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Everything was there in Radoszyce: A rabbi, prayer houses, matchmakers. It was a Jewish town. It was a small town: there were cobblestones on the streets, Jewish shops around the market square. In Radoszyce a Jew even owned the gas station. His name was Molasa. Jews ran everything. Uncle Szmul Aron from my family operated the wheat and rye purchasing place.
There was a mikveh on Zydowska Street. Yes, we went to the mikveh every Friday. And always on Wednesdays, or Thursdays, the women went there. A separate day, but the same mikveh. It wasn’t far from my aunt’s restaurant; it was in the same building. The mikveh was on the corner. It was run by the man who lived there. I don’t remember his name. It’s been so many years. And it was a large house, with this kind of a swimming pool downstairs. It was as long as the house was. You’d take the stairs and go down. I don’t remember if you had to pay. But probably yes, because this had to be maintained somehow. So there must have been some fee. The Jewish religious community operated this; after all, there was a Jewish community in Radoszyce.
There was a large cemetery, but it was far away. Very far from town. I never went there for funerals. At that age, I wasn’t interested in cemeteries. But we’d always know when someone died. There would be a procession through the town, on Zydowska Street and then they’d turn. It was so far away that I don’t think anyone destroyed it. [Editor’s note: The last burial at the cemetery in Radoszyce took place in 1942. The cemetery, like most Jewish cemeteries in Poland, was destroyed during the war; after the war it gradually got completely devastated.]
In Radoszyce there was one church and four or five prayer houses, and they were close to our house. The town was 70 percent Jewish. And that was all on our street, on Zydowska. This street ran straight from the market square for some two kilometers, and only Jews lived there. Some Poles lived there, too, including the mayor, who lived near the rabbi, on the other side. But I don’t remember what his name was. He was an older man. We had many neighbors. But Jews didn’t live only on that street. My uncle lived on Koscielna, right next to the church. There was no ghetto. Young people, both Polish and Jewish, would meet on Sunday evenings on the market square. There, next to the firemen’s depot. There were dances, a firemen’s band would play and they’d be merry and dance. I didn’t. I was a little too young. The police station was on the other side of the market. This street with the police station was a shortcut to Uncle Icek’s house. Because otherwise, you’d have to go all around to Koscielna Street. But on foot, next to the police station, you could go straight to Uncle Icek’s.
In Radoszyce everything was as it should have been. Sukkot was Sukkot and Sabbath was Sabbath, and that’s all. On Sabbath it was very quiet, because the stores were mostly Jewish, so they were closed. There was no possibility of anyone opening a store on Sabbath. They were closed on Sundays as well. That’s how everyone respected the second religion. When the rabbi walked by, everyone really showed respect. Yes. And when a priest walked by – it was the same. They were all born there, raised there, and everybody knew everybody else there. Radoszyce was a hole. Like a village. But was that good or bad? I don’t know. What to do, that’s how you lived and that’s how you should live. My children wouldn’t want to live like that. But it was a good life. Calm. We were never hungry. If it wasn’t for the war, that’s how you’d live your entire life.
There was a mikveh on Zydowska Street. Yes, we went to the mikveh every Friday. And always on Wednesdays, or Thursdays, the women went there. A separate day, but the same mikveh. It wasn’t far from my aunt’s restaurant; it was in the same building. The mikveh was on the corner. It was run by the man who lived there. I don’t remember his name. It’s been so many years. And it was a large house, with this kind of a swimming pool downstairs. It was as long as the house was. You’d take the stairs and go down. I don’t remember if you had to pay. But probably yes, because this had to be maintained somehow. So there must have been some fee. The Jewish religious community operated this; after all, there was a Jewish community in Radoszyce.
There was a large cemetery, but it was far away. Very far from town. I never went there for funerals. At that age, I wasn’t interested in cemeteries. But we’d always know when someone died. There would be a procession through the town, on Zydowska Street and then they’d turn. It was so far away that I don’t think anyone destroyed it. [Editor’s note: The last burial at the cemetery in Radoszyce took place in 1942. The cemetery, like most Jewish cemeteries in Poland, was destroyed during the war; after the war it gradually got completely devastated.]
In Radoszyce there was one church and four or five prayer houses, and they were close to our house. The town was 70 percent Jewish. And that was all on our street, on Zydowska. This street ran straight from the market square for some two kilometers, and only Jews lived there. Some Poles lived there, too, including the mayor, who lived near the rabbi, on the other side. But I don’t remember what his name was. He was an older man. We had many neighbors. But Jews didn’t live only on that street. My uncle lived on Koscielna, right next to the church. There was no ghetto. Young people, both Polish and Jewish, would meet on Sunday evenings on the market square. There, next to the firemen’s depot. There were dances, a firemen’s band would play and they’d be merry and dance. I didn’t. I was a little too young. The police station was on the other side of the market. This street with the police station was a shortcut to Uncle Icek’s house. Because otherwise, you’d have to go all around to Koscielna Street. But on foot, next to the police station, you could go straight to Uncle Icek’s.
In Radoszyce everything was as it should have been. Sukkot was Sukkot and Sabbath was Sabbath, and that’s all. On Sabbath it was very quiet, because the stores were mostly Jewish, so they were closed. There was no possibility of anyone opening a store on Sabbath. They were closed on Sundays as well. That’s how everyone respected the second religion. When the rabbi walked by, everyone really showed respect. Yes. And when a priest walked by – it was the same. They were all born there, raised there, and everybody knew everybody else there. Radoszyce was a hole. Like a village. But was that good or bad? I don’t know. What to do, that’s how you lived and that’s how you should live. My children wouldn’t want to live like that. But it was a good life. Calm. We were never hungry. If it wasn’t for the war, that’s how you’d live your entire life.
Period
Location
Radoszyce
Poland
Interview
Chaim Henryk Ejnesman