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Category Archives: Lesko

Lesko Synagogue Model

31 Monday Jan 2022

Posted by Marysia Galbraith in Lesko, Synagogues

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Fred Ball’s model of the Lesko synagogue, made mostly of clay with some mixed media details.

Fred Ball contacted me a while back because he wanted to make a clay model of the synagogue in Lesko. He calls himself an amateur, but I think you’ll agree that this model shows remarkable skill in capturing the details and contours of this distinctive structure. Fred says this is his 8th synagogue model. He mostly does Polish synagogues because that is where his own family roots are; he says he finds the wooden ones particularly appealing. He looks for buildings with interesting and unusual architecture, and he also makes sure he can find plenty of photographs of all four sides of the structure. The model is 8″ wide X 8.5″ long X 7″ high to the top of the tower. The flagpole adds a little additional height.

Can you guess what the roof is made of?

Cardboard! That silver paint is a very convincing approximation of metal.

Threading the Needle

27 Wednesday Jul 2016

Posted by Marysia Galbraith in antisemitism, Baligród, Commemoration, Fieldwork, Heritage work, Jewish Culture, Kazimierz, Krakow, Lesko, Memory, Poland, Polish Culture, Polish-Jewish Heritage, Polish-Jewish relations, Tarnów, Warsaw, Wronki, Włocławek, Zasław, Żychlin

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Erica Lehrer, Jacek Nowak, Jewish Poland Revisited, Katka Reszke, Return of the Jew

I am back from six weeks in Poland. I envisioned regular posts from the field in this blog. But instead, doing fieldwork left little time for writing and reflecting about it. Nevertheless, a structure for my next book project has been emerging. The challenge will be threading the needle between celebrating the renewal of interest in Jewish life in Poland, captured so well in Erica Lehrer’s Jewish Poland Revisited and Katka Reszke’s Return of the Jew, and addressing the ongoing silences, distaste, even hatred expressed toward Jews, as revealed in Jacek Nowak’s interviews with ordinary Poles. Because both are happening at the same time, often in the same places, and sometimes even within the same people.

And I’ve seen evidence of both in my own research. People all over Poland are doing incredible work to preserve cemeteries, renovate synagogues, document first-person accounts, and celebrate Jewish music and culture, often in the absence of any involvement from living Jews. They work with passion to fill what they feel to be a void in their local communities. And they do so despite the resistance they sometimes face from fellow residents and local government representatives. Every place tells a different story, even though many of the same elements can be found in each of them. Over the next several posts, I’ll highlight the places and projects I visited. Watch for the place names to become links to more details.

Włocławek

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Students and teachers from the Automotive High School in Włocławek receive the first place award for their Facebook “fan page” “Włocławska zapomniania ulica” (“Wloclawek’s forgotten street”) at the Polin Museum in Warsaw, June 22, 2016. The contest was “Places of Holocaust Memory Near Us” and the challenge was to highlight a place in the local community. The team from Włocławek chose Piwna Street, called “the street of death” during World War II.

Żychlin

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Detail of the synagogue in Żychlin, converted into a warehouse by the Nazis and used as such for many years after. The roof caved in several years ago. Traces of frescos are barely visible through the empty windows.

Kutno

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New signs at the Kutno Jewish cemetery provide historical information and urge residents to keep in mind this green hillside is a cemetery. Installed by Towarzystwo Przyjaciół Ziemi Kutnowski (Association of the Friends of the Kutno Region).

Wronki

An arial view of the Lapidarium in Wronki that shows the shape of the raised beds, meant to evoke an open book.

Warsaw

konferencja_zdk_polin-eng_1600_rgbIn Warsaw, the conference Jewish Cultural Heritage: Projects, Methods, Inspirations at the Polin Museum of the History of Polish Jews gave me a good idea of the scope of heritage work throughout Europe, as well as ongoing debates about Jewish heritage projects.

Krakow

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Glass House Orchestra performing at Shalom on Szeroka, the outdoor concert culminating the Krakow Jewish Culture Festival.

