I
am currently sitting on the bus to New York, waiting for that moment when the
current sadness I feel after saying goodbye leaves and the excitement for the
trip enters. I am afraid I still have a long way to go. After a tearful (on my
end) goodbye to Jason at Union Station, I began the first leg of my journey
solo (and slightly nauseous as I stare at the empty bag of goldfish that I habitually
consume when I am nervous).
My
aim for this blog is not a history lesson, nor a travel journal that merely
lists activity after activity, meal after meal, location after location.
Instead, I hope to incorporate history into the daily, snip-bits of reflective
dialogue into the activity “listing”, and personal thoughts and analysis of
Jewish-Christian dialogue that out-detail my to-be-expected, descriptive praises
of meals.
The
thinking process at least has already begun. I looked out the bus window and
saw a large truck in the fast lane, speeding by with a 2 foot by 4 foot
Confederate flag waving from its back. My initial reaction isn’t a racist South
or the Civil War. My nostalgic reaction stems from happy trips to visit my
family in Mississippi and the plantation-dotted car ride to Natchez, where I
bought a small Confederate flag of my own when I was 15. I was very proud of
that flag—of my family history and its roots. I thought I was “cool” to display
it in my bedroom or bust out my Confederate-flag playing cards (that I
purchased on a quick college-search trip in San Antonio) for a high-school game
of poker. What I did not (or more probably refused to) understand, was that
little red cloth, with its star-studded St. Andrew’s cross, was a blanket
symbol for racism.
In
a very similar manner, I am about to embark on a journey to a country whose
more-recent history speaks volumes to perspectives and paradigms, whose past
seems to spit out stereotypes, where the white Polish eagle of freedom is
stained red by the anti-semitic pogroms and government-sponsored discrimination
that occurred after the war. Seeing the Polish national flag may cause
resentment and hurt—almost a symbol of anti-semitism—for Polish-Jewish Holocaust
survivors and their families. And yet, seeing Israeli youth come to Poland to
see only sites of death and mourning before returning home, and touring Auschwitz
with Israeli flags draped around their shoulders, I can only wonder if this national
symbolism, and the associations different groups have of the symbols belonging
to the respective ‘other,’ does more harm than good. (Needless to say, my
confederate flag souvenir has long been retired).
It
has been a rough road for Poland to say the least, but one that I argue is
experiencing positive change. Although the myth of Polish suffering and
victimhood to redeem the ‘sins’ of Europe is dying with the older generation,
admitting specific Jewish suffering and Polish collaboration with the Nazis is
a relatively new phenomenon, buried deep under 45 years of Communist repression
and falsification. Poland was a nation on the mend and now is an incredible
example of a post-Communist country coming to terms with the past, seeking
forgiveness and moving forward, where cities and towns alike are embracing their
communities’ past Jewish heritage and traditions despite the physical absence of
Jews.
Being
part of this incredible fellowship opportunity run by a Jewish organization
(and where all of our group meals will be kosher), I hope to better understand
others’ views of Poland. Do Americans and/or Jews still view Poland as racist?
Backward? As uncompromisingly Catholic? As
a Jewish graveyard? And I wonder as an outside observer, what connection will I
have? As a non-Jewish, non-Catholic, non-Polish woman, will I be able to grasp
the complexity of the situation, comprehend the cultural nuances, or even begin
to understand what Communist politics
did to a nation in mourning by telling its 'citizens' that Poles—not Jews—suffered in the war against
Fascism? What remedy or knowledge will I be able to offer? And will it be
listened to?
So
as I approach New York City, where so many Jewish immigrants arrived, lived,
and prospered, I will synthesize the myriad of my mind’s complicated thoughts and aspirations
to three simple goals: to have an open mind, to be ready to discuss, and eager
to listen. Tomorrow is a day packed with a guided tour of the Museum of Jewish
Heritage, discussion of our multiple readings (which I am desperately trying to
finish), a lecture by David Marwell—the museum’s director, and Holocaust
survivor testimony. Then its off to the Lower East Side on Tuesday, and off to
Kraków on Wednesday. But let me not get ahead of myself; one thing at a time.
Oldest Jewish Synagogue in the U.S., New York City
Wrócę wkrótce! (I will return
soon!)
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