Return
My mother’s parents, both from Poland, were very much a part of my childhood. We lived right across the street from one another. I remember helping my grandmother in the kitchen as she chopped cabbage in her huge wooden bowl or cut out cookies with the cutters shaped like a moon, club, heart, or diamond. My grandfather always had Chunky Bars ready for my brother and me when we came over.
As a child, I had a vague understanding that my grandparents came from another country. However, as is the case with most kids, I really wasn’t very interested. I never asked them about it and they never volunteered any information. They spoke English to me but were also fluent in Yiddish and I think they spoke Polish as well. My grandfather died in 1970 at the age of 69. My grandmother, already sick with colon cancer, died a couple of years later. By the age of 12, all my grandparents were gone.
It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when I became interested in my family background. I remember talking to my grandfather’s sister, my Aunt Rose, about what life was like in the “old country”. The stories she told were of deprivation and extreme poverty. She once told me that she could remember times when there was literally no food in the house. It certainly didn’t sound like a place worth revisiting. Yet, I was always intrigued. I knew my grandfather and his immediate family came to America long before WWII but I didn’t know if there were other parts of the family that weren’t as lucky.
Several years ago I finally got around to doing some research. I went to the national archives on Varick Street and was able to locate the passenger roster from the ship on which my grandfather and his family sailed to America. As it turned out, his father had come to America in 1913, leaving a wife and seven children behind. The plan was to save enough money to send for the rest. As it happened, for reasons that are not particularly clear, the rest of the family did not emigrate until 1923. One additional piece of information I got from the ships record was the name of the town from which they came- Szczebrzeszyn. I did a little more research on the internet and discovered that the town was still in existence. It was located in the southeast corner of Poland, not far from Lublin. Astonishingly, the town synagogue was still there, although it was now used as a cultural center. Records pertaining to Jewish families were reported to have survived the war. That was it! I decided I had to go over there and see for myself what this town was like. In the process, I hoped to get additional genealogical information about my family. What were the names of my great great grandparents? Did my grandfather have any extended family in the town? Aunts? Uncles? Cousins? If so, what happened to them? Had they survived the war? Were any of them still alive?
Early this year, Peter and I decided to make the trip. The plan was to go over the Memorial Day weekend.
Day 1 (5/26/00)
It felt quite strange flying into the Warsaw airport. The Polish landscape was very green and hilly- quite beautiful actually. In some ways it reminded me of Connecticut. I guess I was expecting the terrain to be rather bleak and oppressive. So much for preconceived ideas! This wouldn’t be the last time my preconceived thoughts about Poland would be swept aside by a very different reality. However, as we descended to the airport I looked out over the green expanse and couldn’t help but picture the fields covered in red. Everywhere I looked I saw blood. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about the slaughter of so many innocent people. Although I knew many Poles were murdered during the war, the blood I saw spread out over the Polish countryside was all Jewish. (I make the distinction here between Pole and Jew even though the Jews had been living in Poland for most of the past millennium. Unfortunately, this distinction has always been a part of the Jewish existence in Poland as it was in most of Europe).
A driver picked me up at the airport and after a brief ride I arrived at the Bristol Hotel. The Bristol is an elegant and remarkably preserved old-world hotel; lavishly decorated, high ceilings, very European. I took a short walk down to the old-town square, which looked very well preserved and also typically European. It wasn’t until later that I discovered that nearly the entire city was destroyed during the war. In fact, it is estimated that 84% of Warsaw was demolished. The old-town square had been rebuilt, after the war, to look pretty much as it had before 1939. I had no idea! Unfortunately, most of the rest of the city was built without much regard for pre-war architectural detail. It looked pretty much as one would expect of communist post-war construction-drab, gray slabs of concrete without any character or charm whatsoever.
I met up with Peter later in the day and we decided to take a look at the Jewish cemetery and other remnants of pre-war Jewish life in Warsaw. We headed to the site of the former ghetto. After a short taxi ride, we came upon the cemetery. A very high brick wall surrounded it. The black metal gates were locked. It was Friday afternoon and the cemetery was closed for Shabbat. We never did get to see the cemetery in Warsaw but did learn that it was remarkably intact. Evidently, there were enough good roads in Warsaw that the Germans didn’t need to use the gravestones as pavement as was done in many other areas. Next to the cemetery was a monument dedicated to the Jews of Warsaw who perished at the hands of the Nazis. It was surrounded by typical, bleak Soviet style housing developments. Not only did the monument look out of place but also clearly exhibited signs of neglect and disrepair. However, it was the first thing we’d seen that reflected any sense of the Jewish community that once thrived here.