Tarnów

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Professor Hońdo of the Jagiellonian University helps participants in the Tarnów Tombstone camp for volunteers (Tarnowskie macewy – obóz dla wolontariuszy) decipher the text on a tombstone.

Baligród

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The weeds grow tall in the Jewish cemetery in Baligród, despite indications of maintenance done not too long ago. It takes constant attention to keep these sites from slipping back into obscurity.

Zasław

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Historical information about the Nazi Work Camp in Zasław marking the beginning of the trail from the Zagórz train station to the monument on the mass grave at Zasław. A project of the Stowarzyszenie Dziedzictwo Mniejszości Karpackich (Association of the Heritage of Minorities of the Carpathians).

Lesko

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The synagogue in my beloved Lesko–much of the front facade was rebuilt and reinvented around 1960.

 

Hiding in Plain Sight: Lesko 1992

29 Monday Feb 2016

Posted by Marysia Galbraith in Cemeteries, Jewish Culture, Lesko, Memory, Polish-Jewish Heritage, Polish-Jewish relations, Synagogues

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Funny what we forget. I got an SLR camera for my ethnographic fieldwork in the early 1990s, thinking it would be an important tool for documenting everyday life. I even experimented with shooting and developing black and white film (this was a film camera). The photos are interesting because they capture things I deliberately went out to photograph. As it turns out, fragments of Jewish culture figure prominently; they’re the subject of 28 out of 112 photos. Here are some of them from Lesko:

Tombstones (some painted) in the Lesko Jewish Cemetery. 1992
Tombstones (some painted) in the Lesko Jewish Cemetery. 1992
Marcin beside a tombstone taller than he is. 1992
Marcin beside a tombstone taller than he is. 1992
Front facade of the former synagogue in Lesko. 1992
Front facade of the former synagogue in Lesko. 1992

This ornate facade of the synagogue features the Ten Commandments and the inscription in Hebrew: “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God; this is the gate of heaven” (see Virtual Sztetl). The building was partially destroyed during World War II, and rebuilt in the 1960s and 70s. That’s when the round tower was enlarged and the curved roofline was added. You can tell because the newer features are made of brick instead of the original stone. Here are photos of the interior and exterior of the synagogue in 1932 (from fotopolska.eu):

Lesko Synagogue 1932
Lesko Synagogue 1932
Lesko Synagogue 1932 interior
Lesko Synagogue 1932 interior

 

Last spring, I learned that the iron railing that used to surround the central alter is now a balcony on a building in the center of town. I actually took this photo of it in 1992, but had no idea where the balcony came from.

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The balcony on this building used to be the iron railing around the alter in the synagogue, Lesko 1992

It’s one of the prettiest buildings in town, especially since it was renovated and repainted golden orange. Still, this railing brings to home the fact that fragments of Jewish life and its destruction are hiding in plain sight. I suppose its appropriation is what preserved this particular part of the synagogue. But knowing what it is and where it came from, it seems horribly, terribly, out of place.

The Phantom Limb

24 Wednesday Feb 2016

Posted by Marysia Galbraith in antisemitism, Catholicism, Cemeteries, Jewish Culture, Lesko, Memory, Poland, Polish Culture, Polish-Jewish Heritage, Polish-Jewish relations, stereotypes

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Fieldwork 1991-3

It was a beautiful sunny day in Alabama. As I walked across the quad enjoying the promise of spring, I bumped into a colleague, Joanna Biermann, who is going to Warsaw next month to participate in a conference associated with the annual Beethoven Festival. She has been an invited guest several times already, and has made some good friends in Warsaw as a result. We took a half hour to catch up, sipping tea on a bench under the large oaks behind the library. In response to my current research, she quoted a friend of hers who describes Polish Jews as the nation’s phantom limb; the pain remains even after the Jews are gone.

