THE GUEST HOUSE 

In looking back through my memories of the shtetel where I was born and raised, the geographical shape of the village is still vivid and clear in my mind.  I remember every street, every house, every alley, and every hidden courtyard.  It holds true that the impressions and memories of childhood remain etched in the brain forever.

The village was really small.  You could walk from one end to the other in 20 minutes.  Yet, even this small town held all the components of a big city.

Over the centuries fire had destroyed this hamlet many times; almost wiping it out forever.  One had only to look at the traces on the ground and they could visualize where homes had once been located. The outlines of the rock foundations were visible, even those that were partially buried in the uneven ground.

I personally don’t remember any big fires during my lifetime in the shtetel.  Maybe it was due to the large volunteer fire brigade that was always ready with their two fully loaded wagons holding barrels of water filled to the brim.  They were parked in their own spacious firehouse, right next to the City Hall.  All that was needed to summon volunteers, and have the horses brought to pull the wagons, was to ring the very loud bell.  These volunteers were always quick to respond  One of my uncles was a volunteer, and he was always prepared to rush to the firehouse.

The firehouse was spacious.  I remember my father organizing a young  theater group (bringing a degree of culture to this town)  that often used the firehouse for their performances.  The loaded wagons were taken outside, a stage was built, benches were assembled, and about 200 people came to see the actors perform.

Artists from Warsaw, and even America, came and performed in this makeshift auditorium.  Once Molly Picon, from New York, gave a concert.  It was sold out and I had to sneak in to see and hear it.  The place was packed like a sardine can.

In my time, the shtetel had been rebuilt in an odd shape. The center of the hamlet was cleared of all structures, creating a large square plaza. The four corners of this space were the entrances and exits, each leading to a different roadway.

In the dead center, the authorities put up a plain, ugly, completely square, three story building that was called the "The Raat House" or the "Rut House" meaning "The Home of Authority, the Home of Justice."  Our town also had a City Hall that was eventually built in a renaissance style near the school and firehouse.

The Raat House was the headquarters of the police department.  It also housed a small jail, and a room to keep some legal records.  In addition there were apartments for some of the families of the authorities. 

The Raat House also contained a beer hall, bar, restaurant, bookshop, toyshop, candy store, and grocery; all run by non Jews.  The grocery shop was shunned by the Jews and Gentiles alike.  Nobody could bargain there, and this took the fun out of shopping.

Let me describe the square:

From corner to corner there were shops owned by the Jewish population.  On the south end, under a covered roof, and elevated above ground level, were the stalls where only women had permanent places. They sold fruit, bakery goods, old clothes, and dishes.  It was a hard life in summer or winter - especially winter when it became so very cold that the women brought earthen pots filled with burning charcoal to keep between their feet, under their skirts, in order to keep warm.

Back of the these stalls were the main stores - a fabric store, two stores selling imported footwear, and several small knitting shops.  Above the stores were the homes of the shop owners.

On the next side, also under a covered roof, were the non-kosher butcher shops, the Jewish kosher butcher stalls, more dry goods stores, and two hardware stores.

On another side, corner to corner, was a solid wall of small Jewish businesses –  candy stores, grocery stores, two barber shops, and at the end, a nice clean looking house with a small sign reading: "Rooms for overnight traveling guests, meals available for ladies and gentlemen."

I heard that this was a very expensive place to stay, and almost nobody that I can remember ever stayed there.

On the fourth side of this square were some nice buildings.  There were a few stores, and that was about all there was on this side, except our family compound that was near to one end.  There we had the cabinet shop, homes for my grandparents and the Tulkops (my mother’s aunt), and the small home that was built for my parents when they married.  The last home, back to back to my parents place, was the grand home of the Talanda family.

This was a show place, with a formal front garden, and an elaborate front entrance with steps to an ornate door (that no one used).  The actual entry was a short walk away in the back where there was a cleanly maintained large courtyard.  The entry lead to a marble floored kitchen, and to a handsome stairway to the upper floor where the bedrooms were located.

In the courtyard was a barn for a few cows, another garden, and more buildings where a Talanda relative lived.  There was also an area where fruit trees were grown.  I loved this orchard, and I was given permission to come in at anytime, pick  whatever ripe fruit I chose, and to take home all I wanted.