Not far from the cemetery is an area called the Umshlagplatz. This is literally the spot where the Jews who were rounded up from the Ghetto were boarded onto the trains that led to the gas chambers at Treblinka. A large monument currently marks the exact spot. Across the street is the former SS headquarters building. A plaque on the wall attests to its prior use. Next, we walked toward a rather large open field in the middle of the former ghetto. A statue commemorates the Jews who died here or were transported elsewhere to meet a similar fate. It’s a rather peaceful place and offers no indication of what went on here or what the area might have looked like. There is absolutely no trace of the former ghetto. It was completely razed after the uprising in ’43.
After a short rest at the hotel, we walked back to the old Jewish section of the city to the single remaining functioning synagogue in Warsaw. Peter and I had been invited to attend Shabbat services through his connections from Estee Lauder. The Ronald Lauder Foundation has been instrumental in trying to preserve Jewish life throughout Eastern Europe. It has played a big part in maintaining this synagogue as well as a very well attended Jewish school in close proximity. It was absolutely surreal walking up to this very old synagogue as the sun was setting on Friday evening. The services, attended by about 25 people, were strictly orthodox. Quite frankly, I didn’t understand much of what was going on but it was such a special event nonetheless. Peter recited Kaddish for his father since the day was his father’s Yahrzeit. After services, we were invited back to the Jewish community center for a Shabbat dinner. Peter was clearly the guest of honor but there were other Jews from all over the world. Evidently, this synagogue serves as a magnet for many Jews visiting the city. We were told that every Friday night, visitors from around the globe join our hosts for Shabbat dinner. It was such a magnificent way to be introduced to Jewish life in Warsaw. Even though there are probably no more than several thousand Jews (from a pre-war population that numbered over 300,000) it was heartwarming to see that this tiny Jewish community is keeping the faith alive! What a first day!
Day 2 (5/27/00)
We got a lift to the central rail terminal in Warsaw. With the aid of our guide, Adam, we bought one way tickets for Krakow. The train was clean and efficient if rather old and Spartan. The day was actually quite hot-probably close to 85 or 90 degrees. There was no air conditioning on the train. It’s amazing how we take these things for granted. We passed through beautiful Polish countryside and many small towns on our 21/2-hour journey to Krakow. It seemed as if the entire country was made up of small family farms. People were out working in the fields, hunched over or following horse-drawn ploughs.
We arrived in Krakow, took a cab to the old town, and checked into our hotel, the Elektor; very nice, old-world, clean and friendly. We were lucky enough to find a local tour guide who agreed to spend the remainder of the afternoon showing us around the old city. We met up with Krysztopher a short while later and he proceeded to lead us on a fascinating tour. Most of the old-town center was and, of course is, non-Jewish. The Jews, for the most part, lived in what was once a suburb of Krakow but is now part of the city proper. Thus, our tour that afternoon, focused on general Polish history (mainly Catholic). We were to visit the Jewish district in a day or two. The main square in Krakow is beautiful, very old-world, and vibrant. There are outdoor cafes lining the square and crowds of people walking about. It feels much like any other very old city in Europe. We toured numerous churches, one more beautiful and ornate than the next. Then we went to Wawel castle, where the Royals of Krakow lived for many generations. We had dinner in a fairly new restaurant that served traditional Polish food with recipes taken from hundreds of years ago. I had duck with apples, Peter had salmon-go figure! In any case, the food was as good as anywhere we had eaten and the service was impeccable. In fact, although at times we did encounter the stereotypic, communist era worker (sour and unhelpful), for the most part, everyone we met was delightful.
Day 3 (5/28/00)
We hooked up with another tour guide named Jacob whose family was originally from Krakow. They were one of the few Jewish families not only to survive the war but also to return and settle in the city. We had set aside this day to visit the concentration camps at Auschwitz and Birkenau.
It took about an hour to drive to the gate at Auschwitz. Peter and I were both surprised that the camps were situated right in the middle of populated areas. In fact, the town where the camp is located is called Oswiecim. The German translation of this name is Auschwitz. Somehow, we both expected that places so sinister had to have been located far off in some deserted part of the country. Another preconceived notion dispelled.
