Category Archives: Żychlin

1939 Battle for Central Poland

07 Monday Dec 2020

Posted by in Kutno, World War II, Włocławek, Żychlin

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While going through photos, I came across this map from the Muzeum Uzbrojenia in Poznan showing the movement of the Polish army (shown in red) through central Poland when the Nazis invaded in September 1939 :

Red arrows show movements of Polish armed forces through central Poland in September 1939

It’s a little hard for me to read, but I believe Poland had a stronghold in the Kutno region and for a few days they held back the Nazis (shown in blue).

This region is exactly where my family came from. My great grandmother was born in Żychlin and eventually settled with her husband and children in Włocławek. They would have been long gone when the war started, but some of my grandmother’s siblings were still living in Włocławek. Here’s another layer of memory I need to integrate into my family story. How profoundly destabilizing it must have been for them to watch as the Polish forces fell and they became foreigners in their own country.

Trip to Jewish Central Poland in 2022

06 Wednesday May 2020

Posted by in Brześć Kujawski, Heritage work, Kutno, Nazi Camps, Polish-Jewish Heritage, World War II, Włocławek, Żychlin

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It turns out I’m not the only one who dreams of doing Jewish heritage work in the land of my ancestors. The Association of Descendants of Jewish Central Poland has just gained nonprofit status and welcomes members.

It started at the initiative of Leon Zamosc, who reached out to others on JewishGen seeking information about ancestors from the region around Kutno and Włocławek. As the message from the founders explains:

The concept of a regional organization of descendants developed out of an initiative to visit the districts of Wloclawek, Gostynin, and Kutno in order to commemorate the 80th anniversary of the destruction of the region’s Jewish communities during the Shoah. About 60 JewishGen researchers responded to the initial invitation, including 16 who volunteered as consultants for the planning of the Spring 2022 trip. In those early exchanges, some participants proposed the creation of a more permanent organization that would allow us to develop other activities related to the cultural heritage of the region’s shtetls. After studying the options, a subcommittee of 9 participants suggested ideas for possible activities and recommended the establishment of the ADJCP – Association of Descendants of Jewish Central Poland.

On the 2022 trip, we’ll participate in memorial activities at the Chełmno Death Camp. We will also learn about the history and culture of Jewish residents of the region, spending time in the larger cities of Włocławek, Kutno, and Gostynin. In additon, participants will have the opportunity to participate in small group excursions to the smaller cities and towns where their ancestors lived. We hope to contribute to a heritage project while we are there.

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Cousin Connections

20 Monday May 2019

Posted by in Family, Genealogy, Jewish immigrants, Names, Pifko-Winawer Circle, Piwko, Walfisz, Winawer, Łódź, Żychlin

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When I met Arline Jacoby in 2016, she was a spry and effervescent nonagenarian with vivid memories of the Pifko-Winawar Family Circle gatherings she attended throughout the early decades of her marriage. She knew that she was related to the Pifkos, but she couldn’t remember exactly how. She thought her husband Harry Jacoby was connected somehow to my great grandmother Hinda Piwko, whose maiden name was Walfisz. She also suggested her ancestors might be part of that family line as well, making her and her husband distant cousins.

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Pifko-Winawer Family Circle, New Montefiore Cemetery, Organized 1938. Note the Jacoby name on right

No one else seemed to remember the exact family connections, so I just added this to the long list of mysteries to solve one day.

Periodically, I have come across interesting tidbits about Arline. She was featured in the “Sunday Routine” column of The New York Times (“How Arline Jacoby, Artist, Spends Her Sundays,” by Alexis Cheung, July 21, 2017). The article describes Arline’s daily life on Roosevelt Island. In one photo, dressed in a white blouse and loose off-white pants, she holds her cane in front of her as she talks with friends on a bus. In another, she smiles brightly as she reaches for a plant in her garden. And in a third photo, she’s swimming; “I’ll spend about an hour doing laps, and then I’ll go into the steam room,” she explains. In the final photograph, Arline looks up at a sketch in her installation at Octagon Gallery. Still a practicing artist, she says, “My studio is across the street from my house. I paint, I do printmaking, monoprints, paint in oils and watercolor.” Her vibrant spirit shines through the brief vignettes and quotes.

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Arline in her garden. Photo credit: Michelle V. Agins/The New York Times

Another article from Tablet Magazine recounts the history of the Borscht Belt resort that the Jacoby family ran for many years. The “colony” was founded in 1941 by Arline’s father-in-law Nathan Jacoby, and later managed by Nathan’s sons Harry and Ben. The Catskills became a summer haven for New York Jews who left the heat of the city and set up house in resorts that organized all kinds of entertainment and outdoor activities. According to the article, some affluent middle-class families preferred the laid-back atmosphere of bungalow colonies like the Jacoby’s over the fancier hotel resorts nearby.