In these early years we lived harmoniously in this hamlet. There must have been a good deal more charity given than was generally known, as how could people live without any visible income?

Since our home was at the end of the square, and the beginning of the road that led into the nearby villages; Goraj and Yanow and even Yusefof, it became a place where traveling people stopped, either seeking transportation, or wanting to be put up for the night.

I don’t know when it started, but our home became known as the "Free Guest House."

My parents' house consisted of several rooms. There was a bedroom containing two beds and a small baby bed for the younger children.  A smallish kitchen held a small table for two and some chairs, (a heating oven separated this room from the living room), and a living room that contained the large family dining table, several benches, two armoires, a mirror, a glass enclosed cabinet, another narrow table, and in the corner, the holy ark where two parchment Torahs were standing.  The whole corner of this room looked like a private Chapel – but it certainly wasn't private since every Saturday about 40 men came in to hold regular religious services. It became our shul (prayer house).  This room also contained a daybed called a banquette.  This is where I slept.

As a child, there were many nights when I woke up to find some strange people sleeping on the floor, or on the benches, even on the tables in this room.

In the mornings, these people were gone.  I was too young to question or even wonder.  Later, I heard some strangers begging for a place to rest for the night as they were on a journey.  There were no direct public transportation connections between the small hamlets.  Since our home was the last on the road leading north-east, the travelers got up in the morning and waited for any passing horse drawn wagon to see if it was heading towards their destination.

We had no running water; the toilets, housed in two small buildings, were way out down a long alley.  We had no nighttime illumination, and most strangers could not find them during the night.  Every morning, my mother and others had to use the broom and shovels to clean up our property.

In the entrance of our home was a standing basin and a few pitchers of water for hand washing along with clean hand towels.  The "visiting" people used them, of course, and my father was disgusted at how they used our towels and dirtied them.  Yet I never heard of anybody being refused shelter for the night.  There were a few  Jews, but mostly non-Jews; peasants from the nearby villages.  Nobody offered to pay, or left presents – some thanked us, many just left.

On one stormy winter evening, a whole wedding party (including the groom) on their way to Yanow, decided that it was too dangerous to travel, and so they spent the entire night in my room.

One incident remains with me yet.  A complete stranger, a young Polish peasant woman, obviously very pregnant, begged to be put up for the night.  I overheard that she was a domestic working for a rich Polish landowner, and that when she became pregnant she was kicked out of the house.  She was on her way to Yusefof to stay with some relatives, and to give birth to her baby.

Mother made her comfortable near the table.  I slept in my banquette, but was awakened with loud noises – screams, women rushing in and out.

"Get me the Priest," screamed the Polish girl.

"Send for the midwife," screamed my mother. There was complete bedlam.

I was taken out of my bed, the screaming woman was put in my place, and I went to sleep with my grandfather in his big feather bed.  In the morning I returned to my home and found this peasant girl nursing her baby.

The baby, as was the custom, was completely wrapped up like a mummy, including the legs, in swaddling strips.  It was believed that newborns were very fragile and could break in half, or even lose limbs.  It must be wrapped to remain straight and secure. This procedure traditionally went on until the child was about 6 months old.  No wonder these babies cried all the time.

It was also commonly understood that a woman, having delivered a child, must stay in bed for about a week.  And so this Polish stranger stayed.  The women in my family tended to her as if she was one of our own.

Finally transportation was found.  Mother and child left for Yusefof, carrying swaddling cloth and other baby clothes for the child.  We never heard from this woman again.

When later, much later, I asked why our family was so friendly to strangers, they could not understand my question.

"Strangers are guests,"  was the answer. "And how do you know if we are not being put to the test of being really good?"

The "Free Guest House" functioned until the destruction of the shtetel and the murder of our family that had remained in Poland -  unbelievably some former Polish guests were participants in this horror.

The following drawings were made by four of Philip's
 great-grandchildren after they read a draft of this story

PHILIP EATING APPLES IN THE TALANDA ORCHARD
Bethany, age 12

LAYOUT OF THE TOWN SQUARE
Nicole, age 10

MOTHER AND CHILD - SELLING FOOD AT THE SQUARE
Kaitlyn, age 10

SHOPS ON ONE SIDE OF THE SQUARE
Brianna, age 7