Our first visit was to Auschwitz I. Auschwitz was actually first used to house Polish soldiers. Surprisingly, despite its name being almost synonymous with the holocaust, it was mainly used for non-Jewish prisoners. In fact, most Jews were sent to Birkenau (aka Auschwitz II). It’s somewhat numbing to actually walk through the gate at the camp that we’ve all seen in many movies and documentaries. The prominent sign mocking all who enter, “Arbeit Macht Frei”, meaning “Work Will Set You Free”. The barracks are made of red brick and currently house various exhibitions either directly related to the camp itself or memorials dedicated from each of the many countries from which the Jews were deported.
I was surprised to see trees and grass in the area of the camp. I had expected complete absence of life. It was a sunny and warm day, the birds were chirping, the air smelled clean and fresh. One could easily forget what went on here until you enter the barracks and see the actual piles of shoes, suitcases, glasses, pots and pans, human hair, and other reminders of those who were tortured and killed. The barbed wire fences remain intact, as do the guard posts. There was one barracks in particular, I think it was #11, that was used by the SS as a torture chamber, mostly for Polish political prisoners. People were starved to death or asphyxiated in rooms with no ventilation. The courtyard outside was used for executions, both by shooting and hanging. There was also a separate room where other prisoners were forced to stand in cells no bigger than 2’x 2’. They were completely bricked up to the ceiling with no window or ventilation. The prisoners had to enter through a small opening in the floor and then stand for an entire night. Up to four people were placed into one of these tiny cells. It was impossible to sit down. This was also one of the barracks used by Dr. Mengele for his infamous and heinous “medical” experiments. It was incomprehensible to me that any of this could actually be true, let alone that anyone could possibly survive. Clearly, most did not. We then walked over to the crematorium. The oven is reconstructed from actual remnants. Typically, the Nazis tried to destroy any evidence of their crimes as the allied armies approached. Thus, the original ovens were destroyed. It’s impossible to find words to describe how it felt to stand in front of that oven.
We then took a short ride over to Birkenau. This camp, located about a mile from Auschwitz I, was, in fact, the site of the vast majority of mass murder of the Jews. The camp is huge, many times larger than Auschwitz I. This is also the camp that I think most of us picture in our minds when we think of Auschwitz. As you approach the main gate you see the railroad tracks that lead to the center of the camp. When the train stopped, the human cargo was unloaded on a platform, women separated from men. The prisoners then underwent a selection process. Those able to work were instructed to proceed to the barracks. However, as many as 75% of all prisoners were sent directly to the gas chambers. We actually stood on the selection platform, in front of the building where the SS routed the prisoners either to the barracks (straight ahead) or to the gas chambers (to the right). We were right there! The distance from this spot to the entrance of the gas chamber couldn’t have been more than a quarter of a mile. We both stood there and could only imagine the absolute terror these people must have felt. It was chilling- and we were there on a bright, sunny and hot day!
We then toured several of the barracks. The men’s were mostly made of wood, with no insulation. Only a few remained standing. The women’s were made of red brick. There was a wood burning stove at the entrance to the barracks that was supposed to transfer heat down a long passageway. It didn’t look like it would have been too effective; assuming it was even used. The sleeping areas were basically wooden platforms, about six feet in length. We were told that as many as eight people were squeezed onto a single platform. We’d both seen pictures of this, with the prisoners lying in these bunks, but you can’t imagine just how cold, barren, and cramped it looks in person. The toilets were in a separate barracks that consisted of a basic wooden latrine with about 20 or so holes.
Birkenau had four crematoria in use. Three were blown up by the Nazis at the end of the war (camp inmates, prior to the war’s end, had blown up one of the four). All that remained were heaps of rubble. However, you could see the stairs that led down into the chamber where the so-called “changing room” and “showers” were located. The roof had been blown away so the chamber was now open to view from above. Once again, I think we both felt chilled as we pictured the innocent prisoners walking down the stairs into the gas chamber.
Toward the back of the camp, within a stone’s throw of the crematoria, is a memorial. There are plaques lined up along the base, each written in the language representing those countries from which most of the prisoners had been deported. There is also an English translation. It reads as follows: “For ever let this place be a cry of despair and a warning to humanity, where the Nazis murdered about one and a half million men, women, and children, mainly Jews, from various countries of Europe. Auschwitz-Birkenau 1940-1945”.