The beauty of ethnographic fieldwork is you record everything, even what seems at the times peripheral to your area of focus. That means I have over twenty years of fieldnotes I continue to mine for information about other aspects of Polish culture. Recently, I returned to the notes from my earliest fieldwork in 1991-1993 looking for references to Jews and Jewish culture. I coded them using ethnographic software, and now I’m trying to pull out patterns in the way Poles talked about and acted toward Jewish subjects. The first thing that strikes me is how often Jews were mentioned in interviews and informal conversations, despite the fact that most of the people I spoke with had limited or no contact with actual Jews. Most of the participants in my study were still in high school in the early 1990s. That means that by the time they were born in the 1970s, most of the Polish Jews who had survived the Holocaust had left, pushed out by organized political campaigns and by everyday prejudice.

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Lesko Synagogue in 1992

The comments I recorded are mostly superficial, and usually fall back on stock phrases, sentiments, and stereotypes. Since I mostly did group interviews in the early 1990s, I was able to witness young peoples’ debates about the role of Jews in Polish life. Their views were so varied that no unified perspective emerged. One person would claim that Jews are still prevalent in government, or in journalism, and others would disagree. One criticized Poles for intolerance, while others interjected that tolerance was a fundamental value that has made Poland a hospitable environment for minorities (including Jews) for most of the nation’s history. Some addressed a lingering distaste, or even hatred of Jews; others countered that these are dying artifacts of an older generation that young people do not share.

Most commonly, Jews were linked to property and wealth. I was told that Jews used to say, “You own the streets but we own the buildings.” Even today, this phrase is repeated. Usually, it’s a way of highlighting the discrepancy between the political domination of Poles and the economic power of Jews. Some imply that because Jews expressed disdain for the impoverished Poles, it justifies Poles’ resentment and dislike of Jews. But also, because I’ve heard this phrase so many times in so many ways, I know it’s often repeated without much thought at all, as one of the few things anyone ever told them about Jews.

Some participants in my study expressed continued concern about Jews reclaiming property or Jewish capital flooding into Poland and buying up the country, yet again leaving Poles with nothing. Others defended everyone’s right to invest in Poland, emphasizing the importance of being open to other groups, or countered that Poles are envious of anyone who gets ahead. One person suggested that Jews should be admired for their ability to create and organize; Poles should learn from them, not assume that they are schemers.

On the ten-day walking pilgrimage to Częstochowa (I really did this—all 300 km—to the monastery housing Poland’s most important icon, the Black Madonna), a priest entertained the pilgrims on the journey with stories that used humor as a vehicle for discussing the differences between Catholics and Jews. Although he tried to show that the two faiths have shared origins and fundamental similarities, he sometimes crossed the line toward mockery. For instance, when explaining why Catholics don’t abide by Sabbath restrictions, he told a story about an Orthodox Jew who hadn’t locked his business before sunset on the Sabbath, so he used his cat to turn the key.

On another occasion, I spoke with a priest who felt the Polish people and the Catholic Church are under attack by accusations of intolerance and antisemitism. He talked about slander in the press, and referred to an article that linked antisemitism in Germany to the irrational antisemitism that persists in Poland despite the virtual absence of Jews. He complained that this view is biased and has no place in an article about Germany. He further complained that when Poles tell the truth, for instance that most communists in Poland during and after WWII were Jews, Jews accuse them of antisemitism. These are the same Jews, he went on, who told Poles, “You own the streets but we own the buildings.” The priest also argued that press reports are overwhelmingly negative and misrepresent the Church, giving it a bad name. But then he went on to label as Jews two prominent journalists—Adam Michnik, the editor of the newspaper Gazeta Wyborcza and Jerzy Urban, editor of the satirical news weekly Nie. On another occasion, he got into a heated defense of Poles, saying he doesn’t understand why they have a reputation in the West for antisemitism.

Both of the priests reinforced the distance between Poles and Jews, though in different ways and with different degrees of vitriol. They offered little possibility for Jews to be regarded as Poles.

