Tag Archives: Maria Bereda(y) Galbraith

George Bereday and His Vision of Education

09 Thursday Jan 2020

Posted by in Bereda, Family, Photographs, Pre-World War II

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I was happy to receive a package from Poland yesterday–a surprise post-holiday gift? In fact, it was a book by Justyna Wojniak titled Szkoła – Polityka – Prawo: George Zygmunt Fijałkowsky-Bereday i Jego Wizja Edukacji (School, Politics, Law: George Z. F. Bereday and His Vision of Education).

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School, Politics, Law: George Z. F. Bereday and His Vision of Education by Justyna Wojniak

The author contacted me a year ago to talk about my mother and her brother for her doctoral dissertation about my uncle George Bereday, who was instrumental in establishing the discipline of Comparative Education. Most of the book focuses on Bereday’s scholarly work on the idea of equal education for all, methods for comparing educational systems in different countries, as well as his concerns about equal rights and social justice generally. I will read the whole book eventually, but the first chapter is most relevant to my search for family heritage. Wojniak cites this blog in the chapter about my uncle’s childhood and early life in Poland, and even discusses my mom’s service in the Polish Underground Army during World War II. It’s great to see my work being put to use, and translated into Polish for Polish speakers to read.

I was also amazed to find a photo on page 28 of my babcia with a young George/Jurek on one side and a young Maria/my Mama on the other. They are all smiling, and Babcia holds both children by the hand. It’s winter–they are wrapped up in warm coats, hats, gloves, and boots, walking along a gravel road with barren trees in the background. I would guess my mom is about six years old and Uncle George about eight, which would make it around 1928 or 1929. Based on the time and rural setting, my guess is it was taken at Dębinki, the estate outside of Warsaw where they lived from about 1928-1934. Mama always said those were the happiest years of her life.

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George/Jerzy, Halina/my Babcia, and Maria/my Mama Bereda in Poland around 1928 or 1929.

I have never seen this photo before. In fact, I don’t recall ever seeing a photo of my mother as a child. And even more surprisingly, the source of the photo is my own cousin Krysia! We’ve been in touch, and I’m counting on her to send me a better copy than this one.

Mama’s Room

16 Friday Mar 2018

Posted by in Family, Memory

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It would be easy to avoid this room, to bypass the emptiness left behind by Mama. But instead, I find myself drawn to this space, where memories run in my head like movies, and also where I feel the pain of loss.

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Mama’s place

Here is where Mama spent more and more of her time, in her hospital bed. Though nothing is there now, it still feels full.

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Self Portrait, 1980, oil on canvas

The self-portrait I did in high school hung on the wall behind her.

Small gifts from various visits
Some of Mama’s favorite books
Family photos

Traces remain of Mama’s life in this space. Small gifts I brought her, or others gave her. Garden books. Mama leafed through the pages over and over again. She enjoyed the colors and shapes of the plants long after she stopped reading. Photographs of family. Our images surrounded her even when we couldn’t be there in the flesh.

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Krystyna’s bed

The place left behind by Krystyna, who loved her like a daughter, and whom I loved like a sister. There’s a double hole without Krystyna, who survived barely a month longer than Mama.

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The view of the garden

I still love this room, not only for what it was—a safe haven for Mama as she faded from this world—but also for what it is. Its walls of windows show off the garden. I watch as the sun slowly melts the remaining patches of snow, until clouds blow in and threaten another storm. It’s bright and spring-like inside, with the green and white walls and honey wood floor. A space waiting to be reinvented, maybe into a playroom for the kids, or a sitting room for guests, but where I’ll still be able to visit Mama resting quietly in her bed, while Krystyna swirls around her, a source of both company and comfort.

AK Verification, Part III

02 Saturday Sep 2017

Posted by in Archives, Bereda, Family, Memory, Polish Culture, Polish Underground Army, Warsaw, World War II

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NOTE: This overview of my recent discoveries at the Polish Underground Movement Study Trust, Studium Polskiej Podziemniej (SPP) got so long I am publishing it in three separate posts. Here is part III. During the German occupation of Poland during World War II, the Polish Underground Army worked in secret to resist, sabotage, and fight against the Nazis. Another name for the Polish forces is “AK,” short for “Armia Krajowa,” or “Home Army.” I talk about the soldiers as “the partisans;” in Polish sources they are also called “konspiracja,” “the conspiracy.”

Sorry it’s taken a while for me to get to part III. The semester has begun which means I’ve been very busy.

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Pencil sketch of Maria Bereday from the 1950s, signed Ditri. Friends tell me she looks like a spy.

All of the questions the archivist Krystyna asked me about the names Mama went by paid off because she found another file; the envelope was mislabeled “Maria Fijułkowska.” Inside was a six-page report, relacja, Mama had written titled, “Outline of Courier Work.”

Initially, neither Krystyna nor I found this file because not only was “Bereda” missing, but Fijałkowska was also misspelled. Krystyna wrote “Fijałkowska” on a new envelope; I don’t know why she didn’t also add the Bereda, even after I pointed out that Mama’s full name was hand-written in large letters along the left margin of the document’s first page. Around World War II, the family usually used the name Bereda-Fijałkowska. Mama told me they added the Fijałkowski/a, which was grandpa Bereda’s mother’s maiden name and a name associated with the Polish gentry, because of Babcia’s social aspirations.

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Mama’s name (Bereda-Fijałkowska) and pseudonym “Renata” in the margins of her typewritten report.

Mama’s report matches up with some of the stories she told me, and confirms some of what she did during the occupation. It also gives more details about the way her courier unit “Zadra,” was organized, and how couriers carried out their duties. The report is dry and factual. It contains no specifics about her emotional engagement or personal thoughts. A historian might find it interesting for what it reveals about the operations of the Underground conspiracy. I keep trying to look beyond the words to find the person behind them.

