Category Archives: Poland

Jewish Warsaw in the Shadow of Skyscrapers

30 Friday Jun 2017

Posted by in Jewish Culture, Memory, Polish-Jewish Heritage, Polish-Jewish relations, Post-World War II, Synagogues, Warsaw

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I discovered Jewish Warsaw tucked between streets I’ve walked dozens of times. My first surprise was that the apartment I rented in an ugly green socialist-era tower is literally around the corner from Plac Grzybowski (Grzybowski Square), where Jewish life survived into the communist era.

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6th floor view of Plac Grzybowski. From the left, a socialist era apartment, All Saints’ Church, modern skyscraper, (at the center) green space, with the site of Jewish Theater behind it and the roof of the Gmina Żydowska behind that, (bottom right) back of building with Charlotte Menora Cafe.

I’ll say more about Plac Grzybowski in a minute, but I was even more surprised when, while mapping out a running route, I saw that I was also just a block away from Nożyk Synagogue, the only synagogue in Warsaw that survived the war. I’m embarrassed to admit that I had never been there before, nor is this the first time I’ve been so close and didn’t even realize it. When my best friend from childhood Kim visited with her father in November 2014, we stayed at a hotel on Grzybowska Street, and were it not for the newer building across the street, we could have seen the synagogue from the hotel entrance. Kim and her family introduced me to Passover Seders, and bagels with lox and cream cheese, and I’m sure they would have loved to see the synagogue. In my defense, the synagogue sits in the green space at the center of the block, with tall buildings all around it. It’s easy to miss. The street access to the synagogue looks like the entrance to a parking lot, and from Grzybowska Street, the only access is via pedestrian walkways.

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My friend Kim with her father Sandy and my son Ian in Saski Park, Grzybowska Street in the background, November 2014

This isn’t the first time I have seen a synagogue tucked within the central courtyard of a city block. I wonder what the historic reasons were for that. Regardless, I imagine that in the difficult years after the Holocaust, this location offered the synagogue some protection; only people looking for it would find it. This is also where the Gmina Żydowska—the Association of Jewish Communities—has its offices. I should have come here before.

Nożyk Synagogue, Warsaw
“About the Jewish Community”

Built in 1902, the synagogue is a solid stone rectangle with arch-topped windows all around. Above the front door, two arch-topped tablets contain the Ten Commandments, and above them is a Star of David. The building survived World War II because the Nazis used it as a warehouse. Jews returned to worship there after the War, and at present, it remains the main synagogue of Warsaw, home to the Orthodox community. The offices of the Gmina Żydowska fill a modern addition across the back of the building.

Both times I walked by the synagogue, a few men were inside praying. More people walked by briskly, probably residents of surrounding buildings. Along the edge of the parking area, large information boards contain headlines like “We, the Jews of Warsaw,” “About the community,” and “Kosher…what does it mean?”

All the pieces fit together from my 6th floor balcony. I can see the metal roof of the synagogue’s modern addition. I also look down at the corner of Charlotte Menora in Plac Grzybowski; this is one of four Charlotte Cafes in Poland. They all specialize in French pastries, but this one also includes Jewish offerings such as bagels and rugelach. My friend Beata took me there last summer. She also pointed out the center of the square that has been converted into a shaggy grassland and wildflower garden. Pathways lined with benches lead down to a central fountain. This novel use of space started out as an art installation by Joanna Rajkowska called “Dotleniacz,” which in English means “Oxegenator;” The project was later reworked into its present, more permanent form.  Beata also showed me Próżna Street, the only street in the ghetto where the original buildings weren’t destroyed in the systematic bombing after the Ghetto Uprising in 1943. On one side of the street, the townhouses have been painstakingly restored. On the other, netting covers the buildings to prevent pedestrians from being harmed by falling elements of the crumbling façade. One of the renovated buildings is home to the Austrian Cultural Forum. Some of my Polish friends say they feel uncomfortable about this because of Austrian support for the Nazis.

Park in the middle of Plac Grzybowski
Próżna Street at night

Grzybowski Square is actually shaped more like a triangle. Charlotte Menora and the intersection with Próżna Street are on one long side. At the second long side, a pile of debris peaks above a barrier fence where the Jewish Theater was torn down last year. This theatre continued to operate all through the communist period, offering performances in Yiddish. Posters on the fence announce that the theater will be rebuilt, along with the TSKŻ, which stands for Towarzystwo Społeczno – Kulturalne Żydów, The Social and Cultural Association of Jews. Sophie, whom I met because she shares the last name of my great grandmother, lived in Warsaw until 1968. Her face lit up as she recalled going to youth activities at the TSKŻ. But she, like most of Poland’s remaining Jews, left in 1968 when the government waged a campaign against Jews. That’s also when many of the TSKŻ branches closed. In Warsaw, the organization hobbled along until after the end of communism, and has since been growing once again.