The person who expressed the most nuanced view of Poles’ relations with other ethnic and religious groups was the director of one of the high schools in Lesko, a small town in the southeastern mountain region of Bieszczady. Even before I started the taped interview with him, he told me that the biggest ethnic problem in Poland was going to be with Lithuanians and Jews who want their former properties back. For example, the dormitory of the high school is claimed by prewar owners who were Jews. At the time, it wasn’t yet clear if the building would be returned, and if the money spent on its renovation would be reimbursed. During the interview, he had this to say:

“There are minorities [in Poland], everyone knows that. It’s an interesting situation. The typical American may not understand because in the US there are many nationalities that cultivate their own traditions, but nevertheless remain primarily American. But because of the unjust politics toward minorities during the Interwar period, hatred was awakened between Poles and Jews and Poles and Ukrainians. This was easy to do because Poles were in their own country but poor, while Jews owned the buildings and businesses. Jews are condemned for being rich, while Ukrainians are pushing for higher positions. But there are no attacks. Everyone lived together, went to school together, met and got to know each other’s culture. They were all free to study their religion. Also, in Lesko, there was a Greek Catholic church, a Catholic church, and a Jewish place of worship, and nothing happened. Everyone could believe what they wanted, and no one was persecuted for what they think. Jews were destroyed by Germans[…] After the war, state politics was also in error. It acted as if minorities didn’t exist at all.”

Although he reiterated stereotypes, he also sought to balance positive and negative views of Jews and their history in Poland.

Others hinted at an ethos of tolerance. They talked about historically mixed communities that functioned peacefully, and about the need for acceptance of all people. One student in Krakow said, “If we are really are democratic now, there has to be a place for Jews [in Poland]. We can’t say ‘Polska dla Polakow’ [‘Poland for Poles’].” Others, like the student who showed me the Jewish cemetery in Lesko shortly after I moved there in 1992, expressed sadness that Jews are no longer present. He said it’s too bad the cemetery is neglected, but Poles have no money and there are no more Jews to insure its upkeep. He said he likes to come to the cemetery; it’s a peaceful place.

Much of the talk I recorded in the early 1990s seems predicated on the assumption that there were more Jews present than actually were at the time, and they were hiding in plain sight. Some felt threatened by the potential wealth and power of these covert Jews. But others asserted that there are no more Jews in Poland. If any remained, they assimilated— it was Jews who felt threatened by Poles after the war and during communism, so they stopped admitting their ethnicity, changed their last names, and forgot their culture and traditions. These are two sides of the same coin because in fact, public Jewish life and religion disappeared from nearly every Polish village, town, and city. But the past 25 years have shown that a notable proportion of contemporary Poles have some Jewish heritage and an increasing number of them (though still a tiny fraction of the contemporary Polish population, and a tiny fraction of the prewar Polish-Jewish population) is becoming more curious about their origins. Already in 1992-3, the sense was growing among the teenagers I spoke with that it isn’t necessary to hide one’s ethnic/religious roots anymore. After the fall of communism in 1989, something significant had shifted and institutional barriers against ethnic and religious minorities had weakened.

Still, so much about Jewish lives and deaths were left out of the comments I collected, as if the pain of their amputation from Polish communities was too much to bear.

Americans in Lesko: Project Preservation

04 Saturday Jul 2015

Posted by Marysia Galbraith in Cemeteries, Heritage work, Lesko

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Dartmouth College, Project Preservation, Rabbi Edward Boraz

Sometimes things just fall into place better than could been planned. I got in touch with Arkadiusz Komski to discuss Jewish heritage work in Sanok. We met at the Słotki Domek Café in Lesko. In addition to being a wealth of knowledge about the history of Jews in the Sanok region, Arek told me that Rabbi Edward Boraz was scheduled to come with a group of Dartmouth students to clean up and inventory the Jewish cemetery in Lesko. I knew I needed to stay an extra day to meet them, and I’m glad I did.

Boraz has been at Dartmouth since 1998. As town rabbi, head of the campus Hillel, and professor in the medical school, he wears many hats. Also, for the past fifteen years, he has led a summer trip to a different town in Eastern Europe to clean up a Jewish cemetery (called Project Preservation). Students receive no academic credit for participating. Before the trip, they attend ten weekly seminars, and read and discuss a range of relevant literature. This year, they focused on the intellectual foundations for the Holocaust, and how science and medicine were used as tools to develop the techniques for mass murder.

