Memories of Independence
"Founded in 1919 by leaders like Rabbi Grin and my grandfather, Mr. Teitelbaum, the Gymnasium Ivri was the pulse of Jewish Vilkaviškis. It was a world of strict discipline and high aspirations. While students at the Lithuanian Gymnasium wore brown, our students were recognizable across town by their violet hats.
Education here was holistic; teachers didn't just grade papers—they inspected our personal gardens and the state of our rooms every week. In these halls, Hebrew was the living language of our future, a bridge between the ancient world and the Zionist dream."
- Gila Shoham
"A sea of violet: The Hebrew Gymnasium Ivri was not just a school, but a statement of our identity."
"In 1940, the music stopped. The Russians closed the Gymnasium Ivri and moved us all to the Lithuanian school. Suddenly, we were in two shifts, learning in a world that no longer spoke our language." — Avraham Kagnanski
"The center of Vilkaviškis was dominated by the Market Square, a place where the town met the country. Every Tuesday and Friday, villagers arrived with fruit, cheeses, and poultry.
Our bakeries were legendary. In shops like my grandfather Shmiel Smilig’s, the work was done entirely by hand, with workers in white coats producing everything from daily rolls to the specialized matzah flour for Pesach. Before the holidays, the air in town changed as 'balabustot' prepared tzgaluck sweets and cakes. It was a world of abundance—a stark contrast to the 'deficit' of primary products that would arrive with the Soviet officials in 1940."
"I remember my favorites—bananas and oranges—vanishing from the stores. We went from twenty types of bread to just two. The Soviet officials bought everything; suddenly, there were no sausages, no butter, and no cakes." — Ranana
"Vilkaviškis was defined by its extraordinary network of 'Chessed' (charity) institutions. The community was entirely autonomous, running its own Beit Din and ensuring a social safety net for every resident.
Organizations like Mass Le'Col Ha'Dal provided interest-free loans of up to 100 Lit, returnable in tiny increments. Groups like Ezra cared for the sick, while Hachnasat Calah ensured that even the neediest brides had a beautiful wedding. From Etzim La'Horef (Fuel for the Winter) to Malbish Arumim (Clothing the Naked), the town functioned as one large family. This spirit of mutual aid reached its peak in the daring night-time rescue of the Suwalki refugees, coordinated by our own neighbors in the dark of night."
"I remember the variety—preparing matzah for the poor, fuel for the cold, and even helping younger children with their costumes for Purim. In Vilkaviškis, being active in these charities started from a very young age." — Dvora Dolev
"In Vilkaviškis, the community was the bank. From interest-free loans to firewood for the winter, no one was left to face the cold alone."
"A sanctuary of scent and color: The gardens of the Old Age Home were the pride of the town."
"At the edge of town, near the Synagogues, stood the Jewish Old Age Home—a building that was as much a park as it was a residence. It was surrounded by a beautiful garden filled with exotic trees and vibrant flowers that seemed out of place in our small corner of Lithuania.
On Saturdays and Holidays, the garden became the town's living room. Jewish families, dressed in their best, would stroll through the paths while children played among the blossoms. It was a place of quiet dignity where the elderly were honored and the youth found peace. Remarkably, this building survived the flames of the coming war, eventually serving the town as a women's hospital—a lasting remnant of the beauty we once cultivated together."
"I remember the smell of those gardens on a warm Saturday afternoon. It was a place where time seemed to stand still, and the exotic plants made us feel like we were part of a much larger, more beautiful world." — Gila
"As 1939 drew to a close, the winds of war blew from the West. When Germany invaded Poland, a wave of Jewish refugees from the Suwalki region fled toward the Lithuanian border. In the dead of night, in the border village of Wiżajny, the community of Vilkaviškis mobilized.
Led by figures like Shmarihu Pustapecki, the town didn't just watch the horizon; they acted. They coordinated with border guards, organized transport, and brought hundreds of exhausted souls into the safety of our community. For a brief moment, Vilkaviškis was a sanctuary—the last spark of Independent Lithuania’s hospitality before the Soviet 'Red Shadow' crossed those same borders in June 1940."
The Wiżajny Bridge: A Final Sanctuary
"As 1939 drew to a close, the winds of war blew from the West. When Germany invaded Poland, a wave of Jewish refugees from the Suwalki region fled toward the Lithuanian border. In the dead of night, in the border village of Wiżajny, the community of Vilkaviškis mobilized.
Led by figures like Shmarihu Pustapecki, the town didn't just watch the horizon; they acted. They coordinated with border guards, organized transport, and brought hundreds of exhausted souls into the safety of our community. For a brief moment, Vilkaviškis was a sanctuary—the last spark of Independent Lithuania’s hospitality before the Soviet 'Red Shadow' crossed those same borders in June 1940."