Just Like Me ...

If it'sThursday, I must be on my way to Tel Aviv. The last few days have been challenging for me, both physically and emotionally. I had no real expectations for Poland, although the vision in my head was grey and a little sad. For the most part I can't say I was very far off. There were a few shining moments, but mostly I felt empty. I'm sure the cold of winter had something to do with it; the few moments of bright sunshine made Warsaw only slightly more attractive. What I love most about traveling is exploring the hidden streets, the local culture, the personality of a city. To be fair, this was not a vacation and I was not expecting to have "tourist" moments, but we covered a lot of ground and I simply could not grasp a "life" vibe in any of the towns we visited. I was being shown by JCCA what they could offer JCC's and my job was to explore our vision for future Mandell JCC travelers. We found some gems in the JCC of Krakow (and I got a cool T-shirt too), and found the city as a whole both an interesting snapshot of pre-war Poland and a sneak peek of a newly emerging Jewish community. A night out in a local pub offered great local food and a look at Krakow through the local lens. We rebelled a bit from the group, who were repeating at a local kosher spot, to explore on a more personal level. Maybe not the most professionally appropriate, but we want to make sure that we find the best every destination has to offer. Great leaders have to choose their own path sometimes, or in this case, their own dinner. I can't think of another "must do" from a travel perspective, but with Poland in the rear view mirror, I now understand that this leg of the journey had a different missive. We were not here to visit Poland, we were here to "remember" Poland. As I admitted to the group in our "confessional" session, I am a little embarrassed about how little I knew and thankful I am that I work with and for people who provide me with experiences like this to grow and learn. There was no judgement from the group of much more informed professionals; only a chance to share their knowledge and their personal stories.

As I shared with the group, I am the third generation of my family to have an American childhood. I know through my fathers interest in his family's genealogy that we had roots in a now non-existent Polish shtetl of Tarnipole, but I did not grow up with any family stories of the Holocaust. I am certain that had he lived long enough to have access to today's technology he would have unearthed all the branches of our family tree and explored Poland first hand for evidence of our history. I learned what I was taught in Hebrew school, but it was much more factual than personal. There were no sad stories in my Jewish narrative, only joy and family and tradition, and I'm not sorry about that. My sons were raised the same way, I could only offer them what had been given to me, and again, I'm not sorry their Jewish story is a happy one too. They have all spent much more time in Israel than I have (5+ weeks each, their 16-year old summer) and more than likely, they know more as young men than I do as their approaching 50 year old mother. That makes me both ashamed and proud.

So where does that leave me today, after 4 days in Poland, almost 14 hours a day, spent trying to grasp what generations of my fellow Jews (and the majority of my colleagues) have felt and understood their whole lives. I didn't cry the same tears in the Warsaw Ghetto or Majdenek, I didn't feel the same hatred for the Polish people (and don't want to share that sentiment, too much energy to hate, and aren't we trying to end hatred of a people), and although I was anxious about our visit to Auschwitz, I wasn't emotional. I think it's going to take me some time to process what I've seen and how it made feel. Of all the horror that Auschwitz revealed to me today, there was a moment , completely unexpected, when I felt the presence of a kindred spirit; these were my relatives, this could be my story. Superficial as it may seem, it started with shoes. Piles and piles of shoes, taken upon arrival along with all other personal belongings. There were stylish espadrilles, elegant camel pumps, even a navy blue pair with a little white anchor. These women; these Jewish wives and mothers and daughters, were just like me. They had happy lives in beautiful cities like Lublin and Krakow or West Hartford. They gave their children a joyous Jewish childhood, and they had closets filled with clothing and shoes, Just like me. I can't imagine that they ever feared the atrocities that were in their future; who could fathom such an unthinkable fate. They packed their bags for the ghettos and the camps; filling their suitcases with their favorite things and they were killed, just for being a Jewish woman, just for being me. They were the suburban housewives of their time, busy days raising children and cooking dinner; they never imagined that anything terrible could happen to them ...but it did. This will stay with me, this I will remember, and for now, that's a good place to start.
Talk soon, Jill