The group spent about a week in Poland. They flew into Krakow, visited Auschwitz, the synagogue in Łańcut, and the death camp at Bełżec (where many Jews from the Lesko region were taken). Then they came to Lesko. They were scheduled to work about four days at the cemetery, with a day off for Shabbat. They also held a short Shabbat ceremony in the Lesko synagogue building.

When I met Boraz the night he arrived, I spoke more than I should have. He asks good questions, and is a good listener. He explained that he likes to hear peoples’ stories. Still, as an ethnographer, usually I’m the one who asks the questions and listens to peoples’ stories.

Ewa Bryła speaks with Marek Duszyński of MojeLesko.pl

Ewa Bryła, of the Carpathian Minority Heritage Association, speaks with Marek Duszyński of MojeLesko.pl

Rabbi Boraz says thanks to the help of Arek Komski, Ewa Bryła, and her brother Piotr, this is the fifth time he has returned to southeast Poland. They help coordinate all the logistics, bring equipment and people to help cut the grass, act as translators, and provide information about the region.

Meeting with Rabbi Boraz and his students seems like a fitting bookend to my year in Poland. When I arrived in Poland last August, I just missed them. In Lutowiska, I walked up the new steps they had built and through the gate they had mounted at the cemetery entrance. I followed in their footsteps along the paths through the cemetery and looked at the tombstones they had cleaned.

This year in Lesko, I chatted with the students before they began work and asked them what motivated them to sign up for the trip. About half were raised in Jewish households, some more reformed and some more conservative, while the rest were from a variety of backgrounds. Some grew up in neighborhoods with a lot of Jews, others with almost none. They had various levels of familiarity with the history of European Jews and the Holocaust. Some were interested in the project because they knew Holocaust survivors or because their own distant ancestors came from this part of the world. Others focused on the service component of the trip; they wanted to contribute to the preservation of Jewish culture. Still others expressed an interest in history.

The students were impressed by the age and charm of Krakow, although they weren’t so sure about some Polish food practices. It struck some as odd that normal life goes on in the Polish city of Oświęcim right next to the death camp of Auschwitz. They found the tour of the death camp was unsettling, though one student said reading about Holocaust history had a greater personal impact.

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The students got started in the area of the cemetery with the densest concentration of tombstones. One began numbering the stones with chalk, DSC06897

Deciphering inscriptions

Deciphering inscriptions

some set about photographing, transcribing, and translating inscriptions, others used soft brushes and water to gently clean the stones’ surfaces. DSC06895They had to be especially careful because most are of a soft sandstone which is prone to fracturing and wearing away. Many are covered with moss that provides a degree of protection but can also obscure the inscriptions. An additional complication is that some varieties of moss are endangered and protected, and thus not to be disturbed.

The Americans were joined by Poles—a woman who moved to the area from Warsaw with her two teenage daughters and another teenage girl. Some more local residents joined the group in the Lesko synagogue for the Shabbat service Friday afternoon (see mojelesko).

Local residents help clean the tombstones in Lesko

Local residents help clean the tombstones in Lesko

The Jewish cemetery in Lesko is the oldest and largest in the region. The earliest tombstone dates from 1548, and over 2000 stones remain on the site. It was one of the first places I was taken by a couple of local teens who showed me around town when I moved there in 1992. Nevertheless, the cemetery was talked about as a place to hang out with friends away from the scrutiny of adults. Little was known about the former Jewish population, and even less was discussed in public. I hope this is changing, even though (or perhaps because?) few witnesses remain of the prewar community and the removal and murder of Jews.

Grassroots heritage work in Bieszczady

21 Sunday Jun 2015

Posted by Marysia Galbraith in Cemeteries, Dukla, Heritage work, Lesko, Nazi Camps, Polish-Jewish relations, Pre-World War II, Sanok, Synagogues, World War II, Zasław

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Bieszczady, Jewish culture and history

There is a pattern in the frequency (or rareness) of my posts. When I’m focused on other writing projects, I also write more for the blog. When I’m traveling, interviewing, and attending events, I write less. This month I’ve been traveling.

It seemed important to bring my new research focus to my old fieldsite, and see what is happening in relation to Jewish culture and history in the Bieszczady Mountain region.

