Short Video from Launch of Polish Translation

 

 

On July 24, at the National Ethnography Museum in Warsaw, Aleksander Czyzewski and I launched the Polish translation of My Soul is Filled with Joy: A Holocaust Story.

Here is a short video put together by my videographer, Gawl Józefczuk.

Aