“Żychlin’s Jewish past is not a footnote. It is a central chapter in the town’s history, and every step we take here helps restore dignity to those who lived, prayed, and were murdered here,” writes Michael Mooney. He joined the Żychlin Cemetery Project last year through our partner the Matzevah Foundation, and this year he returned with his daughter Ariel, a college student. Michael and Ariel brought energy and curiosity to our activities, as well as a willingness to do the hard physical labor of clearing our target site of the stubborn shrub blackthorn.
Michael wrote this Facebook post about our activities:
Ariel and I arrived yesterday afternoon in Kutno, Poland, where we are staying for the duration of our volunteer work in Żychlin. We immediately met the international volunteers who have gathered here this year — people joining us from across Poland, the United States, and several countries in Europe. It’s a remarkable group: committed, thoughtful, and united by a shared purpose.
This morning we took part in a moving ceremony in Kutno, where a fragment of a pre‑war Torah scroll from Żychlin was formally entrusted to the Museum Pałac Saski. The event brought together representatives of the Jewish community and the Catholic Church — including Chief Rabbi of Poland Michael Schudrich and Bishop Wojciech Osial — in a shared act of remembrance and responsibility for Jewish heritage in central Poland.
After the ceremony, our group continued our work at the Jewish cemetery in Żychlin, a place that holds both the memory of centuries of Jewish life and the trauma of its destruction.
Work at the Cemetery Today
• Clearing vegetation along the perimeter of a suspected mass‑grave area, where Jews from Żychlin were likely executed during the liquidation of the ghetto. This continues the work we began last year, slowly reclaiming the land from decades of overgrowth.
• Beginning the repainting of the cemetery gates, restoring dignity to the entrance of a sacred site that has been neglected for more than 80 years.
Every brushstroke and every branch removed is an act of remembrance — a way of returning visibility and respect to a place that was meant to be forgotten.
A Stop at the Żychlin Synagogue
Before heading to the cemetery, we stopped at the former synagogue of Żychlin — today only a shell of what it once was. The building is completely inaccessible: every doorway bricked shut, the interior long collapsed, the structure left to decay in silence.
One of our volunteers, Lawrence, whose father was a survivor from Żychlin, stood with us as we placed a memorial candle outside the sealed entrance. The candle remained unlit — a symbol of a light that once burned here but cannot yet return inside.
As we stood there, neighbors stepped out of the surrounding houses to watch. No one spoke.
The building was silent.
The street was silent.
Only the memory remained.
The Jewish Community of Żychlin
For more than 400 years, Żychlin was home to a vibrant and deeply rooted Jewish community. On the eve of World War II, Jews made up over half the town’s population, roughly 3,000–4,000 people. They built synagogues, schools, businesses, and a rich communal life that shaped the town’s identity.
All of it was destroyed between 1939 and 1942.
The Murder of Żychlin’s Jews
In 1942, the Jews of Żychlin were rounded up and deported to the Chelmno extermination camp, where they were murdered.
Local testimony and post‑war accounts also indicate that executions took place on the grounds of the Jewish cemetery itself. Two areas within the cemetery are believed to contain mass graves, where groups of Żychlin’s Jews were shot and buried during the liquidation of the ghetto. These sites were never formally marked or commemorated, and for decades nature concealed them.
Our work today — clearing brush, restoring the gates, and tending to the land — is part of the long process of bringing these places back into historical visibility and honoring those buried there.
Why This Matters
The Torah fragment entrusted to the museum this morning, the silent synagogue we visited, and the work at the cemetery this afternoon are all part of the same story:
A story of a community erased —
and of descendants, volunteers, and allies working to ensure it is never forgotten.
Żychlin’s Jewish past is not a footnote. It is a central chapter in the town’s history, and every step we take here helps restore dignity to those who lived, prayed, and were murdered here.
Thank you Marysia Galbraith and Bożena Gajewska
Michael (center) with his daughter Ariel and Żychlin descendant Lawrence Zlatkin
Only 1/3 of this area was cleared before we started on Monday.
It’s remarkable how much can be accomplished with many helpers. The Żychlin Cemetery Project exceeded its goals thanks to 14 volunteers through the Association of Descendants of Jewish Central Poland working together with local residents, including the tireless Bogdan whose boss at Active Energy also donated the necessary equipment, residents of the Correctional Facility in Garbalin, students from Adam Mickiewicz school in Żychlin, Tomasz from the city of Żychlin, den mother Bożena Gajewska, and others.