Day 4 (5/29/00)
We met up with Krysztopher again this morning for a tour of the Jewish presence in Krakow. That presence had existed for many hundreds of years. The first mention of a Jewish street in Krakow is from the early 1300s. However, over time, the Jews were segregated into an adjacent area called Kazimierz. This area, now once again part of the city proper, is where most of the Jewish history of Krakow can be found.
Our first stop was the synagogue. In fact, there are several well-maintained synagogues in the area. Directly behind and off to the side of the building is a Jewish cemetery with stones that date back many centuries. During the German occupation, most of the stones were turned over and buried by the Jews in an attempt to protect them from the Germans. After the war, they were unearthed and placed upright. Nevertheless, many stones were destroyed. Those that could not be repaired are now being used to form a memorial mosaic wall surrounding the cemetery.
A short walk around the old Jewish neighborhood led us past several additional synagogues, the old Jewish market, and ultimately to another synagogue called the “Templ”. This building has been completely renovated and is absolutely stunning inside. The colors are dramatic and vibrant, the wooden benches polished to a brilliant shine. It was recently the site of a Jewish music festival held in Krakow.
After another short walk we came upon an alley that was bordered on both sides by a row of two story houses with balconies facing into the interior alley. It looked strangely familiar. Krysztopher explained that this was the site of the famous ghetto liquidation scene from Steven Spielberg’s movie, Schindler’s List. Although I had seen the movie, it had not been apparent to me that it recounted the story of the Jews of Krakow. Now, here we were, not only seeing the area in person, but also recognizing many of the shots from the movie. During the liquidation of the ghetto, there is a scene where a very young boy helps to hide a Jewish woman from the SS troops. He pushes her underneath a small staircase leading down from the second story of the building. Now, we were standing just outside that staircase. We also drove to the factory in which Oskar Schindler helped over a thousand Jews to survive. Although the factory is now used to make electronics, the front gate is unchanged and easily recognizable from the movie.
From here it was only a short drive to the former residence of Amon Goeth, the Nazi commandant who oversaw the Plasow concentration camp, located on the outskirts of the city. Someone actually lives there. It’s hard to comprehend how anyone would want to live in a house with such a history. The Plasow camp is no longer in existence. All that remains is an open, grassy field, with a memorial to those who suffered at the hands of the Nazis. On the drive back to our hotel, we passed by the last remnant of the ghetto wall. The Nazis designed the wall to look like gravestones lined up adjacent to one another. According to our guide, this was to make sure the Jews understood this was to be there very own final resting-place!
Back at our hotel, we met up with Adam, our guide from Warsaw. He had driven down that morning to meet us in Krakow and take us on the final leg of our journey, my grandfather’s hometown-Szczebrzeszyn. We left Krakow at about 2 PM. The plan was to drive to Zamosc, a larger city about 20 km from Szcz., spend the night there and head on to Szcz in the morning. After driving several hours we decided to stop for gas and a cup of coffee. As always, the easiest and most convenient place turned out to be……McDonalds! It was about 5 PM and the place was packed. There was a group of about 30 children on a school trip. They were about 10 or 11 years old. When we walked in, and they heard us speaking English, you could hear the whispers and giggling. Our guide told us the kids were very excited by the presence of Americans. We waved hello and smiled. This just about sent the kids wild. We sat down to have our drinks. The kids crowded around and we started a conversation, with Adam interpreting. The kids spoke only a few words of English (all Polish schoolchildren now learn English). The first thing they wanted to know was if we knew any celebrities. For the next ten minutes we had the most fun with these kids. We took pictures of them and then they asked if they could take a picture of us. We were happy to oblige. We drove off after many good-byes and lots of waving. It was such an incredible and spontaneous experience. The kids were all so well behaved, respectful, and so, so happy.
By about 8 o’clock we arrived in Zamosc. Although we had driven for almost six hours I couldn’t help but think that as long as it was still light, and Szcz was only another 10 minutes away……..? Adam was great and, of course, was up for the extra few kms. By now, I was nearly crawling out of my skin in anticipation of seeing the town I had wanted to visit for so many years. Then, quite suddenly, much sooner than I had expected, we approached the sign designating the border of the town of Szcz. Just past the sign, the first sight was an immense factory. It looked abandoned but was actually just not currently in use. It was a sugar factory, only used when the sugar beets were harvested. A few kms down the road we came to the old-town center. It was getting dark and we realized we didn’t have much time so we decided to at least try to find the synagogue. After searching for about two minutes, we came across a building that, although it had no visible markers to suggest it was a synagogue, just exuded a feeling of Jewishness. It’s hard to explain but we all had the same sensation. We drove up, got out of the car, and walked up to the building. By the side of the entrance, was a plaque. Writing in Polish and Hebrew related that this was, in fact, the old synagogue. We spent a few minutes walking around just relishing the fact that this symbol of a once thriving Jewish community was still intact. It didn’t matter that it was now used as a cultural center. The fact that it was there was more than enough. My grandfather and his family had once used this synagogue! The feeling was overwhelming.
Unfortunately, there was very little time to look around that night. We soon headed back to Zamosc, and checked into our hotel. Once again, I was amazed by the lavish accommodations. For the equivalent of about $100 for the night, we had a huge one-bedroom apartment, with two baths, overlooking the town-square. The Hotel Orbis Zamoyski was beautifully decorated and full of old-world charm. The ceilings in the room must have been twelve feet high. We were also very impressed by the city itself. Zamosc was almost storybook pretty. Beautiful homes and shops, in varying colors lined the town-square. Incredible attention had been paid to architectural details. After a very late night dinner we settled in to await our return to Szcz in the morning.
Day 5 (5/30/00)
After a buffet breakfast in our hotel, we checked out and began our drive back to Szcz. We planned on getting to the town by 9 AM as our first stop was going to be the town archives. We wanted to make sure we got there as soon as the office was open. We drove up to the nicely kept, gold-toned building in the middle of the town-square. We entered the office where Adam proceeded to tell the clerk why we were there. My initial impression was that she wasn’t too happy about helping us. She asked for documentation that I was related to the person about whom I was inquiring. I was dumbfounded. I never expected to need documentation. However, after some additional cajoling by Adam and a quick sketch of my family tree that I hoped would soften her heart, she actually became quite helpful. In fact, she spent the next hour or so pulling out the old record books and scanning them for information about my family. The books were kept directly behind her desk, in a rather old, wooden, covered bookcase. Peter and I were both astounded that these “treasures” were kept so informally. How could they have survived for so long without getting lost, stolen, burned, or destroyed by the Nazis? The records in this office dated back to 1900.
I knew my grandfather was born on June 1st, 1900. So, we were in luck. At least his birth record should be in this office. The clerk pulled out the record book for 1900 and was able to find the proper entry in about two minutes. There it was, written in Russian, my grandfather’s birth record! The clerk was able to translate the Russian to Polish. Adam then translated the Polish to English. There it was…Joseph Klajner, born to Chaim (age30) and Freida (age29). Birthdate…May 24th, 1900. Wait a minute, that was supposed to be June 1st. “No,” she clearly said, “May 24th.” Either there had been some mistake in the record, which was unlikely, or my grandfather was mistaken about his date of birth, or a different calendar was in effect at the time-perhaps Russian Orthodox. Whatever the reason, it was kind of spooky to be there almost exactly 100 years to the day that my grandfather was born, only to find out that he and I actually share the same birthday!
We spent more time looking through other books and found the birth entries for my grandfather’s three brothers: Nathan, Chaim, and David. For some very strange reason, we could not find the records for his sisters: Rose, Bertha, and Molly. We also found other Klajners in the records but were unable to make any connection with my immediate family. I imagine they must have been related, perhaps my great-grandfather's brothers. Since the records didn’t go back any further than 1900, we were unable to find info on any prior generations to help make the connection. The older records (1872-1899) were kept in Zamosc. Records prior to 1872 were in Lublin.
We had pretty much exhausted our search in Szcz. Prior to leaving we asked if we could take a picture with the record book opened to the page with my grandfather’s entry. After covering up the adjacent page (I assumed that was for purposes of confidentiality), the clerk agreed. We offered to tip her 50 Zlotys (about 11 dollars). After an initial refusal, she agreed. In addition to thanking her in this way, I hoped this would make her inclined to help others if they came looking.