I learned from the article that Nathan Jacoby was born in Łódź, Poland in 1894, and came to America in 1921. He got into the bakery business “through a family connection.” Could that have been my grandmother’s brother Philip Pifko who had bakeries in Brooklyn at that time?

The Tablet article explained, “In the summer, he operated the bungalow colony as a second business, renting the units for the season. Jacoby wanted the colony to be a destination for Jews who had worked their way up into the middle class—light manufacturers and lawyers, many from the Midwood neighborhood in Brooklyn, with good businesses and good cars. The parking lot was filled with Cadillacs and Lincolns. These were families who loved parties and balls, and Jacoby was determined to entertain them, building a stage in his casino building for traveling comics, singers, magicians, and musicians, and for bungalow talent shows, too.” Arline’s daughter Annice said “What my grandfather created was not only a business. He created a sense of place. This was the good life.”

I was reminded of these family-oriented camps when Midge Maisel and her family spent much of Season Two at a similar resort. Arline remembers that comedians like Lenny Bruce performed there, another parallel with The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, which features Lenny Bruce performing in the Catskills. By the time I was growing up in 1970s, the bungalow colonies declined in popularity. My friends went to sleepover camps for kids only.

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Midge Maisel in the Catskills. Screen shot from The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.

The breakthrough in my search for a family connection came when I was contacted via Ancestry by Cherie, whose husband is a descendant of Akiva Jakubowicz, the second husband of my great grandmother’s sister Tema. That’s when a light turned on. Could it be that the Jakubowiczes changed their name to Jacoby when they came to the US? Could Arline’s husband Harry have been a grandson of Tema, the sister of my great grandmother Hinda (Walfisz) Piwko?

I already had Akiva (Kiwa) Jakubowicz and his two sons Elias and Nathan in my family tree. Cherie confirmed that her husband descends from Elias, Nathan’s younger brother (Nathan was born in 1896 and Elias was born in 1898), and that they changed their last name to Jacoby after settling in the US. Elias moved from Łódź to Berlin where he married Martha Brusendorf. She was a German protestant, but they raised their children in the Jewish faith. When the war broke out, they lived in hiding in Berlin with their younger daughter, while their older daughter escaped to England on the kindertransport. The family reunited after the war, and immigrated to the US. They were sponsored by Nathan, who had been in New York since 1921.

Armed with this information, I was able to locate documents about Nathan, Arline, and their sons Harry and Ben on Ancestry. Arline Plumer and Nathan Jacoby married in 1947 in Philadelphia, her hometown. I’m not sure, but this might be Arline’s high school yearbook photo from 1943, Girl’s High School, Philadelphia.

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Arline Plumer, class of 1943, Girls High School, Philadelphia. Is this my cousin?

If so, Arline’s parents were Isidor/Isadore and Anna/Annie Plumer, and she was the youngest of eight siblings. Her father is listed on his naturalization documents as coming from Barski, Russia, but in the 1920 census, he and Anna’s place of origin is listed as Russia (Pol.)  and their native language is Polish. All of their children were born in the US.

I found Nathan Jakubowicz in the 1925 New York State Census. He worked as a baker and lived with his wife Marie, one-year-old son Harry (listed as Herman), and a cousin Sol Winawer. I believe Sol is the son of my grandmother’s sister Liba, making him and Nathan first cousins once removed. This document also hints at an answer to the question whether Nathan worked in my great uncle’s bakery when he first came to the US. There, in the neighboring apartment, lived my grandmother’s brother Philip Pifko and his wife Goldie. So maybe Nathan is one of the many relatives Philip assisted when they first immigrated, offering them a job in his bakery and helping them find a place to live.

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1925 NY State Census. Nathan, Marie, and Herman Jakubowicz live with Sol Winawer. In the neighboring apartment, Philip and Goldie Pifko live with other relatives.

By the the 1930 Federal Census, Nathan had changed his last name to Jacoby.

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By the 1930 Federal Census, the family name had been changed to Jacoby.

All of this shows pretty convincingly how Arline’s husband Harry was related to the Pifko-Winawers. I’m still looking for comparable evidence that Arline is also a cousin. My guess is she descends from Łaja, the 3rd Walfisz daughter listed in the Żychlin Book of Residents together with my great grandmother Hinda and Harry’s grandmother Tema. I found one hint on Arline’s mother’s death certificate, which lists Anna Plumer’s parents as Morris and Leah Fox, originally from Poland. Elsewhere, I’ve seen Łaja and Leah used interchangeably, so I’ll keep digging.