The gentlemen fired up their mechanical saws and trimmers, and within two days had cleared the remaining 2/3 of our target site. Those of us who started out with loppers quickly realized that we were more needed hauling cut branches and trunks to the entrance of the cemetery where they were piled up for the city of Żychlin to pick up. On day three, students from the local school arrived at the perfect time to help remove rocks and smaller twigs that would interrupt the course of the ground-penetrating radar (GPR) equipment. Thursday and Friday were dedicated to laying the grid and running the GPR across the site at 25 meter increments.
This results in a mass of data that our GPR expert Claiborne Sea will analyze. Already last year, the results indicated a mass burial, unlike traditional grave burials in a number of key ways. With the data collected this year, we will be able to map the extent of the burial area. We will submit our report to the Polish authorities so that the site can be marked, memorialized, and maintained.
May these victims of some of the worst horrors perpetrated against another group of human beings be remembered; May their final resting place be shown the respect they deserve.
Claiborne operating the GPRCaleb sets the grid
Luke picks up a few remaining sticks while Claiborne follows the grid lines with the GPR
My first morning in Warsaw, I woke up to the news that a friend and colleague passed away suddenly. He was only 40, recently tenured and promoted, and a highly regarded scholar. But I knew him as a warm and friendly person. When he joined us for our Thanksgiving potluck, he brought sałata, the iconic Polish salad made of fine cubes of egg, potato, carrot, and peas in a mayonnaise sauce. The taste of Poland for me. Last December, we were both in Kraków and we met for lunch at Chimera, a restaurant I first frequented when it was an upstart business in the early 1990s.
Since I was planning to visit my grandmother’s grave at Powązki Cemetery, I also lit a candle lantern for Łukasz.
A candle for a friend
Cleaning my ancestor’s grave is an act of care and remembrance. I feel like I’m with them for a short time. As I wiped the grime off the granite marker, I was reminded of the Christian practice of washing other people’s feet. I’m not enough of a Christian myself to know the full meaning of the practice, but it feels like a kind of humbling of oneself and honoring another. I find comfort in maintaining my connection with the people who are no longer here, but with whom my relationship lives on through simple acts of remembrance and care.
Sparkling granite, flowers, and candles are all signs of care and remembrance
My cousin Annice captured the spirit of the memorial monuments in the Żychlin Jewish cemetery during our summer clean-up and research.
Depicted in watercolor and ink are two of the monuments constructed out of concrete and matzevah fragments, designed and engineered by descendant Moshe Zyslander shortly after Poland regained her autonomy from communism and Soviet influence. Annice captures the poignant contrast between the stark grey monuments and the wild green weeds surrounding them.
Her text reads, “Honoring and never forget the Jews of Zychlin the day before the liquidation of the ghetto March 2, 1942 at the cemetery buried in a mass grave at the Jewish cemetery Desecrated headstones returned and assembled by generation holding their memory Nature returing life L’chaim July 2025 For Marysia her […dom] and vision Annice Jacoby descendant”
I wasn’t looking for Jewish history in Vilnius but it found me. The synagogue, still functioning as a house of prayer for the few thousand remaining Lithuanian Jews, is a half block from my hotel.
The Choral Synagogue in Vilnius. “Bring Them Home” along with photos of the hostages sits right behind the metal fence
I signed up for a Vilnius with Locals walking tour of Jewish Vilnius, the so-called Jerusalem of Lithuania. We spent 3 hours exploring the Jewish quarter. In some sections, Soviet-era concrete buildings took the place of the prewar structures blown to rubble when the WW II ghetto was dismantled.
It’s hard to picture the prewar buildings that once filled this area
Other areas escaped destruction and retain their prewar appearance. As we meandered through narrow cobblestone lanes, Kristina our tour guide explained how much of the city’s Jewish story was silenced during the Soviet occupation, the period from 1940 to 1990 when the country was a republic within the Soviet Union. During that time, nobody talked about the Jews who had made up 45% of the city’s inhabitants before the war.
An iconic street in the Jewish district Map of the WW II ghettoJewish library scheduled for renovation
Kristina explained that this lost history only began to be rediscovered after Lithuania regained independence in 1990. Since then, scholars have been translating and writing about thousands of pages of documents that survived in hiding for 50 years. Many were collected by a group of people called the Paper Brigade who made it their mission to preserve all the documents in the YIVO Archive, a massive repository of Yiddish resources. Much of the archive found safety in New York. Today, the archive is split between Vilnius and New York.