The Lesko synagogue. Destroyed in World War II, it was rebuilt in the 1960s.

The Lesko synagogue. Destroyed in World War II, it was rebuilt in the 1960s.

I’ve written elsewhere about how striking it is that, despite the fact that before World War II more Jews lived in Lesko than Poles, only very rarely have contemporary residents volunteered any information about the former Jewish residents. Even though I walked by the former synagogue (bigger than the Catholic Church) and the massive Jewish cemetery countless times, it really only sunk in to me last November that Lesko was a sztetl. One of my friends in Lesko described it really clearly. She said that somehow she always knew that the Jewish history of the town was something that you don’t talk about. It was a taboo topic. This has only recently started to change. Only in the past few years has she noticed that people talk about Jewish culture and history openly. She thinks this is a good thing. Realizing how little she knows about the subject, she has started to educate herself about prewar Jewish life and the Holocaust in Bieszczady.

Interior of the Lesko Synagogue. Now owned by the town, it functions as a gallery of regional art.

Interior of the Lesko Synagogue. Now owned by the town, it functions as a gallery of regional art.

Generally, I have found that when I ask, most people have a story or two to tell about Jews in Bieszczady, either something they have read or a some fragmentary memory their grandmother told them. Though also when I told one friend about my interest in Jewish culture and history, she responded, “There were Jews in Bieszczady?” Even though she went to high school in Lesko, she only vaguely remembered the Jewish cemetery and had no recollection of the synagogue. Whether she really didn’t know or just continues to think this is a topic that polite people don’t talk about, I’m not sure.

Nevertheless, some important grass roots work is being done: by Arkadiusz (Arek) Komski in Sanok, Ewa Bryła and her brother Piotr in Zagórz, and Jacek Koszczan in Dukla. Arek is working on a dissertation about the Jews of Sanok. We met at the Słotki Domek Cafe in Lesko after he finished work, and then the next day he showed me the places associated with Jewish life in Sanok.

One of the former synagogues in Sanok

One of the former synagogues in Sanok

Commemorative marker, Sanok

Commemorative marker, Sanok

His interest in the topic originated with a curiosity about history, and particularly the history of his hometown. He has published articles about the Nazi work camp in neighboring Zasław and about the locks that were found at the Jewish cemetery. Last year, he realized a project to place a commemorative marker across the street from the former site of the great synagogue.

Arek also let me know that he was awaiting the arrival of a group of students from Dartmouth College, led by Rabbi Edward Boraz, who were going to clean up and inventory the tombstones in the Jewish cemetery in Lesko (see Project Preservation). He has helped them already, first when they came to the cemetery in Sanok, then to Ustrzyki Dolne, Korczyna, and last year to Lutowiska.

Through Arek, I met Ewa, who helped found the Stowarzyszenie Dziedzictwo Mniejszości Karpackich (Association for the Heritage of Carpathian Minorities). Arek joked that for Ewa, working on heritage preservation is a full time hobby. Her interest emerged out of her own Bojko/Ukrainian roots; her parents and grandparents spoke Ukrainian among themselves, though they only spoke Polish with her and her brother. To date, the association has helped clean up as many as thirty Uniate (Ukrainian) and Jewish cemeteries in the region.

Information about the prison camp and murder of Bieszczady Jews in Zasław, near Zagórz

Information about the prison camp and murder of Bieszczady Jews in Zasław, near Zagórz

Another of the association’s projects is a heritage trail and information sign at the site of the Nazi work camp in Zasław. This is where most Jews from Lesko and neighboring communities were taken and forced to work at a neighboring factory. Approximately 10,000 prisoners were shot on the site, while perhaps 5,000 were sent to extermination camps at Belżec and Sobibor.