She writes, that “Zadra” started out very small, and because the work wasn’t systematized, the couriers were on call at all times. “By the end of 1942,” she writes, “the number of couriers stabilized at 15, and that group became close and experienced, and worked together for a long time without changing members.” This all changed in the fall of 1943 when the occupier, okupant, limited train travel to Germans only. Overnight, the courier corps dropped from 60 to just six who spoke German well and had German papers. “The work for these couriers during this time was nonstop,” she continues, “The number of trips for each courier came to 10-12 per month, depending on the route.” My mother doesn’t state it in the report, but she must have been one of the couriers who carried out missions during this time. Some of her most vivid stories were about traveling in the train cars with an assumed identity as a “volksdeutch,” a half-German whose father was fighting for the Reich on the Eastern front.

After about two months, the courier corps were reorganized and expanded, with more reserve couriers brought into regular service. In the half year before the Warsaw Uprising, the number of couriers in her unit approached 40, and overall reached 100.

The duties of the couriers included delivering coded and uncoded orders hidden in ordinary objects such as candles or paint, special messages that had to be handed to specific commanders, and large sums of money (1/4-12 million zloties in 500 zloty bills). Some missions involved carrying the messages brought by paratroopers they called “ptaszki,” “little birds.” This is the code name for the cichociemni, the officers who parachuted in from the West carrying money and messages from the Polish Government in Exile.

The report includes an example of a special mission Mama undertook at the end of 1943. Instead of being briefed by her usual commander “Wanda”, “Beata,” the head of communication with the west, did it. “Wanda” gave her a special coded message she had to hand directly to the chief of staff or the commander of the Radom District. This was to occur in private with no witnesses. Mama also had to memorize and deliver the oral message, “The commanders of the divisions and subdivisions of “Burza” require complete secrecy in the event of the invasion of the Russians.” Burza, Tempest, was the code name for the Warsaw Uprising.

Because the chief of staff wasn’t available on the day Mama arrived, she had to spend the night at a safe house. The next day, she delivered the messages to Chief of Staff “Rawicz” [his real name was Jan Stencel or Stenzel], but had to spend another two days before “Rawicz” returned from the forest, where the partisans were hiding out, with the required response for the Central Command in Warsaw.

Reading this sparked another memory for me. I think it was a big deal for Mama to stay away from home for so long, especially because her father didn’t know she was in the Underground. Her mother did know, though, and they hatched an alibi about a visit to Mama’s fiance’s family. Or maybe this is the story she told the authorities on the train to explain why she was returning several days late. Hopefully, my brothers remember this story, too, and can confirm one of these versions.

The documents from the Studium Polski Podziemnej in London have been a lynch pin that holds together information from a variety of sources. While I was there, I also found a citation for Communication, Sabotage, and Diversion: Women in the Home Army, Łączność, Sabotaż, Dywersja: Kobiety w Armii Krajowej, published in 1985. The book was written in Polish but published in London. I found a copy of it at an online used bookstore whose brick and mortar shop is in Warsaw. I called, and sure enough they had it in the shop, so I picked it up while I was in Warsaw. It contains the recollections of the head of the Women’s division of Central Command (VK) Janina Karasiówna, the oficer who confirmed Mama’s verification file. Another chapter contains the report of Natalia Żukowska who was the assistant commander of Mama’s courier unit; Mama identifies her by her pseudonym “Klara.” From Żukowska’s report, I learned that “Zadra” was the name used by the couriers who had been working with the unit for the longest, but in 1943 the name was changed to “Dworzec Zachodni.” Reviewing Mama’s documents, I see now that she identified her unit as Zadra-Dworzec Zachodni in one place. She underlined it, too. Until I read this book, I had thought Dworzec Zachodni, which means Western Station, referred to Zadra’s location, not an alternative cryptonym. And then there’s this: the names of the 15 couriers, including “Renata.” That’s Mama’s pseudonym; her last name is misidentified as “Brodzka” instead of “Bereda,” but Natalia writes, “Unfortunately, it wasn’t possible to decrypt all of the last names” (p. 118).

Mama was proud of her service for her country, but she was also painfully aware of the cost of war. She called herself a pacifist and the war solidified her abhorrence of armed conflict. I remember her asking, “Are there times when fighting is necessary?” I could tell from her voice that she wanted to believe all conflicts can be resolved peaceably. But her experience had taught her otherwise.

AK Verification: Part II

13 Sunday Aug 2017

Posted by in Archives, Bereda, Family, Poland, Polish Culture, Polish Underground Army, Warsaw, World War II

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NOTE: This overview of my recent discoveries at the Polish Underground Movement Study Trust, Studium Polskiej Podziemniej (SPP) got so long I am publishing it in three separate posts. Here is part II. During the German occupation of Poland during World War II, the Polish Underground Army worked in secret to resist, sabotage, and fight against the Nazis. Another name for the Polish forces is “AK,” short for “Armia Krajowa,” or “Home Army.” I talk about the soldiers as “the partisans;” in Polish sources they are also called “konspiracja,” “the conspiracy.”

 

The file at the archive of the Polish Underground Movement Study Trust, Studium Polski Podziemnej (SPP), contained the same verification questionnaire I had from my mother’s papers and so much more. On the envelope itself is the following identifying information:

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Information on the envelope containing Mama’s papers at the SPP

I ‘ve learned how to decipher all of this. Here’s what it means:

Cadet Bereda-Fijałkowska Maria

2.785/46 [record #]     “Renata” [her pseudonym]

   26. VI 1922 Wilno [birth date and place of birth]

 

            Central Command division V/Women “Zadra” courier

Uprising: after the fall of the Wola district of Warsaw

                                    “Koło” Group-liaison officer [the names of her units]

The documents inside the envelope confirm Mama’s service and rank in the AK [Home Army], as well as her receipt of the Cross of Bravery. She submitted her questionnaire on March 9, 1946, her commanding officer confirmed her claims on April 15th of the same year, and the official report was completed the next day on April 16. The final report says the head of the Polish Army himself, General Bór-Komorowski, confirmed her receipt of the Cross of Bravery. Here is what looks like his signature on the document:

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General Bór Komorowski’s signature verifying Mama’s service in the Polish Home Army. It looks like he wrote “Stwierdzam (I confirm)  16/IV 46” above his signature. Note the “gn” for “generał.”

Mama started military training in middle school, gimnasium, at the Klementyna Hoffman School in the mid-1930s. She continued training in high school, liceum, and entered the Underground in June 1941, right after finishing high school. She took courses on how to be a courier, the organization of the Underground and of the German military, as well as marksmanship, topography, and first aid. She was in “Zadra” Group, part of the women’s courier corps in the 5th Division of the Central Command. She delivered encoded communications, money, and oral messages on the routes between Warsaw and Krakow, Radom and Skarżysko-Kamienna. In these latter two places, she acted as a go-between for the partisans in the surrounding forests and Central Command in Warsaw. From 1942-4, she also worked as an instructor training other women to serve in the Underground.

When the Warsaw Uprising began on August 1, 1944, she was with her unit “Zadra” in Wola, a district to the northwest of downtown. A handwritten note on her typed questionnaire says “wounded on route from Wola to the Old City.” The handwriting is different from Mama’s distinctive, almost calligraphic style, so somebody else must have added it after Mama submitted her answers.

The archivist Krystyna Zatylna said that the heaviest fighting in the first days of the Uprising was in Wola. Mama was lucky to have survived. By August 8, 40,000 civilians died in Wola.

The Home Army regrouped in the Old City. Mama got separated from her unit and joined “Koło” group. She is referred to here as a “liaison,” “lączniczka,” rather than “courier,” “kurierka.” Both terms refer to people entrusted with delivering critical information. Initially, however, she worked as a medic on Długa Street. When the Germans pushed the partisans out of the Old City, they escaped to the City Center, Śródmieście, via the sewers.

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Document dated September 9, 1944 that allowed “Renata” to travel through the City Center during the Warsaw Uprising.

The file contains two papers dated from the Uprising. No doubt Mama brought them with her to London to help corroborate her report. These tattered notes—physical proof of her service—must have been very precious to her. The first, on a third of a piece of paper that has deep creases from having been folded many times, is dated September 9, 1944. It states:

I assert that cadet Renata is a liaison of “Koło” Group. The conditions of her service require movement within the region between Savior Square and Napoleon Square.

The note is signed by the Chief of Staff of “Koło” Group, Major Krynicki. The document contains a round stamp with a crowned eagle in the middle surrounded by the words “Motorized Transport Brigade, “Brygada Dyspozycyjna Zmotoryzowana.” Mama must have shown this note at barricades on the streets so the AK soldiers would let her pass. Savior Square and Napoleon Square are in the City Center, which means she retreated through the sewers before September 9. I can, however, imagine her dodging Nazi bullets as she ran across the barricaded Jerusalem Street carrying messages from Napoleon Square to Savior Square. These names would sound good in a poem. Too bad I’m not a poet.

The second paper dates from October 3, 1944, the last day of the Uprising. Signed by Colonel Bolesław Kołodziejski, the commander of “Koło” Group, it is titled, “Provisional certificate (to be exchanged after the war for official recognition).” The text reads:

I confirm that “Renata Lewandowska” was decorated for her activity during the Uprising from August 1 to October 3 1944 with the Cross of Bravery for the first time.

Based on: the personal confirmation of the head of the Warsaw Corps of the A.K. Brigadier General Montera and his assistant Colonel Wachowski, as told to the commander of “Koło” Group during the last days of the Uprising.

“Montera” was the code name for General Antoni Chruściel, who led the Home Army (AK) in Warsaw during the Uprising. Kołodziejski was also a code name. Elsewhere in the documents, Mama writes that his real name was Zygmunt Trzaska-Reliszko.

Mama writes that she was promoted twice; in September 1944 she became a cadet, plutonowy podchorązy and in October she was promoted again to ensign, podporucznik. It looks as though the Verification Commission could only confirm the first promotion. A handwritten note on Mama’s questionnaire says they weren’t able to contact her commanding officer from “Koło” Group to verify the second promotion.

Also in the file are two statements written by the commander of the women’s branch of the 5th division of Central Command (V.K. KG) Major Janina Karaś, dated April 15, 1946. In them Karaś, also known as Karasiówna, confirmed that Mama earned the rank of cadet in “Koło” Group, and was also granted the Cross of Bravery for her service. Clearly, the Verification Commission contacted Karaś to corroborate Mama’s claims on her questionnaire. One of Karaś’s statements reads:

As the chief of the V.K. [5th Women’s] Central Command I certify that in the course of her service as a courier, “Renata” Maria Bereda Fijałkowska distinguished herself on the route Warsaw-Krakow and Warsaw-Skarzysko-Radom with bravery and decision to take risks. Traveling with German false papers she carried money, mail, and oral orders /for example related to the order for [Operation] Tempest. She earned the Cross of Bravery for her service.

Operation Tempest, “Burza,” was the code name for the beginning of the Warsaw Uprising. In other words, some of the messages Mama carried between Central Command and the partisans in the forest involved critical details about the Polish Underground’s battle to free the capital city from German occupation. I’m reminded of something the archivist at the Warsaw Uprising Museum kept repeating when I showed him Mama’s verification questionnaire two years ago: “She must have been very high in the conspiracy.” He couldn’t find the exact connection, but I believe I have it right here.

Krystyna Zatylna helped me put the pieces together. The forests around Radom are where the so-called “cichociemni,” “the quiet unseen” soldiers parachuted in from the West, bringing messages and money from the Polish Government in Exile for the leaders of the Underground in Poland. I believe Mama was given these items from the cichociemni and carried them back to Central Command in Warsaw. It fits with stories she sometimes told, and it fits with the seven-page report she filed with her verification papers. And that will be the subject of the third part of this blog post.

AK Verification, Part I

12 Saturday Aug 2017

Posted by in Archives, Bereda, Family, Polish Culture, Polish Underground Army, World War II

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NOTE: This overview of my recent discoveries at the Polish Underground Movement Study Trust, Studium Polskiej Podziemniej (SPP) got so long I will publish it in three separate posts over the next few days. Here is part I. During the German occupation of Poland during World War II, the Polish Underground Army worked in secret to resist, sabotage, and fight against the Nazis. Another name for the Polish forces is “AK,” short for “Armia Krajowa,” or “Home Army.” I talk about the soldiers as “the partisans;” in Polish sources they are also called “konspiracja,” “the conspiracy.”

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Mama in Poland

 

The extraordinary story of my mother’s service in the Polish Underground can be hard to reconcile with the person I knew. Mama would hide when strangers visited the house because she was afraid they would stare at her scars. How could she have carried secret messages to the partisans in the forest or talked calmly with Nazi officers on the German-only trains right under signs that read, “Danger! The Enemy is Listening!”? And yet, as her daughter I also knew her strength and persistence, especially when matters of principal were involved.

I couldn’t find much specific information about my mother at the Warsaw Uprising Museum or the Polish National Archive of New Records in Warsaw. Next, I turned to the Studium Polski Podziemnej (SSP), Polish Underground Movement Study Trust in London. But when the archivist responded they have no record of Maria Bereda in their indexes, a part of me wondered if Mama could have fabricated her whole story.

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Logo of the Polish Underground Movement Study Trust (SPP)

But that made no sense. My mother didn’t lie. She struggled with guilt even when she tried to tell the smallest untruth. Instead, she would avoid certain subjects, and would keep silent when people came to their own incorrect conclusions about them. That’s why for instance I thought she was the same age as my dad when I was a child. My oldest brother inferred it from the sequence of their birthdays—Dad’s was on March 1 and Mom’s was a few months later on June 26—and Mama didn’t bother to correct us.

Mama didn’t like talking about her past, but the story about how she was verified after the war was one she was more willing to tell. She had to go to London to do it because wartime records were scattered and incomplete. During the war, the Underground Army didn’t have the infrastructure to maintain centralized records. Often, lists of personnel and promotions were memorized or scribbled on any available scrap of paper. Also, to prevent the Nazis from infiltrating the underground forces, details of separate units were kept from each other. Most partisans only knew about those serving directly above and below them, and even members of the same unit referred to each other by code name. All of these were strategies for insuring that if someone was caught or compromised, they would have minimal information to share and so could inflict a minimum of damage to the organization. Also, few records remained after Warsaw was bombed to the ground following the Warsaw Uprising. The Central Verification Commission was in London, where the Polish Government in Exile had been throughout the war.

Mama travelled from Poland to London in March 1946. She wanted to be sure that an official record would exist to mark her participation in the war, and she wanted to get the Cross of Bravery she had been granted but never received. At the Commission, she reported on her training, her unit, her superior officers, and her activities. When she told me this story many years later, she was very proud of her ability to recall all these details from memory, things that could only be known by someone who actually served in the Underground.  The commission checked everything for accuracy before the verification was confirmed.

I already had a copy of the “Special Questionnaire” Mama had filled out as part of this process; I had found it in her papers. At minimum, I should have been able to find the original at the Polish Underground Movement Study Trust (SPP), which houses the archive of the Verification Commission. Fortunately during a recent trip to London, some focused digging at the SPP turned up a treasure trove of documents. Already in our e-mail correspondence, the SPP archivist Krystyna Zatylna had seemed confident that something would turn up if we looked harder. She eventually found Mama’s records where they had been mislabeled and misfiled.

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Headquarters of the Polish Underground Movement Study Trust at 11 Leopold Road, Ealing, London. Photo from studium.org.uk website.

According to their website, “The Polish Underground Movement (1939-1945) Study Trust (PUMST), was founded in London in 1947. It is a research and academic institution, which contains historical material on the Polish Underground State (the Underground Administration and the Polish Home Army – Armia Krajowa) during the Second World War.” Included among their materials, the verification papers sit on high shelves right in the reading room in accordion folders shelved alphabetically. Personal files are arranged alphabetically inside the folders, each in a separate manila envelope.

The first folder Krystyna pulled out for me contained last names starting with “Br” instead of “Be.” My heart fell when I didn’t find Mama’s records. But then Krystyna climbed up a wooden ladder and found the folder with the “Be” names. There it was: an envelope labeled Maria Bereda-Fijałkowska. For a time, Mama used this hyphenated name, tacking on the maiden name of her grandmother.

Krystyna explained that much of the work at the archive has been done by volunteers so there are a lot of mistakes. She also asked me a lot of questions. Was Mama’s name always hyphenated? Did she use any other names? Did she ever go by Fijałkowska? Was she ever married? She also asked the names of my mother’s units. I rattled off what I knew: she belonged to “Zadra” in the Women’s 5th Division of the Central Command stationed in the Wola District of Warsaw; shortly after the Warsaw Uprising began, she joined “Koło” Group, and served in the Old City–Stare Miasto and City Center–Śródmieście Districts . I also gave her the names of Mama’s superior officers. It was as if I was being verified myself.

To be continued…

Remembering Maria R. B. Galbraith

04 Sunday Jun 2017

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Some people have asked me to post the remembrance I shared at the funeral. The service was held under a tent in the backyard, the place Mama sometimes called her church. Mama used to follow the shade, sitting in chairs strategically placed throughout the garden. Sometimes she would meditate to her mantra, the word “ocean.”

Krysia Bereday Burnham, the daughter of Mama’s brother George, officiated. It was perfect. Krysia wove together elements of the Christian rite with personal reflections, always sensitive to Mama’s unique form of faith. She wore her black robe and a green quilted stole she had been given when she was ordained last summer. “Green to match the garden,” she told me. You could feel the special bond she had with Mama. Krysia has told me that the same empathy that fueled Mama’s pursuit of psychology guided her own call to ministry.

My Aunt Maria at Hawk's Nest Point

At Hawk’s Nest Point, Fishers Island, visiting Krysia. Photo by Krysia Burnham.

My remembrance from the service:

I suspect that many of you here experienced a moment in your life when you were struggling emotionally, and my mama’s laser-like focus fell on you, and she seemed to know exactly what you were thinking and feeling, even before you did yourself. Maria had the gift of empathy. She knew how to listen uncritically, and she helped and healed many of us.

Maria was born in Warsaw, Poland on June 26, 1922 during the exciting but unsettled period between the world wars. In many ways she lived a charmed life in villas and manor houses, with nursemaids and tutors, and her own pony named Dolly. But she also felt the strains of her mother’s religious conversion and divorce that distanced her from some family. Raised on the literature of Polish romantic poets and the history of Poles’ struggle for independence, she became an ardent Polish patriot.

At the age of sixteen, she spent a year at a convent school in Belgium, and she was preparing to continue high school in Paris when World War II broke out. While finishing high school in Warsaw, she also joined the Polish resistance against the Nazi occupation.

Although her teachers hoped she would study literature at University and develop her talents as a writer, Maria decided instead to pursue medicine. She wanted to become a psychiatrist so she could help people, particularly those experiencing psychological or emotional distress.

Maria was deeply involved in the resistance to free her country. As a courier, she delivered messages to the partisans hiding in the countryside. She took advantage of her appearance as an innocent, shy young woman with sad eyes, as well as her fluency in German, and traveled under the assumed name Elisabeth Hoffman. With papers claiming she had a German father, she could travel in the train cars reserved for German officers, listening to their conversations and even talking with them in an effort to learn more. When the Warsaw Uprising began on August 1, 1944, Maria employed her medical training and served as a medic for the wounded. When the Old City was overrun, she escaped with her unit through the sewers to the City Center, where she continued to treat the injured until the end of the Uprising. Maria received a Cross of Bravery for her service.

After the war, the family started to rebuild their life in the ruins of Warsaw, but it quickly became clear that Soviet powers were determined to maintain their hold on Poland, and there was no place for business owners and former resistance fighters in the new communist system. Taking advantage of a medical visa to treat her wartime injuries, Maria and her mother left Poland for good in December 1946.

In the US, Maria began what she called her second life. Initially, she continued her medical studies as a resident under the mentorship of Dr. Stanley Cobb at Massachusetts General Hospital, but then shifted her focus from psychiatry to psychology. While studying for her master’s degree in developmental psychology at Teacher’s College, Columbia University, she met her mother’s neighbor Wiley Galbraith. Intrigued that such an intelligent and good-looking man could be so shy, they started dating and eventually married. Together, they established a home on Long Island where they raised their four children.

Being a wife and mother satisfied Mama’s most essential life goals. She placed the needs of her family above her own, making sure we were safe, happy, and free to determine our own paths in life. But she was always drawn to the life of the mind and the work of helping others. When the four of us grew more independent, she returned to her studies at Teachers College, traveling by train weekly to take one course at a time. Her steady persistence paid off when in 1983 she completed her Ed.M. in Counseling Psychology, her third graduate degree.

Though she was uneasy around strangers, Mama was fiercely loyal to the people she knew and loved. She counseled many in their time of need, including many of my brothers’ and my friends when they were struggling with the inevitable challenges of growing up. Everybody touched by her uncritical empathy loved Maria back. Even after we left home, our friends continued to visit her.

Being Maria’s child, especially her daughter, wasn’t always easy. But no one had a stronger influence on shaping the person I am than she did. Mama had her way of urging me to pursue my education, to be a good person, and not to give up on myself. I remember calling her once at a particularly difficult moment in graduate school to tell her “I want to quit.” She didn’t try to persuade me otherwise. All she said was, “Oh…” But that was enough to make clear that she wanted me to persist, she believed I could do it, and she loved me no matter what.

With all of us kids finally out of the house, my parents renewed their common interests in classical music, gardening, and the arts. They enjoyed visiting us, and we had memorable, noisy, and sometimes contentious family reunions in LA, Austin, Alabama, and even Poland.

Mama spent her final years living quietly at home, under the loving care of Chris and Shih Han, and her inexhaustible companion Krystyna. As the grip of life’s traumas finally slipped away, she became quiet, radiating love toward her many visitors. Part of a bustling and growing household, she took special joy in the visits of her grandchildren. Her room was Bessie and Charlie’s favorite place to play, or to just sit a while. And she always lit up when she saw her other grandsons.

These are the traits that defined her: she was resilient yet fragile, forceful yet timid. She was generous and devoted to her friends and family. She was so emotionally attuned that there was no way of hiding anything from her, even when we tried.

Mama had just about convinced us all she was immortal when she slipped away quietly and peacefully, within sight of her beloved garden. She was deeply loved and will be missed by all of us who were touched by her goodness and comforted by her sensitive guidance.

Go in peace, Mamusiu. We’ll remember you every time we walk in this garden—your sanctuary, every time we’re transported by a work of art, and every time we look into your grandchildren’s eyes.

Super Kosher Cookies and Sliced Ham

07 Thursday Jan 2016

Posted by in Bereda, Family, Jewish Culture, Jewish immigrants, Kolski, Names, Piwko, Winawer

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My brother Chris and I hosted a cousin reunion on Long Island in mid-December. I extended invitations to my old family—those I grew up with—and my new family—the cousins I have only recently found out about. My (new) cousin Eldad made sure to encourage the cousins on his mother’s side to attend. He also said he would bring “super kosher cookies” for the guests who are very religious and who might not eat otherwise.

I wanted to provide kosher food also, so Chris suggested we get everything at the Bagel Boss, a nearby kosher deli. But still, I don’t know how to serve a kosher meal in a non-kosher kitchen. So I did what most people do when they want to learn something. I got on the Internet and did a search for “how to feed kosher guests.” Several sites confirmed some things we had already thought about, like using paper plates and plastic ware. But I also learned some new things. There are many different degrees of kosher, but it’s best to keep the kosher food separate from the non-kosher food, and in its original packaging so guests can read the labels and know what kind of kosher everything is.

Trying to make my guests comfortable was important to me. Religious differences were at the heart of what divided our family, and the whole point of the reunion was to forge new links where old ones were severed.

Chris and I had fun selecting the bagels, cream cheese, fish, and salads at the deli. We talked with the owners, who assured us everything they have is kosher. They didn’t have a brochure we could take, so we photographed their kosher certification just in case. Even though we weren’t raised Jewish, we grew up on this kind of food. When I was eight years old, a bagel bakery moved in next to the local King Kullen supermarket. Mom loved bagels—we all did—and would pick some up every time she went grocery shopping. They’re one of the main things I look forward to when I visit Long Island—there are no good bagels in Tuscaloosa.

In addition to lox we got sable, which needs to be hand sliced to order. This takes special skill and only one particular clerk knows how to do it. I think we made his day. He rhapsodized about how supple and symmetrical the sable was, and held it up for us to admire. He gave us a slice to sample.

At the party store, we found a plastic knife sturdy enough to slice bagels, plastic serving spoons for the salads, and matching blue plates, cups, napkins, and tablecloth. Chris decided a large plastic bowl molded to look like cabbage leaves would be perfect for holding the bagels, and the ideal kitschy accessory to add to his serving ware. We set everything up on the side counter, separate from the non-kosher food in ceramic bowls on the kitchen table.

And then the pace of everything accelerated. We got a call from Aunt Pat that her son Marc was sick and they wouldn’t be able to come after all. The baby was fussy. Chris and others drove off on last minute errands. My first cousin Krysia and my husband Jeremy helped with final preparations. Before I knew it, guests were arriving. I never even had a chance to change into my party dress.

Elizabeth, who I grew up calling aunt, and Marsha (Eldad’s wife)
Sal (descendant of Abram Piwko) and wife Mira, Daniella, (Eldad’s daughter and descendant of Pouli Piwko and Abrash Kolski)
Steve (Krysia’s husband) and Eldad (descendant of Pouli Piwko and Abrash Kolski)
Anna, Miriam, and Susi (descendants of Abram, son of Jankel and Tema).
Jeremy and Bob (descendant of Abraham/John Piwko and Bertha/Blima Kolska)
Arline, Joan (descendant of Liba Piwko and Jacob Winawer), Krysia (descendant of Halina Piwko Bereday), and Jodi (Joan’s daughter)

I have only two regrets. First, that Aunt Pat couldn’t be there. She is the one who set me on the path that led to my first connections with lost relatives. Pat is a professional genealogist who collected information about the family in the 1970s. At the time she knew or contacted many cousins. Her charts, records, and memories have been tremendous resources. My second regret is that I didn’t have the opportunity to talk as much as I wanted with everyone who did come.

The first to arrive were the Bellaks. Even though we are not related by blood, these are the people I grew up with. Elizabeth and Mama knew each other in Poland and found each other by chance years later while registering for classes at Teacher’s College in Manhattan. Elizabeth and George, with their children Andrew and Alexandra would visit more often than our biological kin. Elizabeth loves good food, and always comes with a bag full of goodies. This time, she whispered something to me about a ham. I didn’t think anything of it.

Krysia, who has been with me on this journey from the beginning, guided most of the guests downstairs to see the family tree I had printed and posted to the wall. We’re related (by descent or marriage) to two brothers—Jechiel/Hiel (1854-1929) and Jankel (d. 1887) Piwko—who married two sisters—Hinda (1854-1933) and Tema (1858-1925) Walfisz.

The Piwkos lived in Skierniewice. According to Aunt Pat’s notes, Jozef Piwko (1824-1912) was a successful businessman who ran a tannery that had been in the family for generations. And he had four wives. I’ve only been able to find vital records for two of them. Cywia Rajch (1828-1862) was the mother of Jechiel, Jankel, and Dawid (1862-1865). She died within months of giving birth to Dawid. Jozef then married Sura Burgerman (b. 1842) and they had a son Nusen Dawid in 1866 and a daughter Chawa in 1871. Sura was already deceased when Chawa married in 1891.

Nusen Walfisz (b. 1817), originally from Wyszogród, lived in Żychlin with his wife Pesa Losman (b. 1831) and daughters Hinda, Tema, and Łaya (b. 1864). Nusen was a belfer, a religious education teacher.

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 second half.

Most of the cousins who came to the reunion descend from Jankel and Tema through their son Abram who moved to Zurich before World War II. Eldad (who came with his wife and daughter) is related to them through his mother Pouli. He’s also related to Jechiel and Hinda, my great grandparents, through his father, another Abram (though he’s often called Abrash). In other words, Eldad’s parents were second cousins.

Avraham Piwko & Family in Switzerland

Abram Piwko and family in Switzerland 1947

There is a lot of intertwining like this in the family tree—among the Piwkos, Winawers, and Kolskis especially. Two of my grandmother’s sisters married Winawers (Jacob and Liba’s granddaughter Joan came to the reunion with her daughter Jodi); another sister, Sarah married Sol (their granddaughters were supposed to come but had to cancel at the last minute), and her brother Abraham Jan/John married a Kolska (their great grandson Bob came to the reunion). Two other sisters married the Pinkus/Pinchas Kolski (after Regina died in childbirth, Rachel married him and had four more children). I’m still trying to trace how all the various Piwkos, Kolskis, and Winawers are related.

Morris Winawer and Hannah Gelman’s wedding 1935 in New York. Also pictured: brothers Sol and Max and mother Liba Winawer, nee Piwko.
Rachel (nee Piwko) and Pinkus Kolski in Poland with their children

Some of the guests at the reunion are very religious. Susie (a great granddaughter of Jankel and Tema) called the day before to ask if there is an orthodox synagogue nearby. I didn’t understand at first, but she explained she needed to go before sunset. I gave her the phone number of a Chabad house that referred her to a synagogue just two miles away. She stayed in regular contact with them throughout the afternoon, and recruited several men from the party to make sure there would be a minyan for sunset prayers. It turned out there were already 10 men there when they arrived. Standing in the living room, another cousin remarked this is the closest she’s ever been to a Christmas tree.