“Coming here, The new location of the TSKŻ. Jewish Theater and Office-Services Building”
All Saints Church
Pope John Paul II statue in front of All Saints’ Church

At the third, shorter side of the triangle stands the All Saints Church, where Christian Poland asserts itself even in this Jewish part of town. I’ve read that the church was right along the border of the ghetto, and it was where converts to Catholicism living in the ghetto would come to pray. More recently, symbols of Polish nationalism have been placed across the front of the church. Numerous plaques commemorate Home Army soldiers who fought against the Nazi occupation and in the Warsaw Uprising of 1944. These soldiers belonged to companies with names like “Buttress,” and “Brave,” and had wartime pseudonyms such as “Goliath,” “Fisherman,” and “Rooster.” A sculpture of Pope John Paul II stands on the steps leading up to the church, and a monument honoring the Home Army soldiers who produced weapons for the partisans is in the park across the street.

Plac Grzybowski is virtually unrecognizable from the first time I saw it. Marta, a family friend from Warsaw, pointed out the Jewish theatre to me in what I remember as a wide, crowded, dirty intersection with no central green space. It might have been 1990 or 1991, or maybe even 1986. Marta also painted a picture for me of how the square looked still earlier in time, before the war, when the streets were filled with Jews, many of them orthodox men with long beards and black coats, and women wearing wigs or kerchiefs.

The view from my window encapsulates this city–a mishmash of old and new, Catholic and Jewish, nationalism and subversion. Add to this the layers of memory every place contains, along with the energy of a capital city, and you can feel the beating heart of Warsaw.

Sholem Asch: A Yiddish Playwright Ahead of His Time

11 Thursday May 2017

Posted by in Jewish Culture, Kutno, Pre-World War II, Yiddish

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Kutno’s native son Sholem Asch is in the news a hundred years after writing a play that deals with issues that remain controversial today. His work also shatters a lot of assumptions about Jewish life in Poland in the early 20th century–Written in Yiddish, it features a brothel, a Torah scroll, and love between two women. Asch’s play God of Vengeance was written in Yiddish in 1907 and first produced in Berlin in 1910. I found an electronic version of the 1918 English translation (you can follow the hotlink above). In the play, Yekel, who lives with his family above the brothel he owns, tries to improve his family’s status by commissioning a Torah scroll and marrying his daughter Rifkele to a Yeshiva student. Instead, the young daughter falls in love with one of the prostitutes and in a pivotal scene, they kiss. The play highlights the tension between piety, reflected in the Holy Scroll that is supposed to bring respectability to the family and the economic and sensual attraction of the brothel downstairs, as well as observations about women’s empowerment and oppression.

The play has been getting attention recently because of Paula Vogel’s Broadway play Indecent, a play about a Yiddish play that was ahead of its time (as the NPR report about Indecent is titled). Vogel’s play centers around the 1923 staging of God of Vengeance in New York’s Apollo Theater (also on Broadway), notable because the whole cast, the producer, and one of the theatre owners were arrested and eventually convicted of indecency. The play had been controversial where it had been staged throughout Europe, but it also received critical acclaim.

The popularity of Indecent has led to renewed interest in Asch and his play, which was recently produced at LaMaMa Experimental Theater in the East Village (In God of Vengeance, a Nice Jewish Family Lives Above a Brothel).

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From left, Eleanor Reissa, Shayna Schmidt and Shane Baker as Orthodox Jewish parents and their marriageable young daughter in Sholem Asch’s “God of Vengeance,” at La MaMa. Credit Richard Termine for The New York Times

 

 

More Jewish Heritage Work in Kutno

26 Wednesday Apr 2017

Posted by in Cemeteries, Heritage work, Jewish Culture, Jewish Ghetto, Kutno, Memory, Names, Polish-Jewish Heritage, Polish-Jewish relations, Synagogues, World War II

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This is part II about heritage work in Kutno. The first is Jewish History of Kutno.

While in Kutno, I visited the Society of Friends of Kutno (Towarzystwo Przyjaciół Ziemi Kutnowski). The organization has been active since the early 1970s, and has put out an annual periodical about local history and customs for about 20 years. Most issues of the publication contain an article about Jews. In 2016, these articles were compiled in a book along with other historical materials about Kutno’s Jews, including Holocaust witness reports and photographs, and a list of people who lived in the Kutno ghetto.

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Outline of the History of Kutno Area Jews, published by the Friends of Kutno

The chairwoman of the Friends of Kutno Bożena Gajewska is an energetic and upbeat woman. She accepted the position because of her interest in local history and her desire to promote that history among local residents. She isn’t paid for this; she volunteers for the organization after getting off work. The Friends of Kutno have their office in a historic wooden villa that was recently renovated by the city. Most of their funding comes from grants. Over the years, they have placed historical markers where the synagogue, Jewish cemetery, and ghetto used to be. Other recent projects related to Jewish culture include field trips for local residents to the Polin Museum in Warsaw, to a production of a Sholem Asch play at the Yiddish Theatre in Warsaw, and to the Chełmno Extermination Camp, where Kutno Jews were transported when the ghetto was liquidated. Kutno was selected as a site where the Museum on Wheels (a traveling branch of the Polin Museum of the History of Polish Jews) would visit; this happened in August 2016.

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Marker reads, “In this place the 18th century synagogue stood. It was destroyed by the Nazis during World War II, evidence of the hatred of one human to another, and to his works.”