Monument at the site of mass murders in Zasław, near Zagórz

Monument at the site of mass murders in Zasław, near Zagórz

I stopped by Dukla on my way back to Krakow, and despite the rain Jacek and Ania, who works at the local tourist office, showed me around. Jacek had already started collecting Judaica around the time of his retirement from the border patrol. An infectiously upbeat and energetic man, he needed something to occupy himself and so decided to get to work protecting and publicizing the sites associated with Dukla’s prewar Jewish population. He told me that the town was as much as 80% Jewish. We walked by the former Jewish school, where boys learned various trades. It is across the street from the old government building; Jacek says that the associate mayor used to be selected from among the Jewish population. Similarly, most of the stone buildings around the market square (rynek) were owned by Jews. Jacek told me the fate of the last rabbi who hid under his rynek home, but then was caught and killed by the Nazis when he tried to escape to Krosno.

Writing still visible on the wall of the ruined synagogue in Dukla

Writing still visible on the wall of the ruined synagogue in Dukla

Ruin of the 18th century synagogue in Dukla

Ruin of the 18th century synagogue in Dukla

 

Former synagogue, now a grocery store in Dukla

Former synagogue, now a grocery store in Dukla

Two synagogues stood side by side. The one dating from the 18th century was burned by the Nazis with Jewish residents inside. The neighboring mykwa was also destroyed. Jacek would like to see the remains of this synagogue conserved. All it would take is reinforcing the window arches and putting in a platform on the inside for viewers to walk on; right now a chain link fence surrounds the site. The other synagogue, dating from the late 19th century, is now a grocery store. Dukla also has two Jewish cemeteries, the older one with burials up to World War I, and the newer one beside it used during the interwar period. Jacek mows them himself.

Jacek also coordinated the construction of a monument near the entrance of the old cemetery recognizing the 70th anniversary of the murder of Dukla’s Jewish population. Funders include the Foundation for the Preservation of Jewish Heritage (FODŻ) and descendants of former Jewish residents. While there have been many contributors to these various projects, Jacek is clearly the energy behind them, insuring that they are realized, and doing much of the physical labor himself.

Jacek reading a tombstone in the new Jewish cemetery, Dukla

Jacek reading a tombstone in the new Jewish cemetery, Dukla

Remembering the murder of Dukla's Jews

Remembering the murder of Dukla’s Jews

In each of these cases, someone (or several people) from the local community has taken the initiative to insure that Jewish culture and history is brought back into the public landscape. They are not Jewish themselves, but something compels them to remember, and to teach others about the former residents of their towns.

More about Lesko

22 Saturday Nov 2014

Posted by Marysia Galbraith in Heritage work, Lesko, Synagogues, World War II

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While he was in Poland in August, my older brother Wiley had some valuable insights about Jewish heritage and about our family. This was his first time in Poland and his fresh perspective gave me a lot to think about.

This is what he posted on Facebook about Lesko:

“The largest structure in Lesko, Poland is a synagogue yet there are no Jews. Larger than the church. Not only are there no Jews there is no memory that there were any Jews. Let’s remember that 3,000 human beings, Jews, were murdered from this town, half the population, and there are those that care.”

The interior of the Lesko Synagogue. It is used as an art gallery. During my last trip to Lesko, I learned that the gallery is closed from fall to spring because the building has no heat.

The interior of the Lesko Synagogue.

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Inside the synagogue: List of 3000 residents of Lesko and surroundings murdered by Nazis during the years 1939-1944.

About this photo, my brother’s commented, “Someone took the time to list the names. Thank you.” About me he remarked, “Taking the time to read the names and remember.”

Today, the synagogue belongs to the county (gmina) and is used as an art gallery. Just this month, I learned that the gallery is closed from fall to spring because the building has no heat. The Dom Kultury (Community Center) which manages the building wants to apply for funds to renovate the synagogue. The most pressing problem is moisture issues. Water creeps through the old stone walls and plaster, weakening the structure and even damaging the art housed within it.

Only a few survived in Lesko

17 Monday Nov 2014

Posted by Marysia Galbraith in Lesko, Polish-Jewish relations, Survival, World War II

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I have often remarked how the synagogue in Lesko is larger than the Catholic Church. It stands as a silent reminder of the prewar Jewish majority. Lesko is a small town of about 6000 residents on the edge of the Bieszczady Mountains in the southeast corner of Poland, and the site of my ethnographic fieldwork since 1992. The Bieszczady region was home to a multicultural population until the devastation of the mid-20th century turned it into Poland’s underpopulated, ethnically homogenous “wild east.” The Jews became victims of the Holocaust, while many Ukrainians and Poles escaped the German-Soviet front during the war. After the war most of the remaining Ukrainians were removed to the Soviet Union or the land acquired from Germany by the postwar Polish state, and Poles were resettled from across the Soviet border or emigrated voluntarily from overpopulated communities in western Poland.

