Sunday, August 26, 2012

‘Hollyłódź’


Sunday morning (July 15) began early as our suitcase-clad group loaded onto the van to travel to Łódź (pronounced ‘woodge’), the third largest city in Poland. Łódź, which means ‘boat’ in Polish, is about 85 miles southwest of Warsaw and the journey was uneventful (except for me having to stop the van to pee. C’est la vie. Actually, ‘such is my life’ would be a more appropriate phrase.) When we arrived, we immediately went to the Łódź cemetery which is either the largest or second largest Jewish cemetery in Europe (after Salonika in Greece) with 200,000 tombs. Yet the largest Jewish tombstone in Europe is in this cemetery belonging to Izrael Poznański, the world famous textile factory owner. Poznański, who one of the most influential and successful Jewish businessmen in Poland (and Central Europe) during the turn of the 20th century, established his factory in 1892, and this multi-building complex grew to encompass several acres. (Today the red-brick buildings have been turned into a grandiose shopping complex called ‘Manufaktura’ where we went for lunch. Our visit to the Poznański Palace, aka his “house,” located next door to the ‘Manufaktura,’ solidified our raised-eyebrow impressions of Poznański if his mausoleum of a tombstone wasn’t enough.)
Izrael Poznański's tomb in the Łódź cemetery 

Poznański's home, more appropriately called the  Poznański Palace.

            ‘Impressive’ is not the correct adjective to use to describe a cemetery, I am well-aware, but the sheer magnitude of the one in Łódź was truly impressive. Back on the van, we headed to the Radegast Holocaust Memorial (Radegast was the German name of the train station in Łódź where Jews from surrounding areas were dropped off to be herded into the Łódź ghetto). The memorial was completed in 2004 by a right-wing artist when Łódź also had a conservative, right wing mayor, thus (generally speaking) visitors sense the spirit of Polish suffering and victimhood throughout the site. The message is clear; what happened in Łódź was done by the Germans, thus in attempt to dissociate the Polish name of a town only German labels are used. Thus Łódź during the war was no longer Łódź, but Litzmannstadt, and the horrors that Litzmanstadt witnessed from 1939-1945 were German-instigated horrors (even though every occupied town, city, and region had its own collaborators—called shmaltzovniks in the Polish case). This emphasis that these places belonged to the Nazis even though they happened to be built on Polish soil quickly become a powerful movement since the fall of Communism; when any leader misspeaks and says ‘Polish death camps’ or ‘the Polish ghettos,’ representatives in the Polish government, embassies, powerful organizations etc. are quick to demand a correction (to ‘Nazi death camps in occupied Poland’) and an apology.
The Radegast memorial, est. 2004

The Radegast train station

At the gate.

            From the Radegast Memorial, we proceeded to the Park of Survivors where the Jan Karski mound is located with a statue of Jan Karski seated on his bench in the same style as the statues in Georgetown, New York, and Kielce. After hiking the mound, I was greatly saddened that the statue had been defaced with permanent marker. Karski’s kind, yet stoic face, had been blackened with a mustache and side-burns. Looking beyond the statue (and its unfortunate graffiti) one had a perfect view of several large concrete slabs that formed the shape of the Star of David and listed the names of the Polish Righteous Among the Nations (Sprawiedliwi Wsród Naradów Świata) who helped and/or saved Jews during the Holocaust. The names of thousands of Poles are written on those walls.
The Jan Karski Mound

Karski and I

From our successive visits of the morning, I think many of us were feeling the ‘weight’ of this recent history. Thus when it was finally time for lunch and I noticed a nearby sign labeled ‘Hollyłódź’ which sounds very similar to ‘Hollywood’ when pronounced in Polish, I instantly laughed at the intentional pun—glad that someone’s sense of humor could elicit one of the first genuine smiles of the day from me. It felt good to have a much-needed light moment before our journey continued to the town of Oświęcim, or Auschwitz in German.
Hollywood anyone?

When in Warsaw


Where am I now? I am riding a train from Nürnberg to Frankfurt am Main, after saying a sad farewell to my parents, who, waving goodbye on the platform opposite, are on their merry way to Salzburg and full Sound of Music glory. Yet for me, today marks the end of indescribable journey through time, history, and memory. The skies are a dull gray and the rain blurs the train windows as I look outside; I feel that the weather is indicative of my own feelings…
And yet continuing my blog—on Saturday in Warsaw, July 14th—is truly a perfect way to revive me from my end-of-journey slump, for that Saturday was truly a fun-filled, memorable day. Because it was the Sabbath, we had the day to ourselves which was a much-needed after the fast-paced and stressful week. Zach and I ran to Łazienki Park (Park Łazienkowski or Łazienki Królewskie in Polish, which literally means Baths Park or Royal Bath). It is the largest park in Warsaw with Baroque palaces strewn among the park grounds. There were beautiful marble statues, gravel walkways, grandiose fountains, serene waterways, and so any flowers and sculpted landscape as far as the eye could see. Oh and peacocks! How could I forget the peacocks? It truly was surreal, I felt like every turn we took, there was a new garden or statue or palace or fountain. I decided that anyone who has any doubts about Poland’s beauty, I am going to drop them into this park and let them find their way out.
 