As more has been learned about The Jews of Vilnius, artwork, memorials, and institutions have made the story public. The Walls That Remember project stencils images from archival photos onto the walls of the former Jewish Quarter.
Kristina tells us about The Walls that Remember
Remembered with a statue are: Zemach Shabad, a doctor known for his kindness who cared for the poor; Rabbi Elijah Ben Solomon (1720 – 1797), also called the Gaon of Vilnius; and singer Leonard Cohen, who had roots in Lithuania.
Zemach ShabadThe GaonLeonard Cohen
Jews first came to Vilnius as merchants before the 14th century. They were granted privileges by the Lithuanian rulers by the late 14th century. In Vilnius, they settled in the Jewish Quarter; other ethnic groups like Germans each settled in their own quarter of the city. By the time Lithuania was absorbed into the Russian Empire at the end of the 18th century, these ethnic enclaves were less rigid, and Jews could be found throughout the city along with other ethnic and religious inhabitants.
Vilnius was an important center for the growth of Yiddish language and culture, which explains why it was one of the places the Yiddish Scientific Institute (YIVO) was founded in 1925.
After a brief period of national autonomy from 1922 to 1940, Lithuania, like the other Baltic States, became a battleground between Stalinist USSR and Nazi Germany. When Hitler’s forces invaded in 1941, as many as 95% of the Jewish inhabitants were murdered.
Under Communism, the Choral Synagogue continued to operate, though it functioned more as a cultural organization than a religious one (at least officially). Since 1990, the Jewish community remains active at the synagogue. The interior can be viewed for just 2€. Whereas before the war, this was more of a reform synagogue, the current congregation is conservative. Women attend services on the upstairs balcony or behind a curtain on the ground floor.
Choral Synagogue
While on the tour, another participant and I struck up a conversation. Suzanne just completed a two-week tour of Jewish Poland with others of Jewish descent seeking to reconnect with the homeland of their ancestors. It was more than a historical trip, fusing spirituality and rituals within their encounters with Jewish spaces. For instance, at the grave of one participant’s ancestor, they did their own version of feldmestn, a ritual practiced by women; they measured the grave with wax, from which they made a candle.
I bonded with Suzanne over the importance of reconnecting with your Jewish origins, and also because of our shared appreciation for the individuals working in Poland to preserve Jewish memory. She called them memory keepers, a name that perfectly captures the role they play. I will use the term in my future writing about these memory keepers.
In Riga, the capitol of neighboring Latvia, Jewish markers continued to find me. On the building next to my hotel is a memorial marker for someone who saved Jews during the German occupation, and around the corner stands the synagogue. Also, during a walking tour of the city, I met Dimitri and his son Shiloh, reconnecting with their Jewish Latvian roots.
Presence matters. By spending time in the Żychlin Jewish cemetery, we’ve accumulated more knowledge about the town’s Jewish community and we’ve deepened connections with local inhabitants.
The stones come back. Photo credit Michele Hoferitza
Toward the end of the day, a man living a few doors down from the cemetery stopped by to tell us he had found a tombstone in his garden about three years ago when he built a fence. He noticed from the lettering it came from the Jewish cemetery but didn’t know who to contact or how to return it. He just kept it leaning up against his new fence until he heard we are in town. With the help of a couple of volunteers, he brought it to us in his wheelbarrow and now it stands beside the one that was returned several days ago. People have told me that tombstones return once residents know that someone is taking care of the cemetery. Our presence here in Żychlin attests to that.
Two returned matzevot
A candle lantern still burned in front of the first tombstone that returned, a reminder of the informal ceremony we had in the morning, lead by Żychlin descendant Lawrence Zlatkin. He told us about his connection to the town; something has drawn him back 5 or 6 times since he first came in 1985 with his father.
Lawrence shares his father’s story by the first returned Matzevah
Raphael Zlatkin was born in Żychlin in 1924 and he was just a teenager when the war broke out. His younger brother was sent to a work camp, but he managed to avoid capture. He didn’t want to leave his mother all alone. Then, he was warned that staying was a death sentence so at the age of 17 he signed up for transport to a work camp. He spent two years in Auschwitz working in food procurement and making himself indispensable to his captors. He was able to smuggle food to his younger brother and others he knew from Żychlin, helping to keep them alive. In January 1945, as the Soviet troops were approaching Raphael elected not to stay, instead traveling west where he spent time in two other camps before he was finally liberated. From his modest beginnings in a basement apartment at 3 Narutowicza Street in Żychlin, he became a successful businessman in the US.
