Poland IV

(The fourth in a series of 5 posts detailing my heritage trip to Poland)
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Belzec

"Earth do not cover my blood / Let there be no resting place for my outcry" (Job 16:18)

When many people think of concentration camps, they think of Auschwitz. Why? Because many of the survivors of the Holocaust were liberated from there. When we hear horrific stories, they are mostly stories of Auschwitz.

But there are a few camps that aren't as well-known, because there were no survivors. The sole purpose of these camps was extermination; there were no prisoners, no laborers, no hope. Every person that entered through its gates were killed almost immediately.

Belzec is such a camp, where approximately 500,000 Jews were murdered.

Sign outside of Belzec

Part of the Belzec memorial

Entrance to the Belzec memorial

When the Nazis left Belzec, they dismantled the camp so that there would be no trace of the atrocities that happened there. But, the area was essentially one enormous mass grave that could not be covered up.

A large memorial at Belzec was built to remember the 500,000 souls that were killed there. The memorial, however, is quite controversial. As you can see in the picture above, the memorial is built INTO the ground, making the observer feel as if they are entering a mass grave. Although many things were done to ensure the digging didn't interfere with the mass graves, there is still the possibility of error.

We spoke about the implications of this:  Is it necessary to create opportunities for people to feel and experience a small piece of what the Holocaust might have been like? Or at some point, do we say that the magnitude of the Holocaust is simply beyond our comprehension? What risks are we willing to take in the pursuit of memorialization and remembrance?

In the museum at Belzec

In the museum at Belzec

Train tracks at Belzec.

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"If you think good, It will be good."

We had the great honor and opportunity to visit the small town of Lezajsk.

Lezajsk was one of the largest centers of the Chasidic movement in Poland. Chasidism is a movement within Judaism that emphasizes the "inner dimensions" of the Torah, or Jewish mysticism. Followers of this movement consider loving-kindness, spirituality, and joy as fundamental components of the Jewish faith. This movement is incredibly deep and rich, and I am certainly not doing it justice with this basic explanation.

We visited the grave of Elimelech of Lezajsk, an important, foundational figure in the Chasidic movement. He wandered for many years, spreading the word of Chasidism, until he finally settled in Lezajsk in 1772. Next to his grave, we talked about his role in Chasidism, learned a few of his teachings, and told stories of his life.

Photo by Daniel Shibley
Grave of the Chassidic master, Rabbi Elimelech of Lezajsk

After visiting the grave, we went to the nearby beit midrash (house of learning) and, in Chasidic tradition, did a couple of "L'chaims!" (toasts to life!).


Levi asked us to think about why the Chasids were frequently celebrating and making "l'chaims," even in seemingly dark times. He said that our physicality can lead us down to the depths, which is the opposite of what the Chassidic movement teaches us. By easing our physicality, we can make room for spirituality. And the way to spirituality is not through melancholy and despair, but through joy and positive thinking (and sometimes, a little bit of whiskey).

In the words of the Chassids, "If you think good, it will be good." L'chaim, to life!

Levi makes a l'chaim.

L'chaim!

Andrew gives a L'chaim to the group

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Krakow

The Jewish quarter in Krakow is one of the best preserved Jewish neighborhoods in Europe. We had the opportunity to walk around the narrow cobblestone streets and see different sites and monuments, all illustrating the richness of Jewish heritage that existed before the war, and in some cases, still exists today.

We also had the pleasure of meeting with some students that are studying in a Jewish studies master's program in Krakow. They told us about their motivations for choosing Jewish studies (many of them not Jewish), their lives as young adults in Krakow, and how they see present-day relations between Poles and Jews.

Kosher restaurant in Krakow

Kosher restaurant in Krakow

Krakow

Krakow

The entrance to the Remah's synagogue (Rabbi Mosses Isserles of the 16th century).

Inside the Remah Shul.

Outside the first Torah-learning center for women.
"A spark kindled in Krakow grew to a flame that radiated throughout Poland and across the oceans, this light of Torah continues to illuminate the hearts and minds of Jewish girls throughout the world"

Levi gives us a teaching inside the beautiful Tempel Synagogue, a progressive synagogue in Krakow. The synagogue was significantly affected during WWII, but has undergone major renovations in the past few decades. 

Tempel Synagogue

Tempel Synagogue

Tempel Synagogue

Krakow Jewish Community Center

A cemetary in Krakow.

I couldn't help but to post this picture of Kyle, Levi, and Leah, posing in their hermonits.

Building a Jewish future in Krakow.

Poland III

(The third in a series of 5 posts detailing my heritage trip to Poland)
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Houses of Life

We visited several Jewish cemetaries throughout Poland. In ordinary circumstances, a cemetery would seem like a low point on an itinerary. In Poland, cemeteries were a way to remember and memorialize great lives that were lived.

Prior to the trip, each of us were assigned a "personality" that we were to research and prepare a presentation on. Many of these presentations were given next to the grave of the person, honoring his/her individual life. My classmates and I shared stories of heroism and determinism, stories of great success, as well as stories of tragic circumstances... but mostly, we told stories of individuals who significantly added to the narrative of the Jewish people that is continued today.

Warsaw Cemetary

Warsaw Cemetary

Warsaw Cemetary 

Kyle gives a presentation.

Brrr.

Warsaw Cemetary

Warsaw Cemetary

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Majdenak

The first concentration camp that we visited was Majdenak, which is just outside of Lublin, Poland.

The first thing that I found striking about Majdenak was how close it is to town. Many of the camps were built in remote, rural areas. Here, there were houses that literally looked over onto the camp. These particular houses might not have been there at the time, but the people in the town were certainly close enough to understand what was happening.

Many of the concentration camps in Poland were destroyed to some degree by the Germans immediately following the Holocaust, as a way to cover up traces of what happened. Majdenak is one of the best preserved camps; we were able to see gas chambers, barracks, a reconstructed crematorium, and a mouseleum full of ashes.

I'm not sure how to describe what I experienced here; the feeling of standing inside a gas chamber, where thousands of people met their death by suffocation. The distinct smell of the wooden barracks where people "slept" in unfathomable conditions. The bitterness of the Poland cold, which I couldn't fully understand, as I was wearing winter clothing.

Walking around Majdenak was an eerie and chilling experience, especially because we were the only group there. While I have trouble putting into words the feeling of entering the camp, I have even more trouble putting into words the feeling of leaving. This was a common theme for me throughout my trip: how fortunate am I that I have the luxury of walking away from these terrible places. 

View of Majdenak Concentration Camp

Majdenak

Inside the gas chambers. Shower heads were installed to give inmates the illusion that they were in a shower. 

Inside the gas chamber. The Zyklon B pellets were poured through this roof, creating the blue color.

Majdenak

Storage room in Majdenak

Majdenak guard tower.

Barracks in Majdenak

Reconstructed oven in the crematorium. After bodies were defiled, they were burnt in the ovens.

Inside this moseleum is an enormous pile of human ashes.

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Torah Study


On our second evening in Poland, we had the pleasure of visiting the Chachmei Lublin Yeshiva.

This internationally-recognized yeshiva (Jewish study center) was opened in the 1930s, and served as a vibrant center for Torah learning and text study. Students came from all over Europe to study there.

When the Nazis invaded Lublin, they destroyed the building and burned all of the holy books in the town square, in a public display.

Books are of the utmost importance in the Judaism; they hold wisdom, divinity, tradition, and history. When Lublin was invaded, the outcry wasn't over the damage to the building, but over the burning of the books.

During pre-war time, Jews made up about 40% of the town's population. After the invasion of the city, the Jews were moved to the Lublin Ghetto, and eventually taken to either Majdenak or Belzec death camps.

Today, the building is being restored, and there has been an effort to revive Torah study. We spent our evening learning about the richness of pre-war Jewish Lublin, and doing what Pardes students do best: studying Torah.

Chachmei Lublin Yeshiva

Inside the restored synagogue.

A few of the Pardes educators in the sanctuary.

Poland II

(The second in a series of 5 posts detailing my heritage trip to Poland)

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Gone Now are Those Little Towns

"Gone now are those little towns where the shoemaker was a poet,
The watchmaker a philosopher, the barber a troubadour..." 

--Antoni Sionimski, "Elegy for the Jewish Villages"

Tykocin

Tykocin

Tykocin

Imagine a small, crowded town, bustling with hurried movement and loud conversation. A place where people are fervent in their beliefs, speak in Yiddish and Hebrew, and make religion the way of the land. While most people are poor, their lives are rich with family, laughter, and tradition.

This was the eastern European shtetl.

The shtetl was an incubator for Jewish life; producing some of the most lasting traditions in Judaism. While life in the shtetls was challenging and difficult, Jewish culture flourished here.

The first stop of our trip was Tykocin, a small town in the Bialystok region of Poland. Prior to the war, Tykocin used to be a thriving Jewish community, with over 70% of its residents being Jewish.
Tykocin, or "Ticktin" as the Jews called it, was a classic example of an eastern European shtetl.

The window on a "schoolhouse." Young students often learned in a crowded room in their teacher's home. 

The outside of the synagogue in Tykocin, built in 1642

There was Hebrew prayers and psalms written all over the walls. In some cases, prayers that didn't appear in the prayer book were written on the walls for the purpose of practicality. 

Entrance to the sanctuary.

The bima in the middle of the sanctuary

The ark in the sanctuary.

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If Trees Could Speak...

After touring around Tykocin, hearing about the pre-war vibrancy of the Jewish community, we arrived at a large, open courtyard covered with snow. There were people strolling around the perimeter, pulling children on sleds. It looked quite peaceful.

In the above picture, Rabbi Levi Cooper, our teacher and guide, tells us about the history of the courtyard, and ultimately, the fate of the Jews of Tykochin. 

One evening in August 1942, the Jews of Tykochin were ordered to report to this courtyard early the next morning, to be deported to the Bialystok Ghetto. The Jews spoke with one another, and debated whether or not they should report to the square. Looking back at history, we have the luxury of hindsight, knowing the outcome of events. But at the time, they had no idea what would be the best option for them. Maybe life in the ghetto wouldn't be so bad?

In the end, most of them reported to the square. 

They were ordered to bring up to 25kg of property. In the warm weather of August, they wore warm coats and brought food to sustain them for a long time; they had no idea that they wouldn't need these things.

At the square, they were ordered to "register" and divide themselves into groups. Men on one side of the courtyard; women and children on the other. There was a small orchestra playing in the courtyard.

But this was all a facade. The Jews weren't being deported to the Bialystok Ghetto, nor did it matter if they registered, or packed their most precious belongings. The quaint orchestra was performing as a sick way to keep the people calm and oblivious until the very last moment.

The Jews were rounded up, put into wagons, and taken to the nearby Lupochowo Forest.

At this point, we got onto our tour bus and silently made our way to the forest. Even though Levi didn't finish the story at this point, we knew how it ended.

Lupochowo Forest

At the Lupochowo forest, the Jews were lined up and taken to one of 3 pits, where they were massacred with machine guns. The account that we read said that the ground was pulsating with the seizures of the dying people for days.

Mass graves are not only tragic because of the number of lives that were ended there, but also by the loss of individual identities. We saw yartzheit candles there, and notes remembering individual names. This was very important, because it was no longer a mass grave, but a group of distinct individuals whose entire worlds were lost.

Yartzheit (memorial) candles at the mass graves.

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Resistance

The memorial sculpture at the Warsaw Ghetto is two-sided. 

The one side of the sculpture depicts the Jews in a line, hunched over, marching to their deaths. This image is the most common one; the weak Jews being led, like lambs, to the slaughter. In many cases, this was the tragic reality.

The other side of the sculpture tells a different story; one of bravery, courage, and strength. This side depicts the Jews as heroes, as fighters, as resisters. 

As we walked around the area that was once the Warsaw Ghetto, brushing the snow off of memorials, we heard heroic stories of resistance. Here are two that particularly resonated with me:

• Dr. Emanuel Ringelbaum, organized a group of people to produce secret documents, detailing life in the ghetto. Under the code name Oneg Shabbos, Ringelbaum and the others wrote down everything they could, in the hopes that the documents would one day be found, and would shed light on the atrocities that happened inside the ghetto walls. The documents were hidden and buried in 3 milk canisters. Two of the cans were found. One of these canisters is still buried somewhere in the ghetto. Ringelbaum's method of resistance? Writing.

• Janusz Korczak, a Polish-Jewish educator, was the director of an orphanage in Warsaw. Throughout his time in the ghetto, he used his energies to alleviate the suffering of children. He kept them laughing, singing and having fun. On the day of a mass deportation, Korczak walked happily with the children to the umschlagplatz (the meeting place where Jews were shipped to death camps). Eyewitnesses say that the children were dressed in their best clothes, carrying a knapsack with their favorite toy, oblivious to their impending fates. You see, Korczak knew for a long time what would happen to the children, but in a labor of love, he allowed them to be innocent children as long as possible. 

The Warsaw Ghetto was a 3-mile square area, filled with over 400,000 Jewish residents. The conditions were beyond awful, and only got worse as time went on. People died daily from starvation and wide-spread disease. The only way to stay alive was through smuggling food, bribing guards, and other desperate acts of survival.

In 1942, the Germans began sending Jews by the masses to the Treblinka extermination camp. In just 3 months, over 300,000 people were sent to their deaths.

In 1943, after a rumor of another mass deportation, the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising began. With a feeling of "nothing left to lose," a group of brave Jews decided to take up arms and fight. They knew that they were up against a war machine; but they also knew that they would rather die fighting than be killed in a German extermination camp.

Their efforts were valiant and heroic, and they were able to achieve some victory. In the end, the majority of the ghetto fighters perished.

The memorial at the umschlagplatz, where Jews were sent by trains to concentration camps.

Names fill up the walls of the memorial, as a way to remember that the people were individuals, with names and distinct identities. 

Poland I

"For the dead and for the living; we must bear witness" - Elie Wiesel

On January 15th, I went to Poland with a group of students and faculty from my school. The trip was a "heritage seminar," an opportunity to explore and appreciate the Jewish vibrancy that existed in Poland prior to World War II, much of which has left an enduring mark on the history of the Jewish people.

The other piece to the trip was to honor the victims of the Holocaust by bearing witness to this horrific period of human history. We visited death camps, cemeteries, and communities that were completely wiped out by the Nazis.

For me, it's important that I share this information, this experience, with anyone that is willing to listen. The trip was not easy, and neither was writing about it. But by bearing witness, and by re-telling my experience, I feel as if we can keep the memories of the victims alive, and ensure that something like this never happens again.

My blog is about to take a radical departure from it's usual light-hearted content. I've written four posts that explain, in vivid detail, all that I saw and experienced in my 5 days in Poland. With all that I've written, there is still so much that has yet to be processed.

I hope you'll take the time to read.

We Remember

Last Wednesday, my school held its annual Yom Iyyun Shel Chesed (Day of Kindness).

This special day is held in the memory of Marla Bennett and Ben Blutstein, z''l, who were killed in a suicide bombing attack in Jerusalem in 2002.

Marla and Ben were both students at Pardes, pursuing their dreams of becoming Jewish day school educators. They were studying for their finals, in the crowded Frank Sinatra cafeteria at Hebrew University, when a bomb exploded, killing 9 and injuring 84.

This tragic event took place during the second intifada. From 2000-2005, there were frequent suicide bombings in Israel, even daily at times. Israelis remember this time as one of the darkest periods in the nation's history.

The Yom Iyyun Shel Chesed began with learning, then continued with a breakfast, where we listened to presentations commemorating Ben & Marla's lives.

While I felt deeply impacted by everything that was read, one piece stood out among the rest. It was an article that Marla wrote a few months before her death, in which she reflected on her time in Jerusalem. Here is an excerpt:

"As I look ahead to the next year and a half that I will spend in Israel, I feel excited, worried, but more than anything else, lucky. I am excited that I can spend another year and a half in a place that truly feels like home, a home in which I am surrounded by an amazing community of bright and interesting friends who constantly help me to question and define myself. I am worried for Israel—a historic moment this is, but also difficult and unpredictable. I feel lucky because the excitement always wins out over the worry...There is no other place in the world where I would rather be right now. "

I was struck by Marla's candor and her optimism. I strongly identified with her reflections on Israel, her love for community, and her dreams for the future. I was inspired that she continued to follow her heart during such a trying and uncertain time.

I can't imagine the pain that was felt by Ben & Marla's families, loved ones, and the Pardes community after the tragedy. The following year, a few of their friends at Pardes created the Yom Iyyun Shel Chesed, as a way to honor their memories and do something that embodied their ideals and values of service and loving-kindness.

Ten years later, the Yom Iyyun Shel Chesed continues, and we spent our afternoons volunteering at different institutions in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. Not only do we remember Ben & Marla, but we are reminded that one can find light, even in the darkest of places.

Although never meeting them, it's clear to me that Marla and Ben were two beautiful, unique souls, who walked through the world with curiosity, vibrancy, and passion. After hearing their stories, I am inspired to live each day to the fullest, as they did. And while their lives were ended much too short, their memories continue to add light to the Pardes community, to the Jewish people, and to our world.

     

Hodge-Podge

Poland Blog Update


I arrived home from a heritage trip to Poland a month ago, and I hoped, by now, to have a few blog posts up about my experience.

Turns out, bearing witness to the one of the greatest atrocities in human history was a bit harder to write about than I anticipated. Every time I write, I find myself backspacing, until I erase the entire post. Why? I'm finding it difficult to put into words the magnitude of the experience.

But I feel a great responsibility to write about my trip, and to share the experience with anyone who is willing to listen. I'm about 1/3 done; so it's getting there.

Fear not, loyal blog readers. I will be posting my thoughts soon, and I hope that you'll take the time to read.

Until then, please enjoy my usual blogging shenanigans.

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Doctor Visit


A few weeks ago, I had my first visit to an Israeli doctor. After thoroughly checking out WebMD and other websites that feed my hypochondriac tendencies, I decided it was time to see a real doctor about my persistent sore throat.

I'm quite the complainer when I'm sick. My mom says that I get this endearing trait from my dad. But in any case, I was hoping for a little coddling and sympathy. Just a little.

Not in Israel. I went to a clinic a few blocks away from my house. The doctor came in and saw me for, literally, 4 minutes. She felt my throat, opened my mouth, and told me it was just a cold.

          "Are you sure it's not strep throat?"
          "No."
          "What about another viral infection?"
          "No."
          "But WebMD said..."
          "No."

I left the room and went to the check-out counter. There was a woman checking in, bleeding profusely from her forehead. These Israelis are tough; I guess I can handle my mild sore throat.

But still. Coddle me, please!

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Sabich


One night, I was really jonesin' for a falafel. I wandered into a new shop, thinking that I could get one. Much to my dismay, it wasn't a falafel shop.

The gentleman told me that it was "sabich," an Iraqi sandwich. Lightly fried eggplant, hard-boiled egg, potatoes, hummus, tahini, and Israeli salad in a warm pita.

"What the heck?" I thought, and purchased one (you know me, always throwing caution to the wind).

This sandwich is AWESOME. Delicious. Filling. Perfection. I might be so bold as to say that sabich is the new falafel. I went back twice that week.

Mmmmmm. Sabich.

Jerusalem friends: You need to try this delicious sandwich. And invite me to join you.

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"Tremping" and Other Things My Mother Would Disapprove Of

In Israel, it's popular to "tremp," or as we Americans call it... to hitch-hike.

Last week, I was spending Shabbat at my teacher's house. She lives in a place called Gush Etzion, which is about 45 minutes from Jerusalem. As one waits at the bus stop (which is informally called the 'trempenada'), cars drive by and stop to tell people where they are driving to. If you are going to the same place, they graciously offer you a seat in their vehicle. In Israel, it's a very normal thing to do.

I was struck by the diversity of the people who were stopping, and also tremping: old, young, religious, secular, families, single people. And how do you thank the person? By simply saying "thank you" and wishing them a "shabbat shalom."

I don't plan on making this a habit (Mom), and I would never do this by myself (Mom). And in any situation, one must be careful and use his/her best judgment. Here is my rule of thumb:

Tremp

Don't Tremp

                   
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I hope to be more consistent with my blogging; and stay tuned for Poland reflections!