One of the many palaces in Łazienki Park

My running partners (kidding)
Taking a running break


For lunch, a few of us met up with Dara and her brother and then headed up the café-lined Nowy Świat and then to the Frederyk Chopin Museum. I did not realize how much I needed to go into a non-Holocaust related museum until I was inside. Chopin’s masterpieces flooded this interactive space where we learned about his life, his romances, his talent, his works, and his early death.  I had to leave the group early for I had a date 5 years in the making. My friend Piotr—who I saw last when I was in Warsaw in 2007, but who I met randomly at Disneyland when I was there with Carolyn in 2006—was supposed to meet me on the steps outside the museum. I anxiously waited while dark clouds had filled the sky and a gusty wind had picked up, looking around for the familiar face I hadn’t seen for quite some time. Few people were outside. Yet sure enough along came Piotr. And sure enough it did rain ;).
Nowy Swiat street, on the way to the Chopin Museum

Chopin Museum

Piotr and I

Piotr and I went to a café and caught up and then he took me to Warsaw’s finest Fotoplastikon Warszawski which displays three-dimensional images from the turn of 20th century Warsaw through present. After a quick dinner at this little Italian restaurant close to my hotel, we parted ways for a few hours before meeting back up later for drinks. This time I persuaded Zach to come with us and Piotr quickly took us off the tourist track and into these hidden local bars. In the few hours hanging out with Piotr, I quickly realized how much more enjoyable it is walking around in Warsaw, ordering food, buying tickets, asking for someone to take a picture of us etc. when the person you are with speaks Polish. If someone had told me six years ago that the guy who randomly talked to me while watching the fireworks at Disneyland, I would be sitting at a bar with in Warsaw practicing Polish in July 2012, I would have laughed at the absurdity.  Na zdrowie!

Sunday, August 19, 2012

A Friday evening in Warsaw...


I feel like I need to begin a separate entry for what came next which was 180 degrees from what we just experienced at Treblinka. On the van, Maciek and Tomek could barely describe our next destination without interrupted giggling. Needless to say, our curiosity was piqued by their English translation of “Salty Sizer stations” (and which Maciek would later declare, as the official English name giver of this site, should be spelled “Salt-ee Sizer”). When our guides continued to describe where we were going as “big, beautiful and wooden” and the “central attraction” of Konstancin, a little town just outside of Warsaw, they had us guessing until we reached “it.”
Basically the ‘Salt-ee sizer station’ reminded me of the Globe Theater in London, without the seats, without the stage, and with the walls filled with piles and piles of branches instead of wood. The structure is roofless, and inside is a faucet that sprays outwards in all directions this salty, mineral mist. Apparently it is becoming a trend in Poland, especially among the elderly to frequent these ‘stations’ and better their health. I am sure these regulars did not appreciate 10 laughing Americans walking around their salt spout trying to make sense of this structure. Oh well ;).
Entering the Salty Sizer station...

Tomek leading the charge in taking a walk around the mist sprayer.
 After our salty sizing experience, we sobered up to meet with a Polish political prisoner of Auschwitz, Zofia Posmysz, who lives in Konstancin. Zofia made a movie based on her experiences in 1963 called The Passenger, which are group had collectively watched crammed onto two beds in a hotel room in Warsaw, with the movie playing in Polish on one computer (my tiny netbook to be more precise) and the English dialogue in a Word document on another computer. Miraculously, I think many of us, maybe with the exception of Chris who was outside the viewing of the English text, understood the plot. When we arrived at the retirement home, where Zofia currently resides, she came out and greeted us in English, smiled warmly and apologized for going back to her native Polish. We were well used to translators at this point but her genuine effort and kind welcome were just the beginning of a very pleasant conversation with Zofia despite the horrible memories of the topic at hand. She recounted her experiences in the camp in response to our questions, and her vivid memory recounted details that made one cringe. Since she was a non-Jewish survivor of Auschwitz, I was interested to know if she was aware of how the plight of Jews differed during the war than the plight of the Poles, but I did not have the chance to ask.
Our Friday evening concluded with Shabbat services at the Nożyk synagogue in Warsaw, led by Rabbi Schudrich. I thoroughly enjoyed this service because I had a prayer book with Hebrew on one side and English on the other so I could at least follow the verses from the Psalms and Deuteronomy which uniquely brought me into a familiar faith setting of my own. Most of the people present at the service were visiting and there still were not many of us, so it is difficult to imagine the size of the Warsaw Jewish community.
After the service, Zach and I explored Warsaw, trekking to the old town for dinner. Despite the emotional weight of the day, I was able to experience a much-needed respite in eating meat pierogis for dinner, watching a flame throwing performance on one of the squares, and of course laughing with good company. We ended our Friday with drinks on Warsaw’s famed Nowy Świat (New World street), experiencing the vivacity Warsaw has to offer.