Pani Bożena says she’s noticed that orientations toward Jews have improved since the Polin Museum has opened. Thanks to the Museum, you can talk about Jews, whereas before, the word “Jew” had negative connotations, and was even used as an insult. This made people unsure what to call practitioners of the Jewish faith. Polin has helped to rehabilitate the term. While this may seem like a manifestation of the particularly fraught relationship between Poles and Jews, Mark Oppenheimer just published an opinion piece in the New York Times (Sunday, April 23, 2017, “Reclaiming ‘Jew’”) in which he notes that it’s the same in the US. “Jew” is almost never used as a noun; rather, the adjective “Jewish” is used, as in “Jewish people” or “I’m Jewish” (never “I’m a Jew”). Oppenheimer quotes the comedian Louis C. K. who called “Jew” a funny word “because ‘Jew’ is the only word that is the polite thing to call a group of people and a slur for the same group.”

The Polin Museum has also contributed to a surge of activity related to Jewish history and culture throughout Poland. This has led some townspeople to complain to the Friends of Kutno, “Why is everything always about Jews?” Bożena says she reminds these people that the Friends are interested in all aspects of regional history, and Jews were a part of that history. They address plenty of other topics, as well. For example, they recently published the biography of a native son who was an ultra nationalist during the period when the majority of Kutno residents were Jews (I can’t remember his name but maybe someone reading this can remind me).

Pani Bożena drove me to see some historical sites around town. The Jewish cemetery is on a hill overlooking a neighborhood of concrete apartment buildings. The hillside is covered with tall grass and wildflowers, and crisscrossed by dirt tracks where people walk their dogs, kids play, and people hang out. Many leave their trash behind. The Friends of Kutno recently put up signs around the cemetery that say “Here is the resting place of Kutno Jews, who settled in the city from the beginning of the 16th century. The cemetery located on this hill was established in 1793. Jews were buried here until March 1943. Please maintain its solemnity.” Below this historical information is the reminder, “Keep in mind as you go into this vast expanse that this is a cemetery; people are buried here, you walk on their graves, even though there are no longer tombstones…” Further, the sign states the cemetery is a registered monument and thus legally protected, and any vandalism is subject to a sentence of imprisonment. Nevertheless, within just a few months, four out of six such signs were vandalized. The metal poles were snapped at ground level. Bożena condemned the destruction, but also minimized it as the work of thoughtless hooligans (as opposed to a deliberately antisemitic act). In September, the poles were replaced and the signs stand once again.

Bożena showing me the new sign at the Jewish cemetery in Kutno
An older monument at the top of the cemetery hill

We passed people with dogs as we walked to the top of the hill to an older monument. It contains the same historical information as the new metal signs in Polish and Hebrew (but not the reminders about proper behavior and legal issues), and is shaped like two adjoining tombstones. Heading back down the hill, past some children playing, we saw the bases of some grave markers peaking out of the grass. Many tombstones were recovered and are stored at the Kutno Museum.

Bożena dreams of building a fence around the cemetery so there will be a more substantial barrier against further vandalism. They have received all the necessary approvals, but are in need of funding.

From the cemetery, we went on to the site of the ghetto, which is outside the center of town on the grounds of a former sugar factory. The factory was used by various industries after the war, but now is closed. The buildings, some dating from the late 19th century, stand behind a high fence and a guard patrols the site. Historic markers tell the story of the ghetto. A granite plaque reads:

Here on the terrain of the former Konstancja Sugar Factory

Germans established a ghetto for the Jewish population of Kutno and the surrounding area.

After its liquidation in 1942, the surviving Jews perished in the camp at Chelmno.

Honoring their memory, the People of Kutno.

Kutno, April 1993

A more recent sign contains a bit more historical information in both Polish and English (if you want to read it, click on the photo below to enlarge it).

Former site of the Kutno ghetto.
Wall plaque at the site of the Kutno ghetto
Historical marker in front of the main gate of the factory where the Kutno ghetto used to be.

Bożena told me that over 8000 people lived in the ghetto from 1940-1942. Those who got there first occupied all the most obvious places, so later arrivals had to build shacks from scrap wood, or find ways of populating balconies and any other inhabitable space throughout the large factory hall. In 1942, they were all transported to the camp at Chełmno by train (the tracks are right across the street from the factory) and by truck.

Thinking about the people I met in Kutno (and elsewhere), one thing I am trying to sort out is why Christian Poles get involved in Jewish heritage projects. Not surprisingly, the reasons are varied. One is interested in historical artifacts; he has no political agenda. Another of my companions tried to place this history into a more pro-Polish framework. He explained that the Nazis forced Christian townspeople to do horrible things as part of a strategy to damage relations between Poles and Jews. “All people really want is to live in peace (Chcą w spokoju żyć)”, he continued, “Poland is in the heart of Europe, a pretty terrain that has historically been attacked from all sides.” Others feel personally drawn to Jewish culture. One of my acquaintances in Kutno believes she has Jewish heritage. She seems to understand my quest for my own family history. “It’s important to know where you’re from,” she told me. She hasn’t found anything as concrete as my family photograph (the one I use at the top of the blog) to confirm her feeling that she has Jewish roots. All she can point to are allusions in family stories she remembers from childhood, and sometimes people have told her she looks Jewish. But anyone she could have asked has passed away.

