dreaming about me at night, about my long neck, I didn't even know what, but those were really love letters. I knew that he was lonely, so I always tried to arrange for a package for him [to be delivered] to jail. There were such merry guys there in prison, that they would eat it all up and not give him anything. My boss's factory was opposite the jail. The prison was at 13 Gdanska Street and my owner had a factory at 14 Gdanska Street. He spent a lot of time in there, managed to write some love letters, and they finally let him out.
Period
Interview
Gustawa Birencwajg
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