Flame thrower in the Stare Miasto

Empty alley in old town. Photography credit: Zach Albert.

This statue and I meet again on Nowy Swiat street. A discussion under this same statue in October 2007 was the starting point for what I am pursuing today.


Friday, August 17, 2012

Treblinka... "Nie masz w Polsce żydowskich miasteczek"


The train ride from Budapest to Prague has reached the 8 hour mark and allowed much more time for reflection (and jam packed cars, an unliftable suitcase, and lots of sweat) than initially anticipated. But all the better, given the nature of the topic below. On Friday (July 13th), we journeyed to the Nazi killing center of Treblinka. The experience there (as many others on this fellowship) is impossible to fully describe and I find my language failing me even now, two and a half weeks after the visit. Visiting Treblinka was a very emotional experience for me, quite possibly the most of the entire program in hindsight. Coming from a daily work environment at home surrounded by Holocaust-related discussions and texts, and having previously visited Auschwitz, Birkenau, Dachau, and Theresienstadt, one would think I would be immune to such emotion. I think it has something to do with the fact that the barracks and camp structure still remain in the aforementioned, and here in the silence of Treblinka, all that remains is a monument and the occasional stone foundation since the Nazis attempted to destroy all evidence of such a place. The emptiness at one of the Nazi killing centers was profoundly unlike anything previously experienced. I believe that it was in the silence—in the absence of seeing the buildings that moved me, juxtaposed with the beautiful surroundings: blue sky with patchy gray clouds, surrounded by a lush forest.
Yet I knew that where I stood was where 700,000-800,000 Jews were murdered between July 1942 and November 1943—a very high number especially given the short time frame. I wanted to stop to think, to write, to pray, to anything, but as soon as I did, I was attacked by mosquitos. Thus layered in jeans, a thick black jacket zipped up to my chin and my hood on (despite the sun), I made my way toward the memorial, swatting as I walked. I approached an open field where thousands and thousands of stone slabs of varying dimensions jutted from the ground (17,000 in total), with 700 bearing the names of towns where Jews who perished at Treblinka lived prior to deportation. I wandered through the stones and into the surrounding field full of purple, yellow, white, and blue flowers, countless orange butterflies, and wild raspberries in the brush. I had weird feelings of guilt for finding a place such as this so beautiful. Alone, I kept trekking to Treblinka I (the work camp) a kilometer or so away.  At this point I had 9 going on 10 bites begging me to itch them, sweat trickling down my back, my stomach grumbling, and yet at some point walking down the little stone road, I stopped caring about the bites, my dampened clothes, my hunger… I felt so pathetic and utterly insignificant. In an instant I no longer found beauty in the silence, I thought of the hundreds of thousands of voices lost here in this place where I walked. It made me sick. It also forced me to grapple with this sense of space and how the way it is used affects our perception of the place (but these latter, more coherent thoughts, came much later). Walking back to the van after visiting Treblinka was a thoughtless blur.
Thus I end with the first line of Antoni Słonimski’s elegy to Jewish towns:
“Nie masz już, nie masz w Polsce żydowskich miasteczek” (“You no longer have, you have no Jewish towns in Poland..”)



Panorama of the monument.


Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Jewish Warsaw


A weighty Thursday greeted us, as we discussed the Holocaust in Warsaw. Maciek and Tomek led our group to various sites and monuments of importance where we learned about the 340,000 Jewish residents in Warsaw before the war and about the 100,000 who, living on 200 calories a day, died of starvation and disease within the ghetto. Maciek also showed us several New York Times articles from the war years which described what was happening in Poland—one of the articles even went as far to report that the construction of walls to fence in the Jews was not antisemitic, but a health precaution against typhus. I was first amazed by the knowledge available of the Holocaust to the U.S. public, but also discouraged how that knowledge was interpreted and disseminated by the reporters. Did the readers really believe this? The rationale of ghettoizing Jews to prevent typhus, for instance, was the same the Nazis were telling the citizens of Warsaw. Were our grandparents and great-grandparents generation also victim to mis-information? Yet what about the articles that truthfully conveyed information? How could one filter out what was truth, what was exaggerated, what was (accidentally) misinformed, and/or what was propaganda? Or, since many of these articles were consistently printed in small sections at the papers’ end pages, did they even read them?
We proceeded to the Jewish cemetery of Warsaw, which is both a monument to the Holocaust and to the Jewish community in general, and the saw grave of Adam Czerniaków, head of the Judenrat, who committed suicide in July 1942 as the Germans demanded more and more Jews to be deported. By the end of July 1942, 16,000 Jews each day were expected to come to the Umschlagplatz to be deported to Treblinka. In three months, 300,000 people were sent to death camps. Marek Edelman, last surviving leader of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising (who died in 2009) is also buried in the Warsaw Jewish cemetery, as well as Janusz Korczak (Henryk Goldszmit), the Director of the Jewish orphanage in the Warsaw ghetto, who famously went with the children to Treblinka although his life could have been saved. We finally reached one area of the cemetery known as “Ghetto Field.” There are no gravestones, just a field where Jews who died in the Warsaw Ghetto between 1941 and 1943 were brought and mass-buried. So many Jews were buried here before the war, in a weird way, seeing tombstones with the date of death before 1939, I was glad that they never went through what their children and grandchildren did…
Maciek guiding out group in the Warsaw cemetery.

A definite highlight (if that can term can be used appropriately on such a day) was standing in front of the still-under-construction Muzeum Historii Żydów Polskich (Museum of the History of Polish Jews) which, when it opens, will be the largest museum to Jewish history in Europe. The museum, which is purposefully on the site of the former ghetto, is also right next to the afore-mentioned Ghetto Uprising Memorial (designed by sculptor Nathan Rapaport) completed in 1949. We also saw the Miła 18 memorial, where the leaders of the Jewish Fighting Organization (ŻOB) committed suicide in a bunker during last days of the Warsaw Uprising rather than be killed by the Germans. Mordechaj Aniekewicz (commander of the ŻOB) (Miła was one of the busiest streets of pre-war Jewish life in Warsaw). Sadly, these last sights are a blur to me, as my mind (and body) was set on finding a restroom (in typical Holly fashion).
Warsaw Ghetto Uprising Memorial in front, Museum of the History of Polish Jews in back.

After a lunch of zucchini pancakes and sour cream (on my part) at what was a former communist cafeteria (or at least made to look like one), we proceeded to the Jewish Historical Institute (ŻIH), where we met with Edyta Kurek, the Deputy Director. Emmanuel Ringleblum archive, and his infamous collection of archival materials documenting daily life in the Warsaw ghetto.
In the evening, our group had the privilege to meet with Michael Schudrich, the Chief Rabbi of Poland at the Nożyk synagogue. Rabbi Schudrich began the discussion by asking (given everything that has happened), “Why should there be any Jews left in Poland today?” He answered in a series of colorful stories detailing how Poles rediscovered their Jewish roots after 1989. Examples ranged from one Pole whose grandmother would have separate dishes for meat and milk saying “it was healthy,” or another grandparent who only wanted her granddaughter to date Jewish men. It was extremely difficult (if not impossible to retain one’s Jewish identity under Communism. Thus the options for Jews in post-war Poland were as such: If one wants to say, “I am a Jew,” then he or she would need to leave post-Holocaust, Soviet-occupied Poland. But if one wants to stay in Poland, he or she understood that meant giving up being Jewish, and in many cases not even telling your family that you are Jewish (after 50 years in some cases!)
Over the past 23 years since the fall of Communism, thousands and thousands of Poles have realized they are Jewish, many of them wondering why no one ever told them. Yet Schudrich rightly reminded us, today we really cannot imagine what it is like to live in fear for 50 years (To which he also added, “Then again, you guys can’t even imagine what it is like to be 50 years old!”), and that we must understand that this ‘scared’ generation was trying to protect their family from unwanted persecution.
When Rabbi Schudrich opened the floor for questions, I asked him what were his main challenges being the chief rabbi of Poland.  He quickly responded with a question: “How do you make a Jewish community with people who are discovering their Jewish identity?” He replied by saying, “I don’t know. We’re making it up as we go along. It has never been done before.” The Jewish community in Poland has to focus on making people feel comfortable being in touch with their Jewish background. A major difficulty lies in the fact that more conservative Jewish communities don’t see these ‘new’ Jews in Poland as Jewish because they do not keep kosher or the men were not circumcised. Yet Schudrich’s response (which also ties directly into fundraising to support his new(er) Jewish community) describes the story of how parents and grandparents kept something from their children and now their children want to know the truth, how can you deny them from what they want—what they deserve—to know? You can’t. Thus if there are three words to describe the Jewish community in Poland today, Schudrich concluded: “Work in Progress.”
Our group with Rabbi Michael Schudrich.