But what’s clear from my visits to Kutno is that fragments of Jewish history remain, and some have been marked as such thanks to the efforts of a small group of residents who think it is important to include the stories of Kutno’s Jews in the history of their town.

Healing Collective Trauma: Jewish Heritage Work in Poland

18 Saturday Mar 2017

Posted by in Cemeteries, Commemoration, Fieldwork, Heritage work, Memory, Polish-Jewish Heritage, Trauma, Wronki

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Healing Collective Trauma: Jewish Heritage Work in Poland is the title of the paper I presented at the Society for Psychological Anthropology Meeting in New Orleans on March 12. Here is the abstract I submitted:

The legacy of the Holocaust weighs heavily on Polish communities that were witness to unspeakable events. The paper examines how collective and personal trauma and recovery are intertwined, particularly in relation to Jewish heritage work in Poland. It emphasizes the affective engagement of heritage workers, most of whom are Catholic Poles, working on local projects intended to bring the history and culture of the community’s absent Jews back into the public sphere. Person-centered ethnography helps to reveal how participants talk about the work they do in relation to notions of self and society, and associated personal and social meanings. It further reveals their particular narratives about past and present relationships between Catholics and Jews in Poland, which they often pose as a challenge to the silences of the socialist era and the present-day reemergence of xenophobic nationalism. As members of the post-memory generation—they grew up with stories about former Jewish residents and the destruction of their communities, but they did not actually experience these events themselves—heritage workers are able to work towards reconciliation in ways that older generations could not. They have coming-of-age stories associated with the moment historical events became real to them, and their emotional distress about the past became the force that compelled them to do something about it in the present. Their personal narratives suggest motivation stems from the convergence of attachment to their native place, a sense of responsibility to those who are no longer present, and a desire to realize a more inclusive community that accepts past and present diversity within the Polish polity.

In memory of the Jewish community that inhabited Wronki from 1507-1939. Lapidarium of tombstones from the destroyed Jewish cemeteries of Wronki
Lapidarium of Jewish Tombstones, Wronki
Piotr Pojasek pointing to one of Wronki’s Jewish cemeteries. Some pedestals of tombstones remain buried, as well as a large spruce tree that was planted when the cemetery was still functioning.

The paper starts with the story of Piotr Pojasek, who grew up in an old farmhouse near Wronki. From childhood, he knew that the curb on his street had been made out of Jewish tombstones during the Nazi occupation, but it was only as an adult that he really realized how wrong that was. And once he became engaged emotionally and morally, he knew he had to do something about it. It took many years, but in 2014, the lapidarium of the tombstones was completed. Applying the categories of memory as defined by Aleida Assmann, I use this case to explore how individual memories can shape social memory, and in turn national and cultural (collective) memory. The point is that individual connections to the past, as Piotr had through the uneasy presence of the tombstones outside his front door and the stories his father told him, are what compelled action. By collecting and sharing historical evidence and the stories of witnesses, social memory about the impact of the Holocaust grew, and developed a resonance for others. Eventually, a large coalition of local, national, and even international sponsors succeeded in building a public monument that revives and perpetuates collective memory of the Jews who lived there, of the inhuman circumstances of their death, and of the Polish citizens who recognize this as an important part of the history of their community.

Commonly, scholarship on collective memory focuses on public symbols and commemorative spaces, and has little to say about the transmission of meaning on the individual level. In my work, I am trying to show the relevance of individual memory workers and their personal engagement with the past as well as their local community. They are the ones who can bring things together, forging personal, affective links that make others care about far distant people and events.

Erik Ross, a priest, blogs about Poznan’s Jewish history and heritage

15 Wednesday Mar 2017

Posted by in antisemitism, Catholicism, Polish-Jewish Heritage, Poznan

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I came across some extraordinary posts about the fragments of Jewish life in Poznan, written by Erik Ross, a priest of the Dominican order, whose blog appears in the Times of Israel.

His posts are heart-wrenching and entertaining, full of photos, personal reflections, and difficult facts.

In Walk down Jew Street, he describes the frescoes in the Church of the Holy Blood of the Lord Jesus (Kościół Najświętszej Krwi Pana Jezusa). The church is on what is now called “Jewish Street” but inside, the recently renovated paintings depict the story of the desecration of the host by three Jews. Most striking to me, Ross points out the many places around town where this story is renewed–in the weekly opportunities to get miraculous water from the well below the church (where according to legend the Jews tried to wash off the blood that ran from the stolen hosts where they had stabbed them); in the fresh gold leaf on the Latin words recounting the story in the Corpus Christi Church, as well as three newly painted doll-sized figures of Jews around a well under a fragment of alter (marking the site where the stolen hosts were discarded in what was originally a swamp, reclaimed by a priest who brought them to another church, but then miraculously flew back to the swamp leading to the decision to build the church there).

But you should read his post, which goes into much more detail.

Frescos over the alter depicting the profaning of the host, Church of the Most Holy Blood of the Lord Jesus in Poznan

Ross has also written Fake Lake, about the beautiful Lake Rusałka that was built with Jewish slave labor and reinforced with Jewish tombstones, and Swim-a-gogue about the pool that until recently filled the main sanctuary of the synagogue (I’ve written about it too, in Swimming in the Synagogue).