Lawrence said Kaddish in Hebrew and then in English, explaining it doesn’t say anything about the dead but it rather praises God and calls for peace. Everyone laid stones on the tombstone as a mark of remembrance for those who were buried in the cemetery.
In the afternoon we visited the Community Center where Henry Olszewski had an exhibition about the Jewish history of Żychlin, with photographs of the synagogue and biographic details about Jewish inhabitants including Raphael Zlatkin.
Exhibit by Henryk Olszewski
Not everyone could attend because they were hard at work helping UA Archaeology graduate student Claiborne Sea run the GPR (ground-penetrating radar) across the sites we had cleared. He showed the other students how the machine operates and gave them opportunities to operate the device. Claiborne’s work has only begun. It will take weeks to process the data and analyze the results.
More from UA archaeology graduate student Michele Hoferitza:
I figured I would post about our Europe trip a week at a time, but this week in Poland is going to need some extra explanation, and there are too many photos to dump. We are here as volunteers for the Matzevah Foundation, a US-based organization that works to preserve Jewish cemeteries in Poland. Many were simply obliterated by Nazis, and others were sites of mass execution before gas chambers were systematically used. Both are the case for our site in Zychlin, where LiDAR data has shown two depressed areas under dense growth of blackthorn. We have cleared a significant area in order to do a GPR survey to verify a mass burial site. It has been a lot of physical work, but it feels amazing to be part of this project. We are not just uncovering history, but living it. As we have worked, a few local people have brought old Jewish headstones they have found on farm property, recognizing that these monuments were taken to desecrate the memory of those who died. Restoring these is a sacred work of healing and remembrance.
Students do a surface survey led by Michele
From Steven Reece of the Matzevah Foundation:
While some volunteers continued to clear the overgrowth, the main activity was an introduction to the Ground Penetrating Radar (GPR) that was used to evaluate the mass grave within the cemetery. Students from the University of Alabama learned how to use the equipment and take some initial findings. The GPR investigators will need time to analyze the results so those will come at a later date.
We also held a commemorative ceremony where Lawrence Zlatkin said Kaddish. About 25 people joined us today including Grzegorz Ambroziak, the major of Żychlin.
Thank you to the many local volunteers who joined us again today…your efforts made a big difference in what we were able to accomplish!
From volunteer Michael Mooney:
On the final day in Żychlin, our team completed an incredibly meaningful day of volunteer work at the Jewish cemetery. While some of us cleared overgrowth, the main focus was introducing Ground Penetrating Radar (GPR) technology to evaluate a suspected mass grave on site. Students from the University of Alabama learned to use the equipment and began initial surveys; the results will take time to analyze, but we hope they’ll shed more light on the tragic history of Żychlin’s Jewish community.
Throughout the day, we made several poignant discoveries—including human bones exposed above ground, among them the leg bones of a toddler—painful reminders of the atrocities endured here during the Holocaust. In a remarkable moment, a neighbor living four houses away approached and revealed he had a Jewish headstone in his garden, likely displaced when Nazis destroyed the cemetery. The stone, belonging to a 96-year-old woman named Beila, will now be returned to its rightful place, helping to reclaim her memory and dignity.
We also held a moving commemorative ceremony at the cemetery, with Lawrence Zlatkin reciting Kaddish in memory of those lost. Roughly 25 people attended, including Mayor Grzegorz Ambroziak and many local residents, whose dedication made all the difference.
At the end of the day, before leaving the cemetery, we gathered to respectfully bury the bones we found—ensuring those whose remains were uncovered received the dignity and rest they so deserve.
Our project is part of ongoing research led by Professor Marysia Galbraith of the University of Alabama—a descendant of Żychlin Jews—who documents these histories, stories, and testimonies of survivors and witnesses to ensure that the past is not forgotten.
How do we learn difficult history? What is the most effective way of gaining factual and emotional understanding of what happened?
Memorial wall in the forest
One thing participants are learning is how important it is to consider multiple factors and viewpoints, to resist the urge to tell a simple moralistic story that avoids ambiguity and nuance.
