In the late autumn of 2009, in a flea market in Suprasl, Poland, a small town about 15 miles from Jasionowka, a local book and antiquities dealer purchased a large painting of St. Francis and the baby Jesus set with an old wooden frame. On returning home, the dealer examined the back of this painting. On removing the back, a voice from Jasionowka’s lost Jewish world was revealed! Five pages of what appear to be ‘letters’ in cursive Yiddish handwriting had been carefully tucked in the back of this painting.

The town of Jasionowka, some 30 miles north of Bialystok, today belongs to Poland. Jasionowka today and in the past was never a large town; on the eve of the Second World War it was home to less than 2000 inhabitants, two-thirds of whom were Jewish. First mention of this town dates to the mid-16^th century in reference to the construction of its church. However, Jews first arrived in Jasionowka in the latter half of the 17^th century, conducting business and trade related to beer production, but especially engaged in commerce related to tannery and textiles. By the end of the 18^th century Jewish tradesmen were tailors, butchers, liquor distillers, furriers, a shoemaker, a smith, a dyer, a barber, a blacksmith apprentice, a glassblower, an oven builder, and wagon drivers, who moved their products throughout the region, as far afield as eastern Prussia.

Jasionowka’s first wooden synagogue was built in the 17^th century, with permission to establish a cemetery shortly thereafter. By the mid-18^th century, a second and then a third cemetery were founded to accommodate the growing community. So, too, would eventually be built a brick synagogue, later dismantled to construct a larger wooden synagogue with a ritual bath. By this time, too, this Jewish community would be home to a variety of charitable, as well as intellectual organizations and schools, creating an intellectually rich mithnagdim Jewish community, despite the economic hardship for many. Cheders were founded in which girls eventually would also study. As the spirit of the haskalah reached Jasionowka, Hebrew, Russian and even arithmetic was added to the cheder curriculum. By the onset of World War I, Zionism, too, had its impact on the young people of Jasionowka.

Such was Reina’s world as she wrote these letters to her beloved brother in 1887. We might envision Reina nightly, beside candlelight, within one of the small wooden homes in Jasionowka’s Rynek. Night after night she sits down with quill and ink, to recopy the same letter, addressed “zu mayn getrayn bruder! liebster bruder!” (“my trustworthy brother! beloved brother”). Calling him “brother” and herself “sister” is reminiscent of the language of beloveds in the Song of Songs. Are Reina and “her beloved brother” truly siblings, or lovers separated by circumstances. Within her letter, Reina writes:

Such language suggests that Reina and “her faithful” or “beloved brother” are siblings and his travels are more business related than a brother furthering his education in a distant yeshivah as was customary in her time. Perhaps her brother was engaged in one of Jasionowka’s textile businesses that took him travelling throughout what was then Russia and Prussia. The “strange land” to which Reina refers may indeed be the distant regions of the Pale of Settlement.

Yet the painstaking efforts to which Reina subjected herself, writing and rewriting this letter, challenges the assumption of familial relationship. Technically, the letters are more properly diary-like entries on now individual sheets of parchment. The horizontal lines and remnant of the hand-sewn binding, suggest there is more to this story. Perhaps entries at one time existed for the days missing between October 28^th and November 10^th. One might offer that the repetition of this letter is nothing more than an exercise in penmanship. However, the substance of this letter scarcely suggests this letter is simply such an exercise. Each new page begins with the heading, indicating the date and city of Jasionowka. At times, Reina begins the body of the letter again upon the same page, writing until the lines end but not continuing on to the next page.

Again, we might envision Reina nightly, beside candlelight, within one of the small wooden homes on Jasionowka’s Rynek. Night after night she sits down with quill and ink, to recopy the same letter, but something does change – her handwriting. The ‘letters’ of October 28^th are in a steady, uniform script. The ink to parchment is of an even tone; individual letters are uniform in the execution. Final ‘nuns’ (N’s) offer a graceful downward stroke, the swirl of the ‘pehs’ (P’s) are consistent, Waws (V’s) and Yodhs (Y’s or vowels) are distinguishable. On the 29^th one letter preserves just a few words crossed out with ‘revisions’ written above and even a little ‘doodling’ – as if to test her ink or perhaps a slip of the pen as she tired from her re-writing. Then something happens on November 2^nd for Reina’s handwriting changes from steady, flowing script to angry, harsh, thick, and at times elongated, strokes. The words have not changed though but something transpired to raise the passionate ire of “sister” Reina. Her letter mentions that earlier she had safely received a letter from her brother, bringing news of a specific and successful business engagement “in fremda land” (“in a strange land”). Reina is happy for this success but wishes to know more; that she has this wish suggests she has already responded to his earlier letter – but to no avail. Reina chastises her brother to write and notes that “by doing this I will never forget you.” Four times this letter is rewritten in the same steady hand, with an occasional misspelling or spelling variation. Then with November 2^nd came a change. The next extant entry is from November 9^th. Her handwriting has resumed its careful execution but it is softer; the ink is lighter. With the two entries of November 10^th, the calligraphic execution once again resembles the letters of October. Reina’s ire or pain is assuaged.

Perhaps the expression “my faithful brother, my beloved brother” is not the language of sibling devotion but rather the language of love. On October 28^th and 29^th Reina was still hopeful of news; November 2^nd perhaps brought news that he would not return or had spurned her. Yet why continue writing as she did? Perhaps the letters served as an outlet to express her sadness and anger or denial.

What became of Reina is not divulged? In truth, her given name appears on only one letter – the second one dated to October 28^th. Archival records from Jasionowka or the surrounding gubernia offer no birth, marriage or death records for a Reina. The Jasionowka cemetery is equally silent to a Reina at this time. We might imagine fate or an arranged married took her to another town to continue her life, though I’d like to think that Reina’s “brother” returned. Yet why keep these letters?

Back to November 1887. When Reina’s “brother” fails to return, she tucks the letters away, perhaps an embarrassment of a love lost or unrequited, behind a painting of her “beloved brother”. Yet another question remains. Why hide these ‘letters’ within a Christian painting? Years later amidst the violence of the Holocaust, an elderly Reina – if still in Jasionowka and surviving the pogrom of 1941 as the Germans took the city from the Russians, would eventually be transported to Treblinka. Reina’s painting remained behind, passing into the hands of local Pole. The photo of her “beloved” was removed to be replaced by a painting of St. Francis and the baby Jesus – both the antithesis of violence and hatred. The letters remained within as padding; their words of love now seemingly silenced and forgotten.

In the end, none of the scenarios offered above may be correct. In the end, what do we gain from invading the private thoughts of Reina. Consider, once again the ‘letter’ that was written and re-written:

Figure Jasionowka 1916

Figure Jasionowka 2010

Photo copyright: Heidi M. Szpek, Frank J. Idzikowski and Tomasz Wisniewski