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Lake Rusałka, where the CityTrail runs are held in Poznań. Built with the forced labor of Jews during World War II, many of whom died in the process.

 

 

Jewish history of Kutno

18 Saturday Feb 2017

Posted by in Archives, Fieldwork, Heritage work, Jewish Culture, Kutno

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When I first visited Kutno in 2013, I only stopped for a few minutes on the way from Poznan to Warsaw. I had found a record of my great grandmother on JewishGen, and the original document from the 1860s was in the Kutno archive. I got there too late to see the record (the archive was about to close), but I spoke briefly with one of the archivists, and asked her if any traces of Kutno’s Jewish culture can be found today. She said she didn’t know of anything, except perhaps some fragments of tombstones in the municipal museum.

I returned to that museum in early 2015, and the director showed me their small display of Jewish artifacts.

Jewish candleholders in the Kutno Museum
Torah in the Kutno Museum
Fragment of a tombstone in Kutno Museum

Finally last summer, I met some people who have spent years documenting the history of Kutno’s Jews. It turns out a lot is going on. There is a biannual festival in honor of Sholem Asch, a highly regarded Yiddish writer who was from Kutno. There are also commemorative markers at a number of sites around town. And a book was just published—a collection of articles about the Jews of Kutno (Karol Koszada, Elżbieta Świątkowska, Bożena Gajewska, Zaryz Historii Żydów Ziemi Kutnowski, 2016, Kutno: Towarzystwo Przyjaciół Ziemi Kutnowskiej).

I’ve been to the archive a few times now, often enough to break through the reserve of the archivists a couple of times. One told me that school groups sometimes come to visit. “This is a good thing,” she told me “because youths need to know that heritage is not always as straightforward as some people make it out to be. Things change.” She also said that youth don’t necessarily value the past, but seeing the records in the archive helps them to connect with history.

At the Kutno public library, I met Andrzej Olewnik, a librarian with a deep interest in town history. He seemed delighted to meet someone who shared his interest; his whole face smiled as we talked. Pan Andrzej is also a collector, and finds documents associated with Kutno in auctions. He showed me old postcards and photos, including a photo taken in the Kutno ghetto during the Nazi occupation. He also showed me one of Sholem Asch’s business cards, given to him by Asch’s great grandson. He keeps these treasures in protective plastic covers, but slid them out so I could examine them more closely.

Sketch of Kutno synagogue, in Kutno Museum. My shadow reflection is on the far left.
Postcard of the Sugar Factory in Kutno
Passport application of Icek and Ruchla Holeman, 1865. In the collection of the Kutno Museum

The library has a collection of books about Kutno history. One features historic passport photos from the Kutno museum collection, many of which belonged to Jewish residents of the region. It turns out that the museum has other items related to Jewish culture they keep in storage. Some tombstones were found in a sidewalk and brought to the museum. The museum has them in storage, but took photographs of the inscriptions, which are in Yiddish and Hebrew. They are looking for someone to transcribe and translate them.

Another book Andrzej showed me was the Kutno Yizkor book. Yizkor books were compiled after World War II; in them, Jews who survived the Holocaust collected all the information they could about the Jewish population of their hometowns, including historic documents, demographic data, and personal accounts. This one was written in Hebrew—only some Yizkor books have been translated into English. Other books are by or about Sholem Asch, including precious Polish language translations of some of Asch’s plays.

Andrzej showed me digital photos of the prewar synagogue. It was right in the center of the street. Traffic would go around it on both sides. It had columns on one side, and the main entrance on the other. A map from the 1820s shows there was a long narrow green area in front of the building. Across the street from the synagogue there used to be the Jewish school, and behind that the ritual bathes. Andrzej had photos that were taken from the air showing synagogue’s destruction. First the roof was removed in 1940. Later, explosives were embedded in the pillars and the building was blown up.

Grażyna Baranowska, another librarian, organizes the Sholem Asch Festival which takes place every other year. It started as a literature contest, in which contestants competed for prizes for their original writing or their reading of literary texts. Then, it expanded into a culture festival. Next, an academic conference on the life and work of Sholem Asch was added. For the past two festivals, the great-grandson of Asch, David Mazower, has come from England. The next conference is in September 2017 and the festival is in October or November 2017. I’m trying to work out a way to attend this year.

Podgórze: Below the hill and through the ghetto

16 Monday Jan 2017

Posted by in antisemitism, Commemoration, Jewish Ghetto, Krakow, Memory, Podgórze, Polish-Jewish relations, Post-World War II, Reclaimed Property, World War II

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When Krysia and I visited Poland a few years ago, we walked to her friend Wanda’s apartment in Podgórze, a district across the Vistula River from Krakow’s Old City. Historically, Podgórze was an industrial part of town, and also the site of the Jewish Ghetto during World War II. Until recently, this was not a particularly desirable place to live. I went there for the first time in 1986 when my Polish teacher invited me for dinner. She lived with her doctor husband and baby daughter on Limanowski Street in a ground floor apartment that was a converted storefront. The building was grey and crumbling, and the tram rumbled by loudly and frequently. They couldn’t wait to move somewhere better. In 1992, I met a high school student whose classmates joked he was “from the country” because he lived in Podgórze. Even though you could see Wawel Castle on the opposite shore of the river, Podgórze was considered a remote corner of the city.