The search continues. I’m glad to have figured out, at least in part, how Arline and I are cousins. At minimum, her husband and my mother were 2nd cousins. Perhaps she and my mother were 2nd cousins, as well.

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Cousin Arline talks with Mama, January 2016

 

Mapping Family Roots

23 Sunday Oct 2016

Posted by in Archives, Family, Identity, Polish-Jewish Heritage, Pre-World War II, Walfisz, Żychlin

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I made an extraordinary find in the Kutno archive—a map of Żychlin dating from 1869. I found reference to it in an article, but the archivists had a little difficulty locating it because it didn’t have an identification number (signatura). One archivist said something about it being so fragile they don’t show it. But another found it hanging on the wall and brought it out for me. The writing is in Russian. At that time, Żychlin was in the Russian partition of Poland. After the January Insurrection in 1863, the Russians mandated all public documents had to be in Russian, not Polish. That is why archival documents before the 1860s are in Polish while the later ones are mostly in Russian.

Russian writing on the 1869 map of Żychlin
Russian writing on the 1869 map of Żychlin

I don’t know what is written here–maybe a reader could translate it for me?

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Map of Żychlin dated 1869

Properties are numbered on the map, but not by street address. That means the numbers are scattered throughout the city making it difficult to find particular locations. According to the Żychlin Books of Residents (Akta Miasta Żychlina, also in the archive), my Walfisz ancestors lived at various times at numbers 28, 53, and 63. My great grandmother Hinda Walfisz married my great grandfather Hiel Majer Piwko. I wrote about them in previous posts: Piwko Saga, The Photo, and Super Kosher Cookies and Sliced Ham.

The map is hard to read, patched, and creased. The cross-shaped church stands out in the top half. Below it is the market square, and #53 is in the row of buildings along its lower edge. #63 is further to the left, and #28 is on the street running down from the market square.Not surprisingly, these properties are all near the synagogue, which as best as I can tell is #86 on the map (a bit below #63).

I had already seen one Book of Residents in 2013, but in 2016 I found my great grandmother’s family listed in three others, as well. Since the books have been indexed, the archivist was able to tell me what page to look on. And even though these records are only a few years older than the map, they are in Polish. There is only one Walfisz family in the books (my great grandmother with her sisters and parents), but other more distant family names also appear: many Losmans, a couple of Kolskis, and one Jakubowicz. Each household has its own page in the book, but there can be several households in the same building. Because religion is one of the things recorded in the Books, I could see that it wasn’t uncommon for addresses with multiple households to include families of multiple faiths: some Catholic, some Jewish, some Evangelical.

I know this is just an old map, but being able to pore over it, to touch it, helped to transport me back in time, and to once again (for the first time?) connect with the place where I’m from. It doesn’t matter that I never actually lived there (nor did my mother nor even my grandmother). Some of my people did. Right there in that place. With this newfound knowledge, I drove back through Żychlin one more time, this time gazing at the buildings that once housed my family. It didn’t really matter that the buildings had changed, nor that I was still unsure how exactly the old building numbers match the contemporary ones. Once this was their home.

Two Bottles of Vodka

19 Monday Sep 2016

Posted by in Heritage work, Jewish Culture, Memory, Polish-Jewish relations, Post-World War II, Survival, Włocławek, Żychlin

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Two times over the course of my visit to Żychlin, my host Henryk told me a story about a young Jewish boy who survived the war and returned to the town to collect his family’s jewels. A bad Pole threatened the boy’s life unless he showed him where the valuables were hidden. The frightened boy showed him. They sat down at a table and for each one item the bad Pole gave the boy, he took several for himself. The boy took out a roll of money and offered to buy the jewelry. Then, the brother of the bad Pole came in and saw what was going on. He told his brother, “Here, I have two bottles of vodka. We’ll drink together.” Then he gave the boy all his money and jewels back.

The story made an impression on Henryk. He said a woman from Włocławek had told it to him. Because they were talking on the phone, he didn’t want her to tell him the real names of the men. He wants to save it for when they meet in person. That kind of information is better shared face-to-face. The second time he told me this story, it occurred to me I might know the woman he had spoken with. Indeed, it turned out that it was Mirosława Stojak, who has made it her personal quest to learn all she can about Włocławek Jews. Henryk promptly called Mira so we could talk. I met Mira during my first visit to Włocławek in 2014, and then again when I was there in June.

