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.