I really discovered Podgórze in 2005 when I was back in Kraków for 5 months during my first sabbatical leave. I made a point of exploring all the city’s parks and playgrounds as a way of entertaining my two-year-old son; long afternoon walks were often the only way I could get him to nap. Podgórze charmed me. The buildings along the tramline on Limanowski Street were still grey and crumbling, but there was also a lovely triangular plaza and a beautiful church with a hillside rising up behind it. Maybe that’s the source of the name—Podgórze means “below the hill.” Climbing up the curving street from the plaza, large houses with fenced gardens replaced the apartment buildings, and then a massive park appeared on the right. And yet, despite these explorations, I still didn’t know that I had been moving in and out of the borders of the former ghetto, where the Nazis had forced Jews to live (and die).

Plaza and church in Podgórze
Heading up the hill
One of the large houses on the way to the park

Wanda, a long-time resident of Podgórze, pointed out traces of that difficult era as we walked to her apartment. It was the first time I actually connected the contemporary streets of Podgórze with the places associated with the Holocaust. Just over the bridge, we entered Ghetto Heroes Square (Plac Bohaterów Getta), the site where Jews were assembled before being transported to work, the ghetto, or the camps. It wasn’t until December 2005 that a monument commemorating these historical events was installed. The monument is comprised of 33 large chairs arranged in rows throughout the plaza and 37 smaller chairs scattered around the edges of the square and at the nearby tram stop. These serve as a symbol of the people whose material possessions were taken from them as they were selected for the ghetto and elsewhere. The idea was “to tell the story of the place through the configuration of the urban space itself, so that the memory of the absent ones would be manifested through the presence of everyday objects which compose the urban furniture” (Bordas 2006). The chairs make an impression, especially the big ones. They look like they should be functional but they’re not–another way they symbolize the way ordinary life became abnormal.

Chair monument in Ghetto Heroes Square

Ghetto Heroes Square

Wanda led us to a nearby street where a fragment of the ghetto wall still stands. Its characteristic scalloped top makes it resemble side-by-side tombstones. Flowers rested at the foot of a historical marker, an offering made during a commemorative event in March. Wanda also pointed out where a gate of the ghetto used to cross the street near her apartment. For 23 years, Wanda lived on that street. But then the prewar owners—Jews—regained ownership of the property and doubled the rent. Faced with the option of paying 2000 zloties per month or move, Wanda decided it would be better to invest that kind of money in a place she could own herself. That way, she doesn’t have to worry about being displaced again.

Like many Poles, Wanda feels personally affronted by former owners reasserting their claim over property. These feelings are complicated.

It seems only right that descendants of victims of the Holocaust be compensated. Regaining ownership of a building can only to the slightest degree address what those families lost.

And yet, losing their home to the prewar owner seems particularly unfair to the generation that endured years of communism, and never was able to accumulate much wealth in their own lives. Since the end of communism, prices have risen, unemployment has become common, and wages remain modest. Often it’s the poorest residents who live in former homes of Jews because the government took over their management and made them into low-cost housing for those in greatest need. This affordable housing was a small oasis of security in unsettled times. Many such residents today are elderly; others are unemployed; some have problems with their health or with substance abuse. They don’t have many options.

Wanda was one of the lucky ones with the wherewithal and the financial means to buy her own place. But still she carries the resentment with her that she sometimes translates into resentment of Jews more generally. Who was looking out for her rights when the apartment was returned to the prewar owners? What did some rich foreigner need with her building? Why should they get even wealthier at her expense?

In fact, prewar owners are reclaiming properties all over Poland, and even though they are not all Jewish, the greatest resentment is directed toward those who are.

Ghetto Memory Trail marker
Star of David crossed out–on a storefront in Podgórze

In Podgórze, you can see both the effort to acknowledge sites of Jewish heritage, and also signs of continued antisemitism.

Wanda loves her neighborhood and doesn’t want to live anywhere else (even though she has to spend part of each year in the US to earn enough money to pay her mortgage). The apartment she lives in now is new construction on top of a historic townhouse; an additional floor was added to an existing building. As we climbed the three flights of stairs, she explained that when she bought the place, all that was there were the bare walls. This is standard practice in Poland. The buyer has to select, purchase, and install all the flooring, fixtures, wall coverings cabinets, and appliances. The apartment is long and narrow, with a wall of windows and a sleeping loft. Wanda said she bought it at the peak of the market; today she could find something for half that price. But that would mean moving again.

As we ate a generous spread of Polish dishes, including stuffed cabbage (gołąbki) and two kinds of pickles, Wanda said that Podgórze has become one of the most popular neighborhoods in Krakow. The new heritage sites and museums—including the Ghetto Heroes Square, the Schindler Factory Museum, and the Museum of Modern Art—have brought with them tourists and the amenities that tourists expect. People are moving out of the center of the city because it has become too crowded, cars are restricted on most streets, there are few stores with everyday necessities, and the prices are too high. Podgórze is desirable because it has good public transportation, is within walking distance of the city center, and because of the park, the trees, and the hill that I find so appealing.

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The new pedestrian bridge across the Vistula River to Podgórze.