Mira uses her talents as a poet, writer, and actress to share the stories of Włocławek Jews. In her book Utkane Sercem Włocławskim Żydom, she includes the story that so captivated Henryk, called “Two Bottles of Vodka.” Here is the translation of the story:

Two Bottles of Vodka

Utkane Sercem Włocławskim Żydom by Mirosława StojakWinter 1946 was cold. All around, snow covered homes, roads, and trees. Long icicles hung from the roofs. On a January afternoon, Ariel came on the snowy road to the home of his relatives. Before the war, together with his sisters, he was there a few times. During his last visit in 1939 Ariel’s father, a merchant from Żychlin, knew that soon Germans would attack Poland militarily. Sixteen-year-old Ariel, a short boy, emaciated after the experience of the camp, walked pensively listening to the scrape of his creaking shoes. In his ears rang what his father once told him:

“You have to save yourself, and whoever survives should return here…”

He knew perfectly well that his visit would not be viewed happily by the new owners of the house. He was even afraid that he would be treated poorly. He wasn’t sure, either, if the home still stood, or if it was bombed during the war. He hoped not. He walked slowly, every once in a while touching an icy rock. He passed ruins of houses and ashes, people shoveled snow. He heard dogs barking. Before the war he loved dogs, and they even had two beautiful German shepherds at home. Now, they reminded him of scenes from the camp and he was horribly afraid of them. In Auschwitz they were trained to murder. Ariel picked up his pace. Soon the sun would set and it would be dark. After a while, he saw the home of his uncles and aunts, who didn’t much care for visitors during the war. Fearfully, he knocked on the door. A young man stood before him, tall and well built. He had an unfriendly expression on his face, as if he had been expecting him. With his strong hand, he pulled Ariel inside, shutting the door, and yelled,

“Where is it?”

The frightened Jew led him down the stairs to the basement, and then the “brute” pushed him against a wall and demanded he say where the treasure is. A few strikes of a hammer against a wall and in the hands of his “captor” appeared a casket. Now, the boy was led upstairs and into the kitchen. The man grabbed his shirt and sat him on a chair at the table, then sat down across from him and opened the box. Inside was the ancestral jewelry of Ariel’s family. There were brilliantly shiny rings, broaches, and necklaces. Taking the valuables out of the casket, the man put them on the table, between himself and Ariel, loudly counting:

“Mine, mine, yours, mine, mine, mine, yours, mine, mine…”

When he finished, there were just three family heirlooms in front of Ariel. Tears appeared in his eyes. They reminded him of his mother, who always wore a string of white pearls around her neck when she went to synagogue. Now they lay in front of him on the table awaiting their verdict. The boy slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a role of banknotes, explaining that for him the jewelry has sentimental value for his family and he would gladly buy them back. The “brute,” without thinking, took all the valuables lying on the table for himself, and in a deep resonant voice called out,

“Józek!”

In the kitchen doorway appeared a “man like an oak,” big and broad-shouldered, who asked contemptuously,

“What?” and looked at the table.

The brute moved aside, his eyes not leaving the valuables. Józek who was much older was supposed to settle the matter. Ariel began quickly explaining, persuading him to agree to his proposition to buy the jewelry. He asked Józek to take the money and give back the valuables and then everyone would be satisfied. Józek thought; he silently looked at the young Jew and the table with an appraising eye. Frightened, Ariel imagined them closing him in the basement and starving him, or God forbid, murdering him. Wouldn’t it be ironic to die here and now, after he had the good fortune to miss death at the hands of the Nazis? After a while, Józek broke the silence, yelling:

“Karol!”

A boy who was perhaps eight years old came into the kitchen. Freckled, with wavy hair and an intelligent look. From the pile of money lying on the table, Józek took one bill, gave it to the boy and told him:

“Go and buy two bottles of vodka.”

The boy, like a shot, ran from the cottage. Józek pushed the jewelry and money in the direction of Arial and said:

“Take it and go!”

Ariel ran as fast as his legs would take him. It was a marathon. He didn’t even touch the rock; he didn’t hear the barking dogs. He sped ahead with all the strength in his legs, not looking back. When he got to the station, the train stood ready for departure.

Mirosława Stojak recounting stories about Włocławek Jews, October 1, 2015

Mirosława Stojak recounting stories about Włocławek Jews, October 1, 2015

Mirka told me she met the boy from the story when he visited Włocławek (now of course, he’s an elderly man). His wife wore some beautiful jewelry; she doesn’t know if these were pieces he recovered, but it is nice to think that they were. At his request, she changed all the names when she wrote down the story. Nor did she write about the further misfortunes the boy experienced before he found his way to safety in Israel. I won’t either—the most important thing is that he survived.

