Ziemowit
27 Jun 2012
History / Poland and Polish Anti-Semitism, c. 1918-1939 [148]
Not having read the entire thread (and not having the intention to do it, anyway), I wish to tell you of my having once browsed a book in the university bookshop in Warsaw (Księgarnia im. Bolesława Prusa, opposite the main entrance) which was the diary of a young Jew living in Warsaw, and which covered the years 1936-39 or so. I was completely shocked by reading in that diary his statement that Jews in Warsaw were deliberately choosing to live as a separate community, and choosing to have few contacts with the Poles and even trying to avoid them in some way. I had been so shocked that I left the bookshop without buying this book, such big was my astonishment towards this statement, and so much this Jewish testimony was against my perception of the relations between the two communities in pre-1939 Poland.
When I came back to the bookshop a few weeks later to browse the book again and eventually buy it, I found it wasn't there any more! I did not remember its title, nor the name of its author (I think the co-author was the researcher who prepared the diary into print) which is a very great pity as the book gave an excellent insight into the life of the Jewish community in Warsaw, and the city itself, before the outbreak of the WW II. I very muh regret not buying that book to this day!
My astonishment can at least be partly attributed to the many stories told by my grand-father who all his life lived in a village (once a small town) 60 km south of Warsaw. He was telling us as a lot about life in that village with a particular emphasis on his encounters with members of the Jewish community of that village. There was not a single trace of antisemitism in his stories even when he quoted the popular saying of the Jewish people "ulice wasze, kamienice nasze" in pre-war Poland (my grandpa learned his trade in Warsaw in the 1930s, where he also used to meet the Jews of Warsaw). A very talented man in learning foreign languages (he could read Russian newspapers having only completed the first four years in a primary school), he was apparently on very good terms with Jews since his Jewish friends offered to teach him Yiddish which he already knew to some extent, but wanted to learn further. At that very moment, however, appeared the local rabbi of the village who had forbidden them to teach Yiddish to a Pole. This may indicate at least some restrain on the part of the Jews towards the Poles. A restrain which somehow may still be seen in today's Poland! Last year, I told this story to a woman (presumably a Jewish woman) in a bookshop in one of the historical synagogues in Cracow; the lady got very interested indeed when I was telling her that my grandpa knew quite a bit of Yiddish. But when I reached the point at when the teaching of Yiddish to my grand-father was forbidden by the rabbi, this woman suddenly lost all her interest, became quite chilly and had politely disengaged herself from a very friendly conversation with my wife and me. I have no idea why such a strange withdrawal occured to her; beside my interesting stories, my wife was displaying her usual interest for Jewish culture and, in particular, Jewish music when talking to that lady.
You really are getting desperate if you're trying to make us believe that the inhabitants of Muranow were living in an isolated community. Have you ever actually been to Warsaw.
Not having read the entire thread (and not having the intention to do it, anyway), I wish to tell you of my having once browsed a book in the university bookshop in Warsaw (Księgarnia im. Bolesława Prusa, opposite the main entrance) which was the diary of a young Jew living in Warsaw, and which covered the years 1936-39 or so. I was completely shocked by reading in that diary his statement that Jews in Warsaw were deliberately choosing to live as a separate community, and choosing to have few contacts with the Poles and even trying to avoid them in some way. I had been so shocked that I left the bookshop without buying this book, such big was my astonishment towards this statement, and so much this Jewish testimony was against my perception of the relations between the two communities in pre-1939 Poland.
When I came back to the bookshop a few weeks later to browse the book again and eventually buy it, I found it wasn't there any more! I did not remember its title, nor the name of its author (I think the co-author was the researcher who prepared the diary into print) which is a very great pity as the book gave an excellent insight into the life of the Jewish community in Warsaw, and the city itself, before the outbreak of the WW II. I very muh regret not buying that book to this day!
My astonishment can at least be partly attributed to the many stories told by my grand-father who all his life lived in a village (once a small town) 60 km south of Warsaw. He was telling us as a lot about life in that village with a particular emphasis on his encounters with members of the Jewish community of that village. There was not a single trace of antisemitism in his stories even when he quoted the popular saying of the Jewish people "ulice wasze, kamienice nasze" in pre-war Poland (my grandpa learned his trade in Warsaw in the 1930s, where he also used to meet the Jews of Warsaw). A very talented man in learning foreign languages (he could read Russian newspapers having only completed the first four years in a primary school), he was apparently on very good terms with Jews since his Jewish friends offered to teach him Yiddish which he already knew to some extent, but wanted to learn further. At that very moment, however, appeared the local rabbi of the village who had forbidden them to teach Yiddish to a Pole. This may indicate at least some restrain on the part of the Jews towards the Poles. A restrain which somehow may still be seen in today's Poland! Last year, I told this story to a woman (presumably a Jewish woman) in a bookshop in one of the historical synagogues in Cracow; the lady got very interested indeed when I was telling her that my grandpa knew quite a bit of Yiddish. But when I reached the point at when the teaching of Yiddish to my grand-father was forbidden by the rabbi, this woman suddenly lost all her interest, became quite chilly and had politely disengaged herself from a very friendly conversation with my wife and me. I have no idea why such a strange withdrawal occured to her; beside my interesting stories, my wife was displaying her usual interest for Jewish culture and, in particular, Jewish music when talking to that lady.