Several cousins are artists—Miriam (Susie’s sister) used to do ceramics but now she prefers enamels, her husband Shiah does woodwork and fused glass. Arline is a painter. We’re also a well-educated bunch. Daniella is a historian and professor; Bob is a musicologist, curator, and librarian; my brother Chris has a PhD in economics; Sal’s wife Mira is a professor of political theory.

Arline is a straight talking 91 year old. She remains spry—going up and down stairs without assistance—and mentally acute. We tried but failed to work out how we are related. She believes that her husband (Harry Jacoby) was related to Tema Walfisz, while she descends from another Walfisz sister (maybe Łaya?). I looked on Ancestry and found a reference to Leah Walfisz. Could that be the link? Arline’s grandfather came to the US but her grandmother refused because she didn’t think it would be kosher enough.

Arline remembers my mother’s brother Philip, who ran the bakery that most relatives worked in when they first came over from Europe. She met Mama and Babcia at Philip’s when they first arrived in the US. Mama was withdrawn, maybe even anti-Semitic. Arline remembers Mama comparing blacks in the US to Jews in Poland. Babcia babysat for Arline’s children, and also sold handkerchiefs to all the relatives. That’s how she earned money when she first got to the US.

DSC07428

Arline talks with Mama

I went with Arline when she visited Mama who was in bed in her room. At first Mama did not remember her, which is not surprising considering seventy years have passed, and Mama sometimes doesn’t recognize me anymore. Only later, after Arline talked for a while, Mama recognized Arline’s voice. Arline was explaining that her parents (or was it her husband’s parents?) were with Philip when he died. They had attended a wedding in Massachusetts together, and were on their way home when the car ran off the road.

I had hoped that this reunion would be an opportunity for my old family (the one I grew up knowing) to meet my new family (the relatives I have only recently learned about). The super kosher cookies and the sliced ham represent some of the challenges of making that a reality.

I never got around to eating so I didn’t see the ham on the table until after everyone had left. At first I was upset. I had worked so hard to make our kosher guests comfortable and I didn’t want to offend anyone. It struck me as so stereotypical and even mean spirited to serve the food that symbolizes the opposite of kosher. But it turns out no one deliberately meant the ham to represent anything. Elizabeth handed it to my husband, who found a plate and set it on the table without a thought about what it might mean to anybody. And in retrospect, it was probably just as well. Intent aside, maybe some of my old family felt more comfortable because the ham was there. Just as some needed the kosher cookies, maybe eating the ham was for others a normal part of not being Jewish, or of no longer being Jewish, or of not keeping kosher. I don’t know for sure, because I didn’t ask anyone, nor did I pay much attention to what people ate. And, as a friend remarked later, with ham on the table no one had to wonder what food wasn’t kosher.

Bridging the divides forged by my grandmother’s conversion will not always be easy. It’s complicated. But we’re family so we’ll figure it out.

Two Letters

29 Thursday Oct 2015

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I recently came across two letters Babcia wrote to Mama, one on August 31, 1945 and the other on February 4, 1958. The letters have some surprising parallels—Babcia’s instructions about proper modes of behavior and attire, and her lack of enthusiasm about my mother’s marriage plans. I’ve been trying to sort out what two letters indicate about the relationship between my mother and grandmother.

When the first letter was written, they were still living in Poland and Papa (Babcia’s second husband) was still alive. The letters are in Polish. Babcia expresses a great deal of affection for Mama; she addresses her “Ukochana Marychno”—Dearest Marysia (she uses a diminutive of Marysia, which is already a diminutive of Maria). She also calls her “coruś,” a diminutive form of “daughter,” and “słotkie dziecko”—“sweet child.”

I’m leaving out the details from the first part of the letter in which Babcia describes returning to Papa (probably after running away, as she was wont to do), Papa’s misbehavior and contrition, and Babcia’s joy at getting news from her sons who are living safely abroad. The second page is most relevant to this post. Babcia writes:

“Papa says that if you decided to marry, which wouldn’t necessarily thrill us, not because of Bimbus (a nickname I don’t recognize, but it probably refers to Mama’s first love Władek) who is a very decent fellow, and that means a lot, but because of your present state of health, so definitely let us know your plans and don’t worry that it will cost us. We want to pay for it. Besides, we never expected you to inform us, so we don’t want to be silly, but we think, without imposing on your views, that you are making too much trouble for each other, marrying, and that’s only worth doing when people love each other horribly. /you know, even then it’s often not worth it.

“I must be some kind of degenerate, because instead of encouraging my daughter to marry, I discourage her. Don’t be mad at me, my dear. I think that more than anything I’m your best friend.”

I can only wonder at the remarkable, long sentences. Though she says she doesn’t want to impose on Mama’s views, clearly she expresses her disapproval of Mama’s desire to marry. But why? Was it really concern for Mama’s health? Earlier in the letter, she refers to Mama’s operation. But even the issue of “health” is ambiguous—could it refer to a physical health issue or a mental health issue? Surgery to repair her war injuries or something else? Or might it rather be a reflection of Babcia’s own ambivalence about marriage generally, shaped by her own trials with Papa and perhaps also Mama’s choice of a partner?

I’m not sure how to read the tone of the letter, either. Is Babcia angry? I think maybe. She seems to be cloaking her efforts to exert an influence on Mama in expressions of affection.

In the letter, Babcia also instructs Mama about what kind of coat she should get. It should be straight and roomy in front and back. She even adds a lengthy handwritten note with further details about its style and price.

The second letter was written over twelve years later, when they lived in New York and Babcia was staying at The Breakers in Palm Beach, Forida. No doubt in response to the news that Mama eloped with my father, Babcia writes, “You leave me speechless, and you know well how agitated I am about your situation […] Please write me about your plans and where you intend to live. Will you live with Wiley or separately?”