How Żychlin Remembers, part 2

01 Thursday Sep 2016

Posted by in antisemitism, Jewish Ghetto, Memory, Polish-Jewish Heritage, Polish-Jewish relations, Post-World War II, Pre-World War II, stereotypes, Synagogues, World War II, Żychlin

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The next morning I met Tadeusz Kafarski for a tour of the city. He was with Józef Staszewski, the director of the Żychlin branch of the Association of Children of War. Because Józef was born in 1929, he remembers wartime better than Tadeusz, who was only a year old when the Nazis invaded. The two sometimes disagreed about details, but together they reconstructed for me Jewish life in Żychlin. As they pointed to the buildings that stand here and now, their descriptions transported me back and forth through time, to prewar life, wartime murder, and communist era absence. I had the odd sensation as I did so many times on this trip of being both here (in the present) and then (in the past), my mind trying to reconcile what stood before my eyes with what used to be. My guides led me back in time with varied fragments of information:

On Łukasieńskiego Street, we passed concrete apartment buildings built in the 1970s on the site of the second, larger Jewish ghetto.

Mr. Helmer, the richest Jew in town, lived across from the market square, to the left of Narutowicza Street, in what is now a well maintained two story building.

One block south, near the synagogue (the blue Star of David on the map below) on Kilińskiego Street, we passed the former home of a Jewish doctor, a building that used to be a dairy collection point, and another that was the preschool Tadeusz attended. A man named Merc lived nearer the synagogue. Behind some houses was the Jewish slaughterhouse, but Christian Poles also bought meat from there.

Jews and Poles lived side by side, even though this part of town was predominantly Jewish. Today, this section of town is run down though these particular buildings seem in good shape.

Map of Żychlin 1940-42 showing the ghettos in red, the first one is on the left and the second is on the right. The dark green shows the main areas where Jews lived--note that most were not in what became the ghetto. That meant gentiles had to move out of those areas when the Jews were forced to move in.

Map of Żychlin 1940-42 showing the ghettos in red, the first one is on the left and the second is on the right. The dark green shows the main areas where Jews lived–note that most were not in what became the ghetto. That meant gentiles had to move out of the ghetto areas when the Jews were forced to move into them.

As we wound through the dusty streets, the contemporary residents stared at us suspiciously, though some who know my guides greeted them, “Dzień dobry (Good day).”

The patch of tall weeds in front of the synagogue (on Jana Kulińskiego Street) used to be a fenced garden. The garden continued to be maintained after the war, even though the Polish residents used the synagogue as a warehouse, as did the Nazis. The lower sections of the windows were bricked in and new doorways were installed in the sides of the building to facilitate loading and unloading.

What’s left of the Żychlin synagogue. Note the windows used to extend much father down, and the more recent doorway (now blocked) added when the building was used as a warehouse. The weedy area in the foreground used to be a fenced garden.
Pan Józef beside the site of the well and mikvah
Worn stones–something I learned to value as a student archeologist. These were used in place of asphalt before World War II

As a child, Józef went inside several times with his parents, though he could only describe the general layout of the interior. The candlelit altar was on the east wall, the main entrance on the west. Above the entrance was a balcony that would have been for the choir in a church but in the synagogue was for women to pray in. In a neighboring building, the rabbi would change. On the other side of the synagogue were a well (with the best water in town) and mikvah. After the war, everyone used that bathhouse.

Józef said, “There is just one faith; Jews believe in God just like we do.” He declared children played together regardless of religion. He described distinctive aspects of the Jewish population. Men wore head covers and beards. They would take their shoes off in the synagogue, but had to keep their head covered. The Jewish “priest” was the only one with side curls. He wore a black hat, black clothes, and a white shirt. Jews stayed home Friday and Saturday; they didn’t work. They held their hands at their waist and rocked as they prayed. They read scrolls. Jews used to bury their dead in a sitting position with money on their eyes. Men carried the unclothed, shrouded body to the cemetery. They returned to God as they began. When they left the cemetery after the burial, mourners dispersed in different directions . He asked why and was told it was so the spirit doesn’t return home with them.

Are these personal memories or stereotypes picked up from other sources?

My guides told me about a man named Rozenberg. They pointed to the yard of his bakery, and then we walked around to what used to be its storefront on Narutowicza Street. Rozenberg lived in a multi-story home on the other side of the street. He married a Christian named Czajka. Jozek said the Rozenbergs’ children Krysia and Rudek were Jewish. He played with the boy. After her husband died, Czajka married her brother-in-law, a judge. They had two more children. After the war, the family was harassed by the police so they sold all their buildings and went to Israel. One child moved to Norway.

