NOVOGRUDOK
Novogrudok is the town that grandmother was born in 1901 - she found her way to Baranovich years later. Novogrudok was bigger, much bigger than Mir or Nesvish and this was evident as we pulled into the main part of town. Remember, the fact that I can say it had a "main part of town" says a lot! We knew the routine very well by now, stopping folks on the street and asking, "Can you give me directions to the is the synagogue?" This time we asked a younger lady, probably in her mid-thirties. I bet she never got stopped for directions in life! In a rather matter-of-factly and friendly way, she pointed across the street to a big white building. The only problem with this was that she was pointing at the town church! Oh well, synagogue, church, they're all the same. At least she didn't look at us funny when we asked her and, better yet, she knew that a synagogue was a house of worship. We drove around some more and stopped for some water, telling ourselves that we'd ask the first person we'd see. Now, in the U.S., a young male with a cleanly shaven head and donning a nose ring, would be the last person to ask. In Belarus it must mean that he's trying to fit in and there's nothing to be afraid of! We contemplated whether or not he would be a good choice but in the end, we just asked him. As it turned out, he was actually very helpful, giving us detailed directions to our destination, although I was beginning to doubt him after his instructions led us a few miles out of town! We ended up in a residential area (as most of Novogrudok is anyway) in front of a large, yellow, wooden schoolhouse-looking structure. "This is not a synagogue," I explained to Vitali and Tatyana, "this can't be." Next to the "synagogue" was a house and its two residents were out in the front, doing some gardening and cleaning. They really didn't pay much attention to us, this odd-looking group of strangers staring at the "house" next door. I proceeded walked up to it in my apparent disbelief and, as I expected, there was no indication that this was a synagogue - this didn't look like a house of worship in any religion! Since the front door was locked we simply asked the next-door couple out on their lawn. To my surprise, they claimed that it was a synagogue, but only after we used the word "synagogue" in our question to them. I was beginning to think that the word "church" was simply synonymous with "synagogue" in Belarus, for this was the second time someone did not make that distinction between the two. I took a few steps back to take a picture of it anyway, just to have something to debate about later on, when lo and behold I realized what it was. We were looking at a mosque! It was not your traditional mosque in that there was no dome but at the very top was the crescent moon associated with Islam. We learned later on that there were some Turkish immigrants in that town and this was their house of worship. Tired of our wild goose chase, I was growing weary of this hopeless search for a synagogue in Novogrodek. In a wonderful turn of events, these neighbors were more than helpful in our search for they called another neighbor and for 15 minutes Tatyana and Vitali discussed where the synagogue could actually be situated. Finally, the neighbors' friend jumped in his car and asked us to follow him - he knew a Jewish guy in town and perhaps that would lead us to our destination. I figured this was an even better option because the only reason I wanted to find a synagogue in this forgotten part of Belarus was to find other Jews and tell them that my grandmother was born here exactly 100 years ago (if they even cared). It was all beginning to fall into place.
Boris Krotin
We were led to a small building, that seemed to double as a factory of some sort, when we were greeted by a man who was about to get in his car. This man was Boris Krotin, one of the very few Jews in town under the age of 80. The neighbor explained to him who I was and without any hesitation, he invited us into the building. It turned out that Boris runs a successful fish-packing and plastics factory. He makes the containers and sells pickled fish products, such as herring, abroad. A considerable amount of his sales is in Israel as he travels there often for business, although he only speaks Russian. "In Israel", he said, "there are so many immigrants there that one can get around just speaking Russian." The three of us, Tatyana, Vitale, and myself entered his office and for about 15 minutes conversed (in Russian, of course) all about my background and his successful business. I don't recall whether or not Boris was born in Novogrudok but he did say that he built his business there, which is not a bad accomplishment in Belarus. Looking about 60 years of age, I was told that he was more like in his late forties so I can only imagine that a hard life must have aged him. He employs 100 people in his factory, both in the plastics and the fish pickling sectors, each one earning close to $100/month. Let us not forget that although such a salary is by no means ridiculous, it is considered to be the monthly minimum wage. If two people live together and combine their salaries, they certainly can survive in Belarus.
We were soon greeted with some wonderful fruits of his labor - pickled herring and whitefish. Then came the bottles of champagne! Here I was, sitting in a stranger's office, feasting on the same type of food that my grandmother used to serve me, taking place in the middle of nowhere - Belarus! This could not have been plan or arranged in any way as just shear luck and being in the right place at the right time allowed this to occur. Of course, without Boris's hospitality, we would have been on our way within a few minutes of meeting him. Instead, we ate, laughed, and exchanged a few words of Yiddish that we both knew. Although not a religious person, he was must have been known as the Jewish guy in town or else we wouldn't have been brought to him. According to him, none of his employees were Jewish and that didn't seem to matter to them. "Is there any religious persecution?," I asked. "Not at all," he replied. "They don't know nor care what being Jewish is; it has neither a positive nor negative connotation."
We spent nearly three hours with Boris. It was close to 8PM, the sun was beginning to set, so we decided it was best that we be on our way. I still had one more destination to cover that day, the town of Ivie, birthplace of my grandfather over one hundred years ago, so it was imperative that we get moving. As we drove away, I thought to myself how lucky we were to have met here today. So, to those reading this, remember this: Somewhere in a small town in Belarus, a Jew is running a prosperous business. Who would have thought this would be possible today?
Novogrudok roadside memorial unknown ruins
webmaster's note - I may have ruined the sense of scale, the ruins are huge and impressive but the picture was too large for sitting side by side with the memorial as in Mitch's original.
© Mitch Kotler