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Warsawa!


It has been over a week since I have posted anything, and what a whirlwind week! I am currently sitting on an old train putt-putting out of Budapest through the fields of Hungary toward Bratislava. In the past week Tara and I have walked all over Berlin and Budapest (the next two stops on my post-AJC journey after Poland). Although I could spend hours describing weinerschnitzel and Third Reich history in the former or Hungarian goulash and Budapest’s ruin bars in the latter, I will refrain and return to the blog’s central purpose—to document my incredibly enriching time in Poland. Thus, we are brought back to Wednesday, July 11, when our group left Kraków for an early morning train ride to Poland’s capital, Warszawa. The train was set up by compartments for 6 people, and my heart went out to the Polish woman enjoying her quiet compartment as five loud Americans barged in, laden with luggage. But alas, we all made it to Warsaw, the most destroyed city in Europe after World War II (84%), and after an enjoyable lunch at Tel Aviv (one of Warsaw’s kosher restaurants), we were on our way to the controversial Muzeum Powstania Warsawkiego (the Warsaw Uprising Museum) where the huge PW symbol standing for Polska Woczońska (Poland Fights) was visible from the complex’s height well before we reached the museum. 
The wall around the museum complex. Suzanne in foreground, tower with PW symbol in background.

Our long-waited arrival of 'Warsaw in Ruins' in 3-D at the Warsaw Uprising Museum.

While commemorating the Uprising is supposed to be patriotic (because for so many years under communism, Poles could not commemorate those who lost their lives), the museum is also viewed as a shrine to the biggest failure and lives lost (over 200,000 Poles, and Jews who were still in Warsaw, died!) in modern Polish history.  Many Poles think the Uprising was not worth the lives lost yet the museum preaches a very enthusiastic message of fighting, resistance, and Polish martyrdom. The first quotation which greet visitors as they enter, for instance, is by Jan Stanisław Jankowski which states, Chcieliśmy być wolni i wolność sobie zawdzięczać (“We wanted to be free and owe this freedom to nobody”). Also because the Uprising failed, many (most) members of the Polish Home Army who did not perish in the fighting were arrested after the war by the Communists because of their devotion to their nation. Controversy surrounding the Warsaw Uprising (August 1944) continued when compared to the ways in which the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising (April-May 1943) was remembered. The new Communist regime constructed a Ghetto Uprising memorial in Warsaw in 1949.  Yet because the Warsaw Uprising not seen in a good light under Communism, the Warsaw Uprising Memorial could not be built until 1989. The Polish-Jewish journalist Konstanty Gebert clearly affirms this conclusion: “These Jewish memorials [i.e. the Ghetto Uprising memorial] reminded many Poles of the monument that that had not been built to the Warsaw Uprising…The 1944 struggle, led by the non-Communist underground army (the Armia Krajowa), had become almost a non-event in Polish Communist historiography. The speedy commemoration of the Jewish Uprising, coupled with the non-recognition of the Polish one, provided the grounds for years of bitter feelings” and furthered the unfortunate stereotype of associating Jews with Communism (Living in the Land of Ashes, p. 91).
The Warsaw Uprising Memorial

In the afternoon, Tomek led us on a tour of the Stare Miasto (old town) making sure to point out his favorite (sarcasm included) examples of social realism architecture. Although most of the buildings in the Stare Miasto were facades, I was still reminded of how beautiful Warsaw was despite the Communist-block structures that dominate the old town’s environs.

Tomek;s favorite piece of social realism (kidding): Stalin's gift to Warsaw, The Palace of Culture and Science

I was able to experience a small sense of normalcy that evening as I went to out hotel’s gym on the 31st floor. The expanse of Warsaw was breathtaking at night, including the city’s new, colossal stadium built for the recent Euro Cup lighting up the sky in the distance. When I return to Results Gym in D.C., I am going to have to do some major reimagining to have the same inspiration I had that night in Warsaw…
Although the night-time view of the stadium was better, I did not have my camera. Here it is by day.

To be continued…