The Germans occupied the town on September 15. At first, they didn’t treat anyone harshly, but they did take their property—first the stores and richer buildings owned by Jews, and then jewelry and everything anyone had that was valuable.

The main entrance to the ghetto used to be across from Rozenberg’s bakery. This was the second ghetto, established later for the poorer Jews. The first ghetto, where the richer Jews were sent, was on the grounds of an old factory outside the center of town. As Jews were forced into the ghetto, Poles whose homes were within the ghetto territory had to move to homes on the other side of the street—homes that had been emptied of their Jewish residents.

In July 1942, the second ghetto was liquidated. It took five hours because thousands of people were loaded onto wagons, and then everything was removed from their homes and segregated into piles. Some Poles helped, forced to work under threat of death. My guides disputed claims that Poles plundered Jewish possessions. They insisted the Germans took everything valuable, then piled up all the remaining dirty and broken things and burned them.

We crossed the street to the main square. Right there in front of the church there used to be a row of market stalls run by Jews. The church owned the land, but didn’t have any problem with Jewish venders. We continued behind the church and across another market square to the town library. This solid stone structure was originally built for Hempel, the Nazi mayor of the town remembered for his cruelty.

My guides Tadeusz Kafarski and Józef Staszewski in the town square
The Żychlin town square
Director of the Żychlin Library, Ewa Andrzejewska
Nazi Mayor Hempel’s villa is now the Żychlin Public Library

Tadeusz told me the wartime mayor’s villa was built with tombstones from the Jewish cemetery. Jews were pressed into service carrying the heavy stones. It was backbreaking labor made more difficult by the extreme heat. When one of the workers asked for a drink of water, the Nazi officer shot and killed him. Then, he held up a stick threateningly and asked who else wants a drink. No one dared ask for water after that. Józef told the story a little differently. He said the man who asked for water was dragged to the nearby lake and drowned.

Pani Ewa Andrzejewska, the director of the library, said her aunt who took care of Hempel’s children described him as ruthless, “A typical German.” He furnished his house with things he took from the richer people in the city. He rode a white horse. She also suggested my guides were a little too invested in showing Poles in a positive light to me—emphasizing heroism and victimization and minimizing complicity. She said that on one hand, Jews and Poles lived peacefully together. She was raised to not feel any prejudice. But on the other, many have negative sentiments toward Jews. She even went further to say Poles are genetically indisposed toward Jews. I challenged her on this saying that since sentiments toward Jews have changed over time, it’s a matter of history, not biology. She still didn’t agree, and repeated that Poles have a problem with this.

A dream of mine would be to help preserve and maybe even rebuild the town synagogue. My hosts said the TMHŻ has looked into turning it into their meeting space. Ewa said the ownership of the building is in dispute. So for now it just sits there, slowly crumbling away.

Leaving town the next day, I was once again stopped at the railway crossing as a train sped by. I didn’t mind having one last moment in this town where my great grandmother lived. I felt saddened and rooted by what I had learned, and grateful for the acquaintances who showed me Żychlin as it is now and as it was then.

How Żychlin Remembers, part 1

01 Thursday Sep 2016

Posted by in Bolimów, Jewish Ghetto, Memory, Polish-Jewish Heritage, Polish-Jewish relations, Post-World War II, Pre-World War II, Sobota, Synagogues, World War II, Żychlin

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My visit to Żychlin began and ended at the railway crossing. I had meandered up from the highway, passing through the small communities of Bolimów and Sobota where my ancestors lived over a century ago, and had to stop as a train sped by. I called pan Henryk to make sure I was on the right road. He assured me I was, and met me a few minutes later. Henryk, whom I met in 2014 through his website Historia Żychlina, had arranged meetings, tours, and interviews for me with resident fans of local history.

Bolimów synagogue, now the police station at 6 Farna Street
Central Square, Sobota

Tadeusz Kafarski, Vice President of the Association of Enthusiasts of Żychlin History (TMHŻ) joined us for a look around the train station. He and Henryk pointed across the tracks where during World War II transports took 2500 Jews from the Żychlin ghetto to Kulmhof (Chełmno) Camp near Poznań. They debated exactly where the trains had stood, but later, Henryk and his wife took me to a platform across from the main train station, saying that is where it happened.