Our next stop was the public library where we thought there might also be some documentation available for us to review. Although we quickly learned that there was little of interest in the library, we happened upon a woman who heard us explaining our situation to the librarian. She looked to be about 50 years old. After a brief conversation with Adam, she told us that a friend of hers, formerly from Szcz., had actually written a history of the Jews in Szcz. This friend now lived in Lublin. The woman, named Bojena Rembisz, invited us back to her house to get her friend’s address and phone number. We were amazed. We hadn’t known this woman for more than 5 minutes and she invites us to her home. Not exactly, the kind of reception I was expecting. In fact, I was afraid that we would be met with indifference or even hostility.
The house was modest but spotlessly clean. Bojena offered us juice, coffee, water and then brought out a chocolate bar. While we drank, she pulled out some old photos as well as her mother’s original ID/registration card, issued by the Nazis during the occupation. Bojena lived alone. We’re not sure if she was widowed. Her one son, of whom she spoke with incredible pride, was in the US studying at the University of Michigan. Before we left, she told us of another friend who would be able to help in our search for Jewish roots. We were urged to see Mr. Leszek Kaszyca, owner of the local photo shop.
We drove back into town and quickly located the store. When Adam told the owner of the reason for our visit, he promptly pulled out a huge stack of photos hidden behind the counter. The pictures were mainly of the Jewish cemetery and other vestiges of the Jewish community. It turned out that this man, a Polish Catholic, had an interest in Judaism and in researching and archiving the Jewish presence in Sczc. In fact, he had recently been in contact with members of the town’s surviving Jews, now located in Israel, Canada, and the US. With funding from these survivors, he had taken it upon himself to maintain the Jewish cemetery that had fallen into complete disrepair. He had also traveled to Israel to meet with some of the survivors and actually spoke a fair amount of Hebrew. Once again, we were astounded. Why was this Polish Catholic so interested in uncovering and remembering the Jewish presence in Szcz.? We never felt quite comfortable enough to ask directly but could only wonder. Sadly, the funding for the preservation of the cemetery faded and Mr. Kaszyca no longer had the strength to do the work himself. He seemed rather upset that the survivors seemed disinterested and that, more importantly, the cemetery was, once again, completely overgrown with weeds.
It was early afternoon when we left the photo shop. We decided to head back to Zamosc to search the older archives for additional records of my family. We walked into the office and were met by three women, sitting behind desks piled high with stacks of paper. Record books were piled on the floor. The office seemed as if it were in a time warp from the 1960s. There were rotary phones, old and drab furniture, dented metal filing cabinets, and no computers. All writing was done by hand or with the one typewriter that didn’t seem to get much use. Once again, Adam explained why we were there. After a rather long and intense conversation with the senior clerk, Adam relayed that they could/would not help us unless we had prior authorization from the central government office in Warsaw. I couldn’t believe it. The records were right there. All they had to do was walk over to the cabinet and pull out the appropriate ledger. I asked Adam to inform the clerk that we had come all the way from NY, and that I’d be willing to pay whatever fee was involved in getting the proper authorization. No dice! She stuck by her rules. I was told that I would need to apply, pay a $30 fee, and then they would research my inquiry and send the results by mail. I had no choice. The “application” turned out to be a blank piece of paper upon which I was instructed to write my name, address, and a brief description of the information I was looking for. We had to walk a few blocks away to the bank, pay the $30 fee, and return to the office with the receipt. Well, I guess I’ll just have to wait and see what, if anything, comes in the mail!
After a brief lunch in Zamosc, we drove back to Szcz. We met up with Bojena once again. This time she drove with us back into town. We spent the next hour or so walking around the town-square. Bojena was quick to point out anything that she thought might be of interest. Since I had no idea where my grandfather’s house was located, I decided to call my Uncle Nathan, who lives in Florida. So, from a mobile phone, standing in the middle of Szcz, I placed a call to uncle Nat. When I told him where I was calling from, he sounded neither surprised nor excited. I asked him if he could remember his old address. Without a moment’s hesitation, he told me that he had lived at #21 Renyk Street. After a quick conversation, we said our good-byes. I turned to Adam and relayed the information about the address. He, in turn, asked Bojena if she knew where this street was. As it turned out, we were standing on Renyk Street! The Polish word “Renyk” translates into town-square. So, the 4 streets surrounding the square were all Renyk Street. Today, however, the street has a different name, one that escapes me at the present time.