Although Babcia addresses Mama as “ukochana Marychno” in this letter, as she did in the previous one, the tone seems harsher and more distant. And she definitely sounds angry. She insists Mama tell her immediately what she wants for a wedding present, and instructs Mama to send out wedding announcements right away (she provides a numbered list of people to contact). “Write to me right away what you plan to do next. Don’t you understand how much I want to be a part of this, at least post factum?” She asks if my Dad has forbidden Mama to communicate with her. “In that case I won’t be mad at you. God be with you.”

So much is left unsaid in this letter. It provides me with more context for understanding my grandmother and father’s dislike of each other, though it doesn’t clarify the root cause. Why does Babcia end the letter abruptly, “I have to run. Warm kisses?” Is this another expression of anger, or perhaps symptomatic of a distance that has grown between my mother and grandmother over a long period of time?

The letters also reflect Babcia’s concern with etiquette–the wedding announcements, the proper cut of a coat. She appreciates a bargain, but also values giving and receiving generous gifts. Paying for things for someone seems like a way of expressing affection.

These are more clues to my mother’s and grandmother’s lives. But they remain fragmentary. Only speculation holds them together.

Hints and Memories

13 Tuesday Oct 2015

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Going through boxes of hastily collected papers from Mom’s house I find so many unwritten cards. Sympathy cards: “Thinking of You. I know you’ll make it through this.” A Thomas the Tank Engine birthday card: “Peep-peep grandson!” I like to think that one was meant for Ian… There are also postcards: Salvadore Dali’s “Portrait of Gala;” two views of the Biltmore House; a café scene in New Orleans; the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston. I find random addresses of people I don’t know, torn off envelopes, Three envelopes with “Maria” written on them in my dad’s hand—but they’re empty; his cards are missing. How do I dispose of this stuff? But why would I keep it?

I hold on to the memories they evoke. The bits of my mom’s story they signal. Mama liked to send cards. She always took the trouble to include a personal note.

I seem to recall she and my dad went to the Biltmore Estate on their way to Texas once. This might have been in December 1991 since I also found an unfinished Christmas card to my friends Kara and Bob and their daughters Paula and Maria (yes, she was named after my mother) with the heading “Austin, Texas December 16, 1991.” Mom wrote:

We arrived by car yesterday at 5 PM. It was an exhausting trip but we are happy to visit with our son Chris. We stopped in Virginia and drove through the Skyline Drive with the Blue Ridge Mountains all around us. A heavy rain stopped and there was no one on the road.

It stops there. Why didn’t she finish the letter? Why didn’t she send it? Maybe she lost track of it? Or couldn’t find the address?

“Return to sender, Addressee deceased” is stamped on the envelope of a letter to Dr. Gustave Aufricht, M.D.,. This was probably Mama’s plastic surgeon. Inside is a Christmas card “May the spirit of Christmas abide with you throughout the new year” and in her hand the note “Sincerest wishes from your devoted patient.” On the website of the American Society of Plastic Surgeons, Dr. Aufricht is described as a founder of the society:

Two Founding Fathers

Like most great American institutions, the American Society of Plastic Surgeons (ASPS) — known until 1999 as the American Society of Plastic and Reconstructive Surgeons (ASPRS) — developed mainly through the sweat and toil of immigrants. In this case, it was two surgeons from Europe who came to the United States after World War I, Jacques Maliniac and Gustave Aufricht.

The two doctors were as unalike as any two men could be, except for their dedication to their craft. Despite his French-sounding name, Dr. Maliniac was born in 1889 in Warsaw, Poland. After studying with the leading plastic surgeons on the continent before the war, he was called into the Russian Army at the outbreak of hostilities. A small, intense man, Dr. Maliniac, who was Jewish, came to the United States in 1923 and decided to stay as anti-Semitism was on the rise in Europe in the 1920s. Settling in New York City in 1925, he opened a thriving private practice, and convinced the administrators of the City Hospital system to establish the first division of plastic surgery at a public hospital.

Dr. Aufricht, born in 1894, was a native of Budapest, Hungary. Like Dr. Maliniac, he treated wounded soldiers during the war, studied with the leading practitioners in Europe and arrived in New York in 1923. And like Dr. Maliniac, he was Jewish and decided to stay here when things became inhospitable in the Old World. However, the similarities ended there.

Where Dr. Maliniac was considered bombastic and dictatorial with his students and residents, Dr. Aufricht, who went by the nickname “Gusti,” was genial and outgoing, but no less a commanding figure, loved and revered by his charges.

Interesting that Mama sent her Jewish doctor a Christmas card. Did she know his religion? The card was postmarked December 1980. If she was his patient around 1950, she probably sent cards to him for 30 years.

Another card was written by my friend Kimmy, thanking Mama after a visit in 1981. Kim also asks for my address at school so it must have been sent in the fall, soon after I started college. Jumping forward again, I find a postcard from me, written from Poland. This one was also written around Christmastime so it must have been 1991:

A postcard I found in Poland and sent home, probably in 1991.

A postcard I sent from Poland, probably in 1991.

Dear Chris, Mom, & Pop, The Happiest of holidays to you all. I hope you find some snow somewhere. Sorry I can’t be with you but know I’m thinking about you. Can you believe I found this card in Poland? Love, Marysia

In the living room on Long Island, probably Christmastime 1991

In the living room on Long Island, probably Christmastime 1991

And then this photo of Mama and Babcia on the couch in the living room at home. The tree and ornament in the left foreground signal it was around Christmas, also. Mama is in silhouette, eyes downcast. She appears to be spooning something out of a mug to give to Babcia, who is leaning toward her with closed eyes. Or maybe the camera just caught her blinking? She is bundled up in a down jacket and a blanket, like a child. When was this? Near the very end of Babcia’s life. Could it also be 1991? Maybe Mom and Dad returned from Texas before the holiday? It’s so rare that I have seen photos of my Mama and Babcia together. There seems to be so much tenderness in my mother’s attention, as if in this moment of caring all the tension between them dissolved.