Pan Tadeusz describing the transports that took away the Jewish residents of Żychlin in 1942.
Żychlin Train station, boarded up and unused
Looking across the express train tracks to the platform where Jews were loaded onto transports
A closer look at the same platform

The station building signals the effects of communism and its demise on this community. My guides told me the prewar station was imposing and beautiful. The postwar building that stands today—boarded up in places, broken windows and graffiti in others—is more functional than attractive. Its size shows that this used to be a major stop on the route from Moscow to Berlin. But since the express tracks were laid following the fall of communism, only a few trains stop here each day. Instead, every few minutes, one zips by at breakneck speed. The place was deserted, except for a group of teenagers who were hanging out.

Tadeusz told me he remembers the transports as they left the station with their human cargo in 1942, even though he was only four years old. During the war, when his family was forced to move from their home, as were many residents, they were resettled in a former Jewish residence. From the street it looked like a normal cottage with a living room on one side and a kitchen on the other. A distinctive feature of this house, though, was the stairs from the kitchen to the basement and the door from the basement to the courtyard behind the house. This private entrance was used sometimes by the men of the family who didn’t want to be seen returning in their dirty clothes.

Others whom I met during my visit shared similar memories of childhood. Janusz Tomczak, who was a teenager during the war, remembers seeing the land covered with wagons. Only later, he understood that these belonged to the Jews who were being taken to the camps. Józef Staszewski was with some older boys when the ghetto was being liquidated. It was a few days before Easter. He was a scout at the time and he made a vow to God he that he would choose death before he betrayed his friends. A couple of blocks from where they stood, Nazis loaded people into wagons and took them away. Now he knows that the captives were segregated by age and ability, and the children and elderly were led to special vehicles and then gassed inside them.

To be continued….

 

Threading the Needle

27 Wednesday Jul 2016

Posted by 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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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.

 

The Piwko Saga, Vital Records Version

10 Tuesday Mar 2015

Posted by in Archives, Brześć Kujawski, Family, Names, Piwko, Pre-World War II, Skierniewice, Sobota, Włocławek, Żychlin

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I’ve found records connecting my great grandparents’ lives to five different towns in central Poland.

Hiel Mayer Piwko's birth certificate, 1854

Hiel Mayer Piwko’s birth certificate, 1854

A birth certificate in the Łódź archive states that Josek Piwko, a thirty-year-old tanner appeared with two witnesses to report that his wife Cywia nee Raych, age 26, gave birth to a son Hil Majer on October 26/ November 7, 1854[1] at eight in the evening in the city of Skierniewice.

Żychlin book of residents, Walfisz family first half. Hinda, third from the top, was crossed out when she married and moved to Skierniewice.

Żychlin book of residents, Walfisz family first half. Hinda, third from the top, was crossed out when she married and moved to Skierniewice.

In the Kutno archive, the book of Żychlin residents includes Hinda Walfisz, born August 14, 1854 (making her two months older than her future husband). Others in the household include her parents and two younger sisters. Her father Nusen was born June 14, 1817 in Wyszogród. His profession is listed as belfer, (According to JewishGen this means an assistant melamed in cheder [religious teacher]). His parents were Jamoch and Hinda nee Pigel. Her mother Pesa was born February 5, 1831 in Żychlin to Dawid Losman and Tema nee Majerek. The two other girls were Tema, born March 28, 1858 and Łaja, born May 2, 1861.

Żychlin Book of Residents, Walfisz family second half.

Żychlin Book of Residents, Walfisz family second half.

Hinda’s name is crossed out and a note is added on June 22, 1873 that she moved to Skierniwice to live with her husband Hil Majer Piwko. Hinda’s sister Tema eventually married Hil Majer’s younger brother Jankel Wolf, from whom the Zurich Piwkos descended.

The next document, found in the Łowicz archive, is the marriage certificate of Hil and Hinda’s oldest daughter, Liba Cywja, and Jankel Winawer in 1891. She was 18 and he was 20. His family was from Warsaw, while her family was living in Sobota, a village outside of Łowicz and not far from Żychlin. So at some point, Hil and Hinda moved from Skierniewice to Sobota. I wonder why? I’m told it was common to move from smaller to larger settlements, so why move from a town to a village?

Liba Piwko and Jankel Winawer's marriage record, 1891

Liba Piwko and Jankel Winawer’s marriage record, 1891

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By 1901, when a son, Abram Janas (born in 1877) married Blima Kolska, the Piwko family was listed as living in Brześć Kujawski. Abram and Blima were married in Blima’s hometown of Kłodawa. I found this marriage certificate online; the Poznań archive has digitized these records.

