Poland Pilgrimage Spring 2017

Shtetl Life in Tykocin and memorial in the Łopuchowo Forest

by Melissa Scianimanico,   11^th grade,   Louisville KY

Modern Tykocin exists as an average, small Christian village in north-eastern Poland; a tall Cross marks the middle of the main road and quaint, red-roofed houses stamp themselves to the groomed grass, yet beneath the bland facade, hides a rich and diverse Jewish history. Tykocin stands as a symbol for what used to be; a symbol for Judaism, and thriving Jewish shtetl life. Shtetls like Tykocin are small, Jewish towns with a unique socio-cultural communal pattern, that existed in Russia and Poland during the 19th and early 20th centuries.

Interior of the restored Tykocin Synagogue with words of Hebrew prayers written on the walls. 

Although Tykocin is no longer home to thousands of Jews, fragments of its former Jewish life still stand out. For example, adjacent to a small white house, with a cross in the window and blooming flowers in the garden, stands a synagogue.  In the sanctuary, brilliantly colored paintings, including the text of prayers, line the walls and shed light on the devoted kehila kedosha that inhabited the village for centuries. In order for a synagogue to not only exist but be as alluring as the Tykocin synagogue, there must be respect for the Jewish community. Therefore, this synagogue not only confirms that Jewish life thrived, but that Jews peacefully coexisted among the other faiths and ethnicities in the area. 

In addition, true to most shtetl life, the Jews were also active economically in Tykocin. While an aspect of Tykocin, like its market square is less glamorous and more commonplace than the large synagogue, it still offers relevance regarding Jewish life in the shtetl. The market square was a place rich with culture; Jews earned a meager living in the marketplace, but for them it was enough. They were free to be Jewish while synchronously immersing themselves in the food, clothing, and attitude of their community. Yet, many Jews earned a living outside of the market. It is important to recognize that the shtetl was not uniform; there was a vast diversity of ideas and experiences that characterized these communities. 

As we visited Tykocin, we were walking on the lives that used to be. We stepped on their streets, sat in their market square, and even prayed within the walls of their synagogue. Yet, we took the aforementioned to a literal level, when we visited the cemetery. The cemetery was a somewhat paradoxical experience for me. Yes, it represents death, but in a way illustrates the thriving Jewish community that inhabited Tykocin. For there to be a Jewish cemetery there must have been a flourishing Jewish community, therefore, the cemetery is an apt depiction of the generations of Jewish life that dwelled in Tykocin for centuries. 

Tykocin Jewish cemetary in a state of disrepait

Unfortunately, not all of the Tykocin Jews made it to the cemetery and had the opportunity to peacefully end their lives. Five miles west of the village stands a forest; it is filled with towering trees and sporadic tufts of grass, the pinnacle of innocent wilderness. Yet, on August 25, 1941, the Łopuchowo forest, with its flowers and soaring birds, became a place of mass destruction and death. That summer morning the German SS ordered all the Jews in Tykocin to gather in the market square, the center of life, in order to be relocated to a nearby Ghetto. A deceived 1,400 people were soon seized from the square and from life as they knew it, only to be transported to their death. The Jews of Tykocin were marched on foot down the winding, wooded path. Even in the peak of their death, with guns pointed to their heads and an open pit at their feet the Jews could bask in the streams of sun that poked through the trees, and admire the prickle of grass on their ankles. But any trace of  life and humanity was ravished as women, children and men watched their loved ones fall to their death, limbs muddled with their neighbors. 

Although the fate of Tykocin ended in destruction it is pertinent to remember the lives that thrives before; the lives in the shtetl.

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Lublin and Majdanek

by Leah Hurwitz,   11^th grade,   Chicago

In our class meeting the night before, David told us that there is nothing I can say to prepare you guys for what you will be seeing tomorrow. That is when I knew that the day ahead of us will be extremely challenging. Before bed, my roommate and I discussed our fears, how we thought we would react, what we thought we would see. I tried so hard to ready myself for seeing a concentration camp in real life. Much of my life, I have learned about the Shoah, whether it was at school, Sunday school, or through my own research. The stories I have learned, movies I have watched and pictures I have seen have taken place in a concentration camp. There was a lot of buildup and anticipation but there was nothing I could’ve done to prepare myself.

The "Jew Gate" at the entrance to Lublin's walled old city where Jews resided in the Middle Ages

            The day started off in Lublin, an old city with a vibrant Jewish history. Upon arriving, we learned a bit about the history of Lublin and then were set free to explore the city. After grabbing a coffee at a local shop, we walked around admiring the charm and beauty. We stumbled upon a restaurant called the Jewish Restaurant. Obviously, this was not owned by Jews but was made for the Jews (i.e. Jewish tourism).  My friends and I discussed whether we thought this was appropriate; having a “Jewish restaurant” even though it isn’t owned by Jews and authentic. On the other hand, they are trying to bring back Jewish culture into their society. It is there way of acknowledging that there was once a Jewish community there?

            The rest of the morning was spent learning at the renowned Sages of Lublin Yeshiva. We took a quick bus ride to one of the most prestigious Yeshiva’s when it was in use in the 1930s. They had not only classrooms but dormitories, dining halls, and other things that made it modern and practical. While only open from 1930 to 1939, it provided the Jewish world with many excellent scholars. It was a burst of Jewish scholarship. At the opening ceremony, thousands showed up; both Jews and non-Jews alike. The Polish neighbors wanted to show their support for the Yeshiva. This shows that the Jewish people in Lublin had very good relations with the Poles and they were acculturated into their society. In the Beit Knesset, with our principal Rabbi Loren Sykes, we studied a page of Talmud. We debated whether learning is more important than action. During our discussion, I understood what it was like to be a student at this Yeshiva.