Lesko Synagogue, 1992

Lesko Synagogue, 1992

While in Lesko last week, I asked some of my friends what they know about the town’s Jews—is there anyone who can tell me what happened before and during the war? Did any Jews survive? Are there any Jewish descendants left in the area? Ever since embarking on this investigation of Jews in Poland, I have wanted to find out why the topic of Jews has come up so rarely during my frequent visits to Lesko over the past twenty years. Sure, I was shown the synagogue and the Jewish Cemetery on my first tour of the town, and rarely, someone mentioned that certain buildings used to belong to Jews, but that’s where it ended. Unlike in Krakow, where having a Jewish ancestor became for some a badge of distinction, in Bieszczady no one ever mentioned their own or anyone else’s Jewish heritage. It simply was not talked about. Or maybe I never asked?

Based on my initial conversations last week, there is still a lot of reluctance to think about, let alone talk about Lesko’s Jews. But a few people gladly engaged with the topic.

First the reluctance. Often there is a pause, and then the response, “No, there is nobody left. Or at least they don’t admit it (nie przyznają się).” I got the same response in places like Lutowiska, which was over 60% Jewish before World War II. In Lutowiska, nearly all the contemporary residents have roots in other parts of Poland or in the former Soviet Union (borders were not fixed there until the 1950s), which might explain the general ignorance about the village’s history. Many of Lesko’s residents arrived after the war, but there is also a good number of autochthonous families who remain in the town.

The one person several people suggested might be willing to talk to me was Romuald Zwonarz, whose father Józef saved the lives of several Jews by helping them hide from the Nazis for nearly two years. Fortunately, pan Romuald agreed to meet me. Over a long conversation, he told me his father’s story, mostly by sharing published accounts with me, annotated with marginal comments and sticky notes that correct errors and point out inconsistencies. He did not want to be recorded because he aspires toward a perfect historical record and is too painfully aware of the false starts and misremembered details that taint spoken language. Still, he is proud of what his father did.

DSC01915

Rena, Jafa, and Natan Wallach 1947

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Józef Zwonarz and his wife Franciszka

The story is told in rich detail in Bitter Freedom, written by one of the survivors, Jafa Wallach shortly after she settled in the United States. Jafa wrote it to her daughter Rena to explain their wartime experiences and why they left Rena with strangers from the age of four to six. It’s an amazing account of an awful story. Basically, Jafa along with her husband Natan, who was a doctor, her two brothers, and toward the very end her sister, all hid under Józef’s mechanic workshop in a crawl space they dug themselves. It had earthen walls and was barely tall enough to kneel in with your head against the ceiling. Even more extraordinarily, the workshop was situated between Gestapo headquarters and the Ukrainian police offices in the center of town. Józef worked long hours repairing the occupiers’ vehicles, and then would sneak water and food to the hidden Jews at night. He also helped to find a safe place for Rena with a forest guard in a remote hut several kilometers from Lesko. Józef was recognized in 1967 as one of the Righteous among Nations, though he could not receive his medal until 1980.

From Romuald and his family’s story, I learned there was a work camp for Jews across the river from Zagórz. Lesko’s Jews were taken there before being killed on the spot or at the concentration camp at Belzec. Jafa only knew of a few who survived in hiding or with false (Aryan) papers. Romuald mentioned a few more he is aware of. Out of 30,000 Jews in the region before the war, only eighty survivors gathered in nearby Sanok after it ended. Those who came out of hiding were not made to feel welcome. As Jafa explains, some asked them “What are you doing among the living?” while others just looked with expressions of indifference.

I count on it that on future visits, I will learn of other people who remember Lesko’s Jews and are willing to talk about them.

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