Another is the importance of learning through individuals’ personal stories. These are what make the events of the Holocaust real to the students. By learning the stories of those who survived and those who died, they come to understand the human cost of the dehumanization at the core of the Shoah, and the suffering and resilience of the victims.
A third lesson comes from simply being in the spaces where history happened. The Żychlin Cemetery is one such place. The Chełmno Death Camp is another.
For our tour of Chełmno, we had no guide, each of us instead weaving our own path through the museum exhibit and the remains of the camp buildings. Though less known than Auschwitz, what happened at Chełmno needs to be remembered. There, techniques for mass murder were tested to tragic effect. More than 200,000 Jews, 4000 Roma, and many Poles were gassed in makeshift gas chambers, and then their ashes were buried in the forest five kilometers away.
Most prisoners came via train from towns like Żychlin and Kutno, as well as the city of Łódż, bypassing the tiny town of Chełmno and disembarking at a mansion next to the church. Arrivals were reassured by the fancy façade, the invitation to write postcards to their loved ones describing how nice the place was, and the promise they could relax after cleaning up after their long journey. They were instructed to list their valuables on a form so that they could be returned to them after they washed. They were led into rooms to remove their clothes, then led down a corridor to the back of a waiting truck they were told was a shower. But instead of water, the truck’s exhaust filled the space. With the door locked behind them, they had nowhere to go and no way of saving themselves.
Initially, workers were instructed to bury the dead, but quickly the leadership realized they needed to cremate the bodies, so crematoria were added in the forest and human ashes were spread over clearings.
After viewing the museum exhibitions, we drove on to the ash fields in the forest. Everyone moved through the space in the way that felt most appropriate for themselves–some solo, most in pairs.
Our group got to the memorial wall, solemn as they contemplated this killing space, only to be met by a glimpse of home–a couple from Mobile, Alabama on their own historical tour of Poland. Meeting them helped lighten the mood, a reminder about the living and our own familiar places.
Back in the Żychlin Cemetery, the graduate students and other volunteers were busy. Half of the back depression is cleared.
When we joined them, archaeology graduate student Michele Hoferitza helped us think about artifacts and making sense of their significance. She set up a task for us to remove all the small sticks still covering the surface of the ground so that the rocks and other objects on top of the ground would be more visible. Tomorrow, we’ll map what we see in 1 meter square grids. Maybe it will provide some indication of what happened at this site–how the space was used, what caused the depression, and whether we have located the mass grave.
LiDAR image of the Żychlin Jewish Cemetery reveals two trenches that are likely mass graves. We’ll focus on the one outlined in green this July. Image details added by Claiborne Sea, a doctoral student in archaeology at The University of Alabama who will lead the ground penetrating radar (GPR) research.
As I piece together information about wartime mass burials in the Żychlin Jewish Cemetery, I’m finding other valuable records like this photograph of the Żychlin synagogue:
Synagogue built around 1880. Source: collection of Andrzej Kubiak
The Association of Friends of the Kutno Lands (TPZK) posted excerpts from Anna Wrzesińska’s article about Żychlin’s Jews. Mostly, they are wartime memories passed down in Żychlin families. The original post is here: https://tpzk.eu/getto-w-zychlinie/.
These difficult truths are what compel me to contribute to the memorialization of those who suffered and died during the Shoah.
The Google translation:
(…) After the outbreak of World War II and the occupation of the town by the Germans, there were about 3,600 Jews in Żychlin, including many refugees. From the beginning, Jews were treated badly: they were humiliated and beaten, their apartments, workshops and shops were searched and robbed. Then came the obligation to wear emblems with a star. In April 1940, the Germans arrested Jewish intellectuals, who were deported to concentration camps. In June 1940, a ghetto was established on the premises of the so-called Fabianówka, i.e. Karol Fabian’s complex of industrial buildings. In July 1940, a second ghetto was established. In total, over 4,000 Jews were gathered in them. About 800 people died of hunger and disease in the ghettos. In February 1942, the German police killed 100 Jews on the streets of the large ghetto. In March 1942, the Germans carried out an action to liquidate the ghettos, deporting over 3,000. Jews to Krośniewice and then to the Kulmhof Nazi extermination camp in Chełmno nad Nerem. The members of the Żychlin History Lovers Society often talk about the ordeal of Jews during World War II. They shared their memories once again on March 9, 2016.