The Curious Tale of the Fake Rabbi

29 Tuesday Nov 2016

Posted by in Identity, Jewish Culture, Polish-Jewish relations, Poznan, stereotypes

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Purim 2015
http://www.gloswielkopolski.pl/

Not long ago, a reporter revealed that that the man acting as Poznan’s rabbi was not in fact a rabbi. He called himself Jacoob Ben Nistell and claimed to be an Israeli from Haifa, but it turns out he is actually Jacek Niszczota, a Catholic Pole from Ciechanów, a town 60 miles north of Warsaw.

I’m not quite sure what to think of the story, but it resonates with Ruth Ellen Gruber’s characterization of much of Jewish activity in contemporary Europe as “virtual.” In her book Virtually Jewish: Reinventing Jewish Culture in Europe (2002), Gruber describes the myriad ways Jewish spaces, performances, and even people are in fact idealizations, representations, or stylizations of Jewishness. They are done up in “Jewish style” but often without actual Jews. This has occurred throughout Europe, where the interest in all things Jewish far exceeds the capacity of the tiny or absent populations of Jews to fulfill. Instead, non-Jews renovate synagogues, restore cemeteries, run Jewish restaurants, perform Klezmer music, and lead Jewish heritage tours.

Jacoob/Jacek’s self-presentation as Hasidic rabbi can be added to this long list of virtual Jewish performances, with the important qualification that his role was deceptive. He claimed to be a real Hasidic Jew, not someone just dressed up as one. He wore his hair long, with the distinctive side curls. He also dressed in a black brimmed hat and long black jacket. I don’t believe his intentions were malicious. Nor am I sure how much he deliberately deceived people, and how much people saw him as they wanted him to be. When I met him, he didn’t tell me “I’m a rabbi.” Rather, he said “They call me a rabbi,” his sweet smile and amused tone suggesting he was willing to go along with what others were saying about him. He did, however, claim to be from Israel. I didn’t quite believe him; more accurately, I questioned whether I heard him correctly because it didn’t fit my reading of him. He seemed Polish to me. Others tell me he put on an Israeli accent, but I can’t always recognize accents of Polish speakers. When I talked with him about a possible interview, he did not refuse, but he did not seem very eager either so I never pursued it. He seemed quirky and harmless, a bit of a happy jester.

Nevertheless, Jacoob/Jacek was deceptive and his actions are highly offensive. I saw him at a number of commemorative events: praying at the grave of Akiva Eger, a respected early 19th century Poznan rabbi; saying kaddish at the unveiling of the commemorative monument and lapidarium in Wronki; leading prayers at the Jewish Religious Community in Poznan. What got him caught was the media attention he received when he appeared at an ecumenical meeting with a Catholic priest and a Muslim imam. Someone from his hometown recognized him and alerted the media.

At that point, it became clear that there had been rumblings among Israelis and other Hebrew speakers that Jacoob/Jacek didn’t actually know Hebrew. Rather he read texts phonetically, putting emphasis and accents in the wrong places.

So that leaves me with the question why no one at the Jewish Religious Community (which is an official religious association for practicing Jews) challenged the veracity of his claims. Either they were genuinely deceived or they chose not to do anything about it. It’s problematic either way. If they didn’t know, it reveals how tenuous their knowledge of Jewish religious practice, culture, and language is. If they did know, it suggests they allowed the deception to go on. Even though Jacoob/Jacek was never declared a rabbi officially, I did hear him referred to affectionately as “our rabbi” (“nasz rabin”) and he was allowed to lead prayers in contexts that everyone expected would be done by a real rabbi. The Jewish Religious Community has a legal status. It is supposed to be the official institution for practicing Jews. What it turned out to be instead in this case is part of the virtual Jewish space. The idea, look, and performance of Jewishness was deemed sufficient.

I feel sympathy for Jacoob/Jacek, who has disappeared since his deception was revealed. I wonder what compelled him to pretend he was Jewish, and why he adopted the stereotypical form of a Hasidic Jew. It’s anachronistic in so many ways. Being any kind of Jew is a rarity in Poland, and the only Hasidic Jews in Poznan are occasional foreign visitors. Even historically, when Jews lived in Poznan in greater numbers, very few were Hasidic. This was even pointed out to me by a prominent member of the Jewish Religious Community. He gestured toward Jacoob/Jacek and assured me that even in the past, Poznan Jews tended to be more modernized.

“Who, 30 years ago in this country, would have pretended to be a rabbi, to say nothing of 70 years ago?”asked the Chief Rabbi of Poland Michael Schudrich in an article in the Times of Israel. He described Jacoob/Jacek as “very sweet and smiley,” much the same as I saw him.

