Zambrow had a beautiful synagogue. I’m sure that my Zaidy and his father and his mother from the upstairs balcony davened (prayed) there. I’m sure its walls echoed the voices of prayer and the cries and “shries” on Yom Kippur, when the Kol Nidrei prayer began the service and the women would wail when the the first words of the Shma Kolenu prayer began. And the sobs during Yizkor. And the mumbling of the men at the daily morning prayer service. And the arguments about the Rabbi, Rabbi Dov Menachem Regensberg, whom, we learn from the Yizkor Book, served the community for some 59 years until a Nazi soldier shot him in 1941. And which congregants were entitled to the best seats. And who should get particular honors. A living community that is no more.

The synagogue was built in 1908, after the former synagogue burned down in what the Zembrovers called the “First Great Fire.” It was built from red bricks, and hence was called the Red Synagogue (as opposed to the other shul, frequented by the Chasidim of Zambrow, called the White Synagogue).

The Yizkor book tells us the following about the shul:

The synagogue attracted intelligent Jews from all over the city, and both of the Batei Medrashim, and became the official house of worship of the Zambrow community. The interior remained half-finished for a few more years, without a proper Holy Ark, simple benches, and poor lighting. A little at a time, step by step, the synagogue became improved, and took its [proper] place in the city. It was here that gatherings were arranged, it was here that a kitchen for the needy was created, and in the First World War, it was here that the representatives of the powers that be, came to show their respect for the Jewish religion, and it was here that the sermons of the famous Maggidim (itinerant preachers) would be given. In the final years before the Holocaust, the synagogue fell increasingly into disuse. The young people had moved away, and the elderly were afraid to go there at night. It was one of the first buildings to be burned down, that will never again be rebuilt…(pp. 160-161.)

Here are photographs from the Yizkor Book that give an idea of what it looked like from the outside:

Of course, it is no more. Not a trace of it remains. No marker. No sign. Nothing.

The Nazis destroyed it in 1941, before they destroyed the Jews of Zambrow.

Somebody found footage of the destruction and made a video montage which was posted to YouTube. Here are some screen shots of the synagogue before it was destroyed that I took from the video:

You can tell that the shul was already emptied of its contents. The windows look broken or removed. The Torah scrolls were probably already destroyed. The building looks barren. In two of the photos some people are milling around next to it. I’m assuming they are Jews because the Nazis established a ghetto in Zambrow and I presume the synagogue was within the ghetto boundaries. I wonder what they are thinking.

The Nazis blew it up. From the video it looks like they put dynamite in it and then detonated it. Here’s the image of the moment that the center of Jewish life in Zambrow was turned to dust:

You can see the entire video by clicking on the following link:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8_0DawOaN28

Whoever created this video and posted it to YouTube did a great service to historical memory, and I thank you.

So when I went to Zambrow I wasn’t expecting to see any remnant of thy synagogue. But at least I wanted to see where it had formerly stood. I wanted to imagine my Zaidy walking to shul on a Shabbos morning and the route he took from his home to get there. Again, I relied on the map that I had of Jewish Zambrow.

The Shul is indicated by the number 8.

It was located between Wilsona Street and Sozniesieta Street, a block away from the central square. The latter street doesn’t exist anymore. But by following Wilsona Street away from the central square, I was able to figure out where it had once stood. This is how the heart of Jewish Zambrow looks now:

Some more Soviet era nondescript apartment blocks.

Just to make sure that I’d found the right location, our intrepid guide, Jakob Lysiak, approached a cab driver sitting in his cab. The man looked like he was in his 30s, born well after the Jews of Zambrow were killed. I thought to myself, “how would he know where the synagogue was?” But cab drivers know a town better than anyone else. And, sure enough, he knew. “Yes,” he confirmed, it was here. Amazing that while all traces of Jewish life of Zambrow are gone, people still know, perhaps from stories passed down, perhaps through questions from the occasional visitor, about its hidden past.

And this is the building that, I believe, actually rests on the spot that the synagogue once stood:

Another painful reminder of the erasure of the Jews of Zambrow.