My father died 10 years ago and my mother almost 15 years ago, but I now find my self back in shul every morning saying Kaddish, this time for a friend. It is a sad duty to perform and a hard one. I’m not a morning person; getting out of bed and rushing off to shul is a struggle. But, as I did for each of my parents for 11 months, I am now doing for Leo Chester for a month.
Jack Goldfarb's first memories of Staszow were second-hand. As a child in Philadelphia, the son of immigrants, he heard his parents' stories, in Yiddish, about landsmen in Staszow. He heard about heroic relatives in that market town in south-central Poland who defied the Nazis during World War II and paid with their lives. He heard about the postcards with news of the mishpocha crammed in tiny Yiddish letters that would arrive several times a year, until the war started.