Revisioning Jewish Poland through Art

11 Friday Nov 2016

Posted by in Anthropology, Memory, Poland, Polish-Jewish Heritage, Post-World War II

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The abstract for the paper I will be giving at the American Anthropological Association Meeting next week:

Artistic expression can be a powerful means to challenge the hegemonic power structure and to imagine an alternative social and moral order. In this paper, I highlight the work of three Polish artists who experienced a moral awakening during the Solidarity Movement in the early 1980s which made them sensitive to the repression of memories of Poland’s multi-ethnic, multi-religious past. In the ensuing years, they have engaged politically through their art to expose what remains of Jewish material culture (such as synagogues, cemeteries, and photographs), and to bring back into the public sphere a recognition of the space Jews once filled in everyday life in Poland. This artwork is both documentary and affective; it is intended to simultaneously inform viewers and to generate in them deep emotional responses that encourage ethical reflection.  Through various media, the artists seek to communicate that Jews were an essential part of Polish culture until the Holocaust, and also to give form to a collective sense of loss experienced after their violent removal. The cases examined are Wojtek Wilczyk’s photographs of former synagogues, called “There is no Innocent Eye,” Janusz Marciniak’s installations in the former synagogue in Poznan, and Andrzej Niziołek’s book Fira which traces the everyday life of a Jewish woman as revealed in her photo album of snapshots taken between the World Wars. These artists engage their moral selves to challenge political exclusion, public indifference, and antisemitism that until recently has kept Jewish spaces outside of everyday public and personal memories.

Synagogue by Wojtek Wilczyk
Atlantis, 2004, by Janusz Marciniak. Star of David floating on water and lit by hundreds of blue candle lanterns, while the Academic Choir sang “Meditation on Peace.”
Fira by Andrzej Niziołek

It’s part of a panel organized by Natasa Garic-Humphrey at UCSD:

The Politics of Indignation, Resistance, and Reconstitution of the Moral Self

This panel explores the intersections of governmentality, citizenship, political subjectivity, activism, ethics, and morality, and critically examines the importance of inserting “the moral self” within political theory to better understand how citizens come to confront political organizations and policies. Recent years have provided unprecedented examples of large-scale resistance, uprising, protest, and violent confrontation to authoritarian regimes, invidious state policies, and localized manifestations of neoliberal political-economics. To explain current confrontations to prevailing forms of state power, scholars have successfully highlighted the gaps between policy making from above and people’s on-the-ground experiences, resulting in citizens’ alienation from governmental ideologies, programs, and practices, while another line of research explored the various ways in which experiences of subjectivity and suffering are shaped within particular contexts of political economy.

This panel however, takes a closer look at the ways people manage to change their moral orientations within the context of hegemonic power and (re)make their moral selves to engage in and confront larger political and socioeconomic processes. How do specific situations, events, and visceral experiences in people’s lives evoke moments of self-reflection, engender reorientations towards the self, and inspire courses of action that cultivate a new sense of moral personhood? How does this experience of generating a new moral self shape one’s perceptions of government ineptitude and prepare them to engage in citizen-based action to confront political injustices and socio-political reforms? What motivates people to resist, initiate change, and form new senses of themselves as moral actors in the midst of stifling crises brought by socioeconomic and political transformations, war, genocide, fear, and other examples of structural violence?

Poles Remember

01 Tuesday Nov 2016

Posted by in Catholicism, Cemeteries, Commemoration, Dukla, Memory, Polish Culture, Polish-Jewish Heritage, Polish-Jewish relations

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Today is the Catholic holiday, All Saints Day, the time to honor the dead. Customarily, Poles visit cemeteries to clean and decorate the graves of their family members. During the day, chrysanthemums in all shades adorn tombstones. At night, candle lanterns on graves make the cemeteries glow. Twinkling hillsides can be seen from far away.

I’m pleased to see that some Poles also remember Poland’s now-absent Jewish population on November 1. I’ve seen this in Warsaw and in Lutowiska. And here is a photo Jacek Koszczan posted on Facebook today showing the candle lanterns on the commemorative monument at the town of Dukla’s Jewish cemetery.

Candle lanterns on the monument commemorating Dukla's Jewish population, November 1, 2016, All Saint's Day.

Candle lanterns on the monument commemorating Dukla’s Jewish population, November 1, 2016, All Saint’s Day.

He and other citizens of Dukla made the trip out to the cemetery to light a candle for the dead. In this, I see an expression of honor that transcends religious difference.

Jacek has done a great deal to reassemble the memory of Jewish life in Dukla. In fact, he was honored last month by the Polin Museum for his work. The Polin website explains, “Jacek Koszczan is the founder and director of the Organization for the Preservation of Jewish Heritage in the Dukla Region–Dukla Shtetl. His work involves both obtaining and archiving knowledge about the Jews of Dukla and its surroundings, as well as educational activities. Jacek Koszczan is the initiator and builder of a monument commemorating the 70th anniversary of the murder of Dukla’s Jews, the volunteer caretaker of the Jewish cemeteries, mass grave, as well as the ruins of the Dukla synagogue. Thanks to his efforts and knowledge, he succeeded in facilitating the honoring of two Dukla-region families with the medal for the Righteous among Nations.”

Jacek Koszczan receiving his award from the Polin Museum for his work on Jewish heritage in Dukla, October 21, 2016. Photo by Janusz Czamarski

Jacek Koszczan receiving his award from the Polin Museum for his work on Jewish heritage in Dukla, October 21, 2016. Photo by Janusz Czamarski

All in all, Jacek has been instrumental in the return of the memory of Jews to his community. I have been impressed by his energy, enthusiasm, and generosity. For him, this is a labor of love–for his community, for the memory of those who suffered, and for humanity in the face of evil.