Józef Staszewski: “After the Germans entered Żychlin, initially they were not harsh towards the Jews. Until July 1940, that is, until the creation of the ghetto, they lived rather freely. On July 15, the decision was made to create a ghetto, or rather a second ghetto. The large ghetto was along Narutowicza Street, partly Łukasińskiego Street and today’s Traugutta Street. It reached all the way to the river. Several buildings were excluded from this area, including the Kumm house and Sędkiewicz bakery.
The large ghetto was created in one day, within four hours. The Germans simply relocated the residents of Narutowicza Street, where most Jews lived. They were relocated from the left side of the street to the right, just as they stood, both Jews and Poles. The German mayor led all this, he had it perfectly planned.
Looking from the church, the ghetto was on the left side of Narutowicza Street. The gate to the ghetto was from the Narutowicza side, like the billboard is today. The ghetto was not surrounded by a wall, but fenced with pickets. It was relatively easy to leave it, and Jews often did so. It had its own board and police. On its territory there was Rabinówka and a hospital.
The small ghetto was located on ul. 1 Maja, then Pierackiego, in the buildings of the so-called Fabianówka. It was established almost at the same time as the large one. Jews who did not fit into the large ghetto were sent there.
Information on this subject is supplemented by Jerzy Banasiak: “The ghetto was large on Narutowicza from the river to the right. My uncles Edek and Tadek had a mechanical workshop there, he did not join the..and they were richer than them. in Yiddish. ghetto, like Andrzejewski’s workshop, was taken over by the German Krebs. This area was fenced off. From the river, on the corner, there was a second gate to the ghetto, it was made of planks and reinforced with barbed wire. I lived near the smaller ghetto – Aleje Racławickie 20. In Fabianówka there were wealthier Jews, displaced from the left side of the city. There was a brickyard, to which a gate led, a palace, two large buildings, a brickyard, to which a gate led. buildings and a row of workers’ houses, still stand today. It was very cramped there, when it was warm, people slept under the roof of the brickyard.
Jews had to wear Jewish stars, initially on their backs, then on the sleeve. The stars were painted on the clothes or sewn on. My father, who worked in a dairy, made stars from sheet metal for sale.”
Tadeusz Kafarski: “The Germans also resettled my family. We lived near today’s veterinary clinic, and they resettled us to ul. Kościuszki 3, to a former Jewish house. I saw how in the summer the Germans would drive the Jews to the nearby ponds to swim. If they didn’t want to go into the water, they would shoot them. They ordered us, the children, to throw pebbles at them.”
The Jews were used for various cleaning jobs in the city. On the orders of the Germans, they dismantled crosses and chapels. They also built a villa for the mayor of Żychlin, Hempel, in the city park on the site of the demolished Kościuszko Stone (today it houses the Municipal Public Library).
“The most terrible thing I saw, recalls Mr. Staszewski, was the image of exhausted Jewish children. How hungry they were! We had orders from the scouts to deliver food to the ghetto, and that’s what we did: we brought bread, beets, potatoes, carrots…”.
It wasn’t safe. As Mirosław Zomerfeld recalls: “My father wasn’t displaced because he had a forge. We lived nearby. My aunt helped Jews in the ghetto. They deported her to Germany for work, she was not far from Dachau.” (…)
People’s behaviors varied. This is how Father Roman Indrzejczyk recalls the events of 1942: “I experienced the war and the German occupation in Żychlin near Kutno as a small boy. I came across people’s terror, helplessness, suffering, humiliation, persecution, injustice… I also saw the ghetto – I felt the great injustice done to these people, closed, fenced offfrom “our” world. A world that was already very limited by the violence and cruelty of the harsh, ruthless Nazi rule. I know that some of us tried to do something to give a little help and hope or at least show kindness and solidarity, but we always did it marked by great fear. Fear was widespread then, because “they” – the occupiers – could do everything worst. I don’t remember exactly when it was, but it was definitely before the liquidation of the ghetto: one of my peers, Stasiek, told me that tomorrow there would be a “deportation” in the city, “they will be deporting Jews from the ghetto” and his father would have to participate in it. I didn’t fully understand this information, but my father said then: “You don’t have to, an adult doesn’t have to do what is wrong, even if they tell you to. (…) You have to help, you have to defend the wronged, and not participate in doing wrong”. I understood that my father was talking about something very difficult, but I remember it to this day as an oracle. This “does not have to”, “should not do evil”, “should save, help the wronged” is more important than all fear and egoism. In my little heart, this awareness remained that only such a person deserves respect and recognition. I guessed that such an attitude rarely happens…”.