Abram Piwko and Blima Kolska married in Kłodawa in 1901

Abram Piwko and Blima Kolska married in Kłodawa in 1901

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In the Włocławek archive, I found the Piwkos in the book of residents of Brześć Kujawski. This is my Holy Grail—the thing I’ve been looking for—a document that includes my grandmother. My guide for the day, Tomasz Kawski, a historian who has written about Jews of the area, said, “It’s a miracle [cuda]” I found it. I agree.

Piwkos in the Brześć Kujawski Book of Residents

Piwkos in the Brześć Kujawski Book of Residents

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The document lists Hil Majer, son of Icek and Cywja nee Rajch, born October 26/ November 7, 1854 in Skierniewice, married, townsman, Jewish faith, trader (handlarz), and Hinda Piwko nee Wolfisz, daughter of Nusen and Pesa nee Losman, born August 2/14, 1854 in Żychlin, married, townswoman, Jewish faith, [supported] by her husband. In addition, five daughters are listed: Liba Cywja (b. January 27/February 2, 1874), Ryfka (b. December 20, 1884/ January1, 1885), Hana (b. October 11/23, 1886), Małka (b. December 10, 1895), and Haja (b. January 21/ February 2, 1894). Haja is Halina, my babcia. So I finally know her Jewish name.

The document confirms several details that have been passed down in the family; it also raises new questions:

  • All the sisters are listed as having been born in Żychlin. Perhaps Hinda returned to her native home to give birth? Or maybe it was just customary to list girls as being born in their mother’s hometown?
  • There is a note from July 16, 1906 that Ryfka (called Regina on Pat and Pini’s family trees) married Pinkus Kolski and moved to Piątek. The dates don’t correspond exactly to information from other sources which say Pinkus and Ryfka had a son Natan already in 1905. It might just be that the note was added a while after the wedding. Still, why then wasn’t it also noted that Ryfka died giving birth?
  • According to another note on the page, Małka died in Włocławek on June 7/20, 1912. This fits the story Mom told me about Babcia’s younger sister who committed suicide at age 17. No one knew why, but they suspected it was related to unhappiness in love. My mom was fascinated with her story. Maybe it is because she was named after her (the Christianized family tree lists Małka as Maria Renata). Maybe it is because of my mom’s interest in psychology. She wondered what would have compelled Małka to take her own life. Was her love unrequited? Did her father forbid it? Mom told me that Małka was beautiful, with dark hair and a dark complexion unlike the other girls in the family who were fair. In 2011, when I found Babcia’s family photos in the envelope labeled “Do Not Open,” and showed them to Mama, one of the few ones she recognized was Małka’s (though of course mom called her Maria).
  • Hana is my auntie Nunia. The document confirms her birth name and birth year, but the birthdate is different—her US records list her birthday as July 21. Similarly, my grandmother’s birthday is different on her US records—July 16. They also changed her birth years, claiming to be four years younger than they actually were, but this was a known secret in the family.

It is not clear from this document when the family moved to Brześć Kujawski. A note by the first three names states they were registered as residents of Skierniewice; it’s dated April 3, 1903. So where were they living at the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th centuries? In Skierniewice, Sobota, or Brześć Kujawski? Or could they have been in Włocławek already? Hil Majer is on the Włocławek voters list in 1907, and his obituary says he died there in 1929. Aunt Pat lists Hinda’s place of death as Włocławek in 1933. All these places are within one hundred miles of each other, more or less in a line headed northwest from Warsaw.

And why aren’t some of the other siblings listed? Jakób, the oldest boy may well have been living on his own already. But what about Sarah who supposedly married Saul Winawer in Brześć Kujawski in 1899? Or Efraim (who changed his name to Philip in the US) who was two years younger than Sarah? Why is there no mention of Rachel? She was born around 1890, between Hana and Haja who are listed. Rachel married Pinchas Kolski after the death of her sister Ryfka, so she should still have been living at home when this record was made. Conversely, why is Liba listed as single and living with her parents? Wasn’t she with her husband, Jankel (Jakub) Winawer, whom she married in 1891 in Sobota?

Of course, I wonder about the records I can’t find. The vital records for Jews of Żychlin and Brześć Kujawski no longer exist. My new Holy Grail would be to find Babcia’s marriage certificates and the birth certificates of my mom and her brothers. Vital records are made public only after 100 years, so some of these might be available through the Civil Registration Office (Urząd Stanu Cywilnego). But do they even exist? Were they destroyed by war, or somehow expunged when Babcia broke ties with her old (Jewish) life and took on her new Christian identity?

[1] According to JewishGen, when two dates appear on vital records, the first refers to the Julian calendar used by the Russians while the second refers to the Gregorian calendar, used in most of Europe.