We continued looking around the square trying to find #21. Sadly, the numbers of the houses appeared to have been changed and some of the spaces were now vacant. A few of the original homes had been torn down or replaced. However, we were able to get a pretty good sense of where the house had been. Also, the architecture of the remaining homes provided a fairly good picture of what the house must have looked like. Just about all the homes were two story red brick, covered by a layer of stucco. So, even though I never actually found the exact home where my grandfather grew up, we were certainly right on the street where he lived! I had always pictured a much different scenario: perhaps a small farm or a single story wooden structure. I’m sure I got that idea from Fiddler on the Roof.
Before heading back to Warsaw, Bojena wanted to introduce us to another friend of hers, Mrs. Jurczykowski. By now, it was about 5PM. She had already spent the better part of the afternoon with us. We crossed over to the other side of the town-square and entered the courtyard of a small, white, house. A friendly, older woman with white hair ushered us inside. She appeared to have a single tooth in her mouth. This didn’t prevent her from greeting us warmly and with a big smile. We sat down at the kitchen table located off to the side of what appeared to be the main room of the rather small house. There was a very modest kitchen, a bathroom off to the side, and a bed against the wall. I think there may have been one additional bedroom. All together, the house couldn’t have been more than 600 square feet. Within a minute or so, Mr. Jurczykowski appeared. He extended his hand to greet us. Several fingers were missing. His dirty and callused hands clearly indicated that his life had not been an easy one. He too was missing most of his teeth. He and his wife both looked like they were in their seventies. Mr. Kaszyca (from the photo shop) and his son also joined us. So there we were, Peter, me, Adam, Bojena, Mr. and Mrs. Jurczykowsiw, and Mr. Kaszyca and his son all sitting or standing around the small kitchen table. Who could have ever imagined?
I’m not exactly sure what Adam said to our hosts but Mr. Jurczykowski excused himself for a moment. When he returned, he was carrying a black-bound drawing pad. He explained to Adam that about two years ago he decided to sketch, from memory, all the streets in town as they appeared in 1935. He opened the drawing pad and started flipping through the pages. The pencil drawings were exquisite. Page after page was filled with incredible pictures of Szcz. as it must have appeared 65 years ago. Mr. Jurcyzkowski turned to the page for Renyk Street. Although the houses were not numbered, he could remember who had lived in each house. He went from one to the next telling us not only who had lived there but what they did for a living. A family named David owned the first house. The second belonged to the Warmana family, who owned a cookie shop. The third was a food shop owned by the Szmula family. Next came the Bergers and their shoe shop. It was fascinating to hear this man reminisce, especially with such apparent accuracy. The Fleischers owned the large, gray, ornate house (which is still present and of which I took a photo). Evidently, they were the owners of the town mill and the richest Jewish family in the area. Unfortunately, no one in the room had any recollection of the name Klajner.
After about an hour, we were feeling more at ease and asked Adam to ask our hosts if they would feel comfortable talking about the war, the German occupation, and their personal experiences. We didn’t know what kind of response we’d receive. Would they talk openly? Would they get upset? Well, once again we were in for a surprise. Not only were they not upset, but once questioned, Mrs. Jurczykowski let loose with one story after another. We could see how emotional she was getting as she told Adam each story. He, in turn, translated for us. We sat for about another 45 minutes as she told her stories. There are three that bear repeating here.
1)There was a sewing shop along the main street in town, owned by Jews. Mrs. Jurczykowski was a young girl of about 11 or 12. She had just finished buying some needles and thread and was walking out of the store. Just as she got outside she heard, “Halt, Halt”! A German soldier pushed his way past her and ran into the store. She heard the sound of gunshots. The soldier had just murdered the entire family in the shop while she stood outside on the sidewalk.
2)At some point during the occupation, Mrs. Jurczykowski remembers walking in the town-square. She passed a Jewish teenage boy. Moments later a German soldier shot the boy for no apparent reason. However, the boy was still alive and managed to crawl to a wall against which he was able to lean for support. Nobody came to his aid, as they knew this would mean certain death. He lay there for over an hour. The German soldier returned and found that the boy was still alive. He shot him again. This time he died.
3)Szczcebrzeszyn had a pre-war population of about 8,000. Of these, 3,000 were Jews. When the Germans occupied Poland in 1939, the deportation of the Jews began. By 1942, about 2,000 remained. One evening, I think it was in the fall, Mrs. Jurczkowski remembers she was 13 years old. The Germans herded up the remaining Jewish population, marched them up to the Jewish cemetery, forced them to dig three separate pits, and then shot each and every one. The bodies were pushed into the pits. As a young girl, Mrs. Jurczkowski, and her brother, watched from off in the distance. She was an eyewitness to this massacre.