And this is how the Jewish woman Helena Bodek recounts the last days of her stay in the Żychlin ghetto (Jak tropione zwierząt. Wspomnienia, Wydawnictwo Literackie, Kraków 1993, p. 66): “General panic. The ground is burning under people’s feet. They walk as if unconscious. In their eyes there is mad fear, fear of death. Everything indicates that the time of liquidation is approaching. Finally, the mail to the ghetto is stopped. The interruption of contact with the outside world is a warning signal for us: we have to escape – now or never”.
Helena Bodek and her mother managed to escape from the ghetto. They reach Gąbin on a horse-drawn carriage they accidentally meet. They stop in the local ghetto, where there is still peace. There, three days later, they learn from other escapees – several young boys – about the liquidation of the Żychlin ghetto.
“They avoided arrest completely by accident. […] the navy blue policeman Ćwik, for his friendly attitude – he went from house to house with words of comfort – received many valuable gifts. These things were brought to his apartment by these young men. When they were about to return to the ghetto, it turned out that it was surrounded by the Gestapo. Ćwik, fearing for his own skin, ordered them to flee. The boys tell the story of the last moments of the Żychlin ghetto. Shortly before its liquidation, the local police went crazy. All the Jewish policemen were ordered to line up and were shot one by one. Hilek Zygier was killed shouting: “Long live the Jewish nation!” Under the pretext of contacting her husband, she was led out of the Oberman home. After taking a few steps, she fell to the ground, shot in the back. The same fate befell Oberman’s elderly parents. Of the entire family, only a several-year-old son remained. When a neighbor tried to take care of him, the Germans killed her on the spot. The child stood in the cold and cried, and people were afraid to approach him. On the evening of Oberman’s death, Altek’s brother was also shot.
The terror intensified with each hour. The police led groups of people to the Jewish cemetery. There they were murdered – among them the young Halusia Chude. Blood flowed in streams, leaking into the gutter outside the ghetto. Dr. Winogron died – a large diamond was noticed on her finger. According to other rumors, at the last moment she tried to contact her former maid Aryan to entrust her with little Maciuś. Desperate people went mad: a young married woman in the last month of pregnancy, Rachcia Gelman, threw herself into a river in front of the Gestapo, where she was hit by German bullets. Chałemski’s mother, an old woman, locked herself in a wardrobe, fearing the Germans, and died of suffocation. At dawn, the carriages commandeered from peasants from the surrounding villages arrived. People were loaded onto them. They stood and, so as not to fall out of the carriages, held each other’s hands tightly. Amid the cries of children, the lamentations and screams of women, the line of carriages moved towards the railway station. There, the unfortunate were packed into cattle wagons for their last journey…
The small, Jewish town of Żychlin is “Judenfrei”, the ghetto has ceased to exist. And it happened on Purim. It was on this holiday – a holiday of joy, a holiday of children – that thousands of innocent beings were sent to death and torture together with their fathers and mothers…”
After the Jewish residents of Żychlin were deported to Kulmhof, the Germans searched their homes for hidden valuables. At that time, the manor house and factory buildings of Fabianówka, Rabinówka on Narutowicza Street and several other buildings were demolished to their foundations. Only after systematic plundering were the Polish population ordered to settle the area of the former ghetto.
We have presented fragments of the article by Anna Maria Wrzesińska entitled “Jews in Żychlin”, which was published in the 20th volume of Kutnowskie Zeszyty Regionalne.
In my last post I asked who was the young person who continued our work in the Żychlin Jewish Cemetery. Through Henryk Olszewski, I received this message:
First and foremost, I’m a Zychliner who respects the history and memory of people. I’m always aware of the legacy that has been left to us from past times. I believe above all that places such as the cemetery have a special status and shouldn’t be neglected. That cemetery shouldn’t look like it looks and that can be changed through actions such as those that occurred recently. If people can fly across the ocean to fix something there, so can we. It is a shame to look at the synagogue etc. If these symbols disappear, there will be nothing left in our city of Jewish culture except a few photos, so let’s take care of it.”
They know about 2 tombstones that have been in someone’s yard since the war and want to bring them back to the cemetery, hopefully in time for our next visit.
Uncovering Jewish Heritage 