           

The large Beit Midrash at the renowned Sages of Lublin Yeshiva

        From Lublin, we had a strikingly short drive to Majdanek, a death and concentration camp. Walking around at Majdanek was one of the hardest thing I have ever done. I saw were thousands lived, worked, and died. Walking into the different barracks, we saw many different horrible things. In one of the barracks, there were thousand and thousands of shoes. This showed me just how many people were killed. Visualizing six million people is not possible for me. But seeing the shoes gave a demonstration of just how many were killed during the Holocaust. To add on to that, those weren’t even all of the shoes of the Holocaust victims. The memorial at Majdanek was the hardest part of the whole day. Seeing a huge pile of ashes was horrific and chilling. It struck me to my core. Following the testimony of a Majdanek survivor, we got a better understanding of the atrocities that occurred at Majdanek. The most rewarding part of the day was walking out of Majdanek. With me, I carried with me the memory of all of the innocent people murdered there. I carried with me the memory of all of the owners of the shoes. I carried with me the memory of all of the peoples who ashes were being held at Majdanek. I walked out of Majdanek for all of those who couldn’t.

Crematoria building at the Majdanek Concentration Camp in Lublin, Poland

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                              Kazimierz:  Jewish Krakow

   by Hannah Marcus,   11th grade,    California

          The neighborhood of Kazimierz within the city of Krakow, known as the “Jewish Quarter”, houses synagogues, a Jewish cemetery, and a number of Jewish shops and restaurants. Yet few, if any, Jews remain today. Due to the Holocaust, the rich Jewish life within Krakow was all but wiped out, and most Jewish sites there today are simply replicas of their former selves. Our group visited multiple shuls around the neighborhood of Kazimierz in order to gain an understanding of Jewish life in Krakow before the Holocaust.

          The first shul we went to was the Altshul, or “old shul”, built in the 15th century. The Altshul has beautiful Gothic-style architecture, and while it was ransacked during the Holocaust and is no longer in use as a synagogue, it has been restored and made into a museum housing exhibits on Krakow’s past Jewish life. I really enjoyed seeing this synagogue, both for the architecture and the exhibits. However, it was difficult to imagine people praying in it because it has been so museum-ified.

Interior of the Altshul in Krakow's Jewish quarter Kazimierz.  Ceiling is built in the gothic style.       

          Our next destination was the Ramu Synagogue (also known as the Remah synagogue), named after Rabbi Moshe Isserles, the Ramu. In the 16th century, the Ramu wrote and published a book detailing and solidifying Ashkenazi customs for following halacha. Unlucky for him, a very similar book of Sefardi halachic customs, Rabbi Yosef Karo’s Shulchan Aruch ('the set table'), was published before the Ramu could publish his version. Both the Shulchan Aruch and the Ramu’s book the "Mapa" (meaning 'table cloth') are still relevant, however, because Ashkenazi and Sefardi Jews have slightly different traditions and rules. Rabbi Moshe Isserles lived in Krakow, and this synagogue is named after him to recognize his contribution to the Jewish body of texts regarding halacha. The Ramu synagogue is one of the few in Krakow that is still operational today as a house of worship, and it holds weekly services for the small Jewish community remaining in Krakow.

Remu Synagogue in Krakow's Jewish quarter 

          After the Ramu synagogue we toured the Tempel synagogue. This synagogue was a “Reform” synagogue in the 1860s when it was built, although today we would describe it more as Modern Orthodox. The Tempel synagogue gets its name from the decorations of the ark, which is designed to look like the Beit HaMikdash in Jerusalem. Out of all the synagogues we visited, I liked this one’s decor the most. The ceiling and walls were adorned with gold, and the overall design and structure were very visually appealing.

Bima of the Tempel Synagogue in Krakow

          The final two synagogues of the morning were opposites in a way. One, the Kupa synagogue, is also known as the poor man’s synagogue. A donation of 200 zloty during the 17^th century allowed it to finish construction. The Kupa synagogue was created for those in the community who did not have a synagogue of their own. On the walls and ceiling of this synagogue, there are paintings of various locations in Israel as well as scenes from the Tanakh. In contrast to the Kupa synagogue, which was founded for poorer people off of charity, the Izaak synagogue was founded by a rich man named Isaak Jakubowicz in the 1600s. The Izaak synagogue thus has the nickname of the rich man’s synagogue. According to a Krakow legend, Izaak Jacubowicz had a dream that treasure was buried under the famous Charles Bridge in Prague, so he travelled all the way to there and attempted to dig it up, only to find that the treasure had been in his backyard all along. Although this fable is not necessarily true, it is a good example of how popular urban myths were in the Krakow Jewish community whether it was the poor man’s or the rich man’s synagogue.

          Overall, the morning we spent touring Krakow shuls was incredibly enlightening and enjoyable. However, I felt that there was something missing from each synagogue - a community to pray in it. The synagogues have been restored since they were desecrated in the Holocaust, and it’s a little sad to think that the majority of them are no longer in use. These synagogues are shells of their formal selves, and while each provides an insight into Jewish life before the Holocaust, it is also a reminder of how much was truly lost.