We couldn’t believe what we were hearing. How could a young girl watch this and not be tortured for the rest of her life? Clearly, even now, after nearly sixty years, we could see the pain in her face as she recounted these stories. Peter and I had both read so many accounts of the Nazis brutality. Now, we were standing in its presence with someone who witnessed it firsthand. Suddenly, all the holocaust horror stories became much more real. It was as powerful a feeling as our visit to Auschwitz.
It was now nearly 8PM. We still had a long drive back to Warsaw and had to say our good-byes. We exchanged phone numbers and addresses. They promised to let us know if they uncovered any other information about my family. Even if I never hear from them, I will always be thankful for their helping to make this trip so incredible!
We had one last stop before we left Szcz. We went with Mr. Kaszyca and his son up to the Jewish cemetery. It was getting dark. There was a definite chill and dampness in the air. We walked into the cemetery, on a small hill, about a half-mile from the town square. We walked up about 10 steps to a flat area where the remnants of the cemetery were to be found. The weeds were so high they practically covered most of the remaining stones. We made our way through the narrow paths. A machete would definitely have been appropriate. Not far into our trek, we came across the first of three small stone markers. Each was about a foot square and two feet high. These stones designated the sites of the pits Mrs. Jurczkowski had just finished telling us about. Mr. Kaszyca told us that just before the end of the war, the Germans dug up many of the bodies in order to burn them and thus hide the evidence of their atrocities. However, many bodies remain in the pits. It was a very unnerving and terrifying site.
The rest of the cemetery was in just as poor condition. There were many stones completely covered by moss or so severely eroded by the weather as to make them unreadable. Many others were toppled or broken. However, there were some that seemed fairly well preserved. Unfortunately, as we expected, they were written in Hebrew and we didn’t have the expertise or time to try to decipher the names and dates. I think we all felt a sense of loss at the dismal condition of this final resting-place that had served the Jewish community here for centuries.
It was about 9PM by the time we hit the road. We had one last stop. On our way out of town we came upon the sign that, from the other direction, marks the spot at which one officially enters the town of Szcz. From this direction, the sign has the town name with a red slash through it, signaling that one was now leaving. Peter got out of the car and took a picture. It was a fitting end to the day.
We didn’t get back to our hotel in Warsaw until one in the morning. We were both exhausted. The following morning, Adam drove us to the airport. We found the check-in line (actually, there was no line but rather a mass of people crowded around the check-in area). Total confusion! We thanked Adam for all his help, said our good-byes, and managed to squeeze our way through. In about an hour we were on our way home.
Postscript (6/09/00)
In thinking back to my original reasons for deciding to go Poland, I’d have to say number one was to get information about my family. In retrospect, that didn’t happen. I can’t say that I’m not disappointed. However, it’s only been a little more than a week since my return and I haven’t given up hope that I’ll receive something in the mail from the office in Zamosc. When that happens, who knows what I’ll find!
As I wrote previously, I arrived in Poland with many preconceived ideas about what I would find. Probably one of the most considerable was the thought that we would encounter anti-Semitism. If the people we met during our trip were any indication, I couldn’t have been more wrong. I will never forget the people from Szczebrzeszyn who opened their homes to us, tried their best to help in whatever way possible, and were greatly responsible for making this trip so truly memorable.
So, why do I feel that this trip was such a resounding success even when I didn’t find the information I was seeking? I think it’s because I did make the connection with my roots in a more profound and moving way than I had ever anticipated. I felt the family link when I stood on the town-square in Szczebrzeszyn and when I saw my grandfather’s name written in the birth records. I also felt a keen sense of Jewishness, not only in Szczebrzeszyn, but in all of Poland. Peter and I couldn’t help but feel so proud that we were, even if only in some small way, representing all those who died at the hands of the Nazis. In a land from which Judaism was supposed to have been obliterated, here we were, representing the next generation of Jews.
Perry Eisman
Introduction
Both my father’s parents died long before I was born. . Other than my father’s sister and her family, there isn’t anyone on that side with whom we have any contact. Additionally, no one has any recollection of where my father’s family is originally from or even what the pre-Americanized family name was. Trying to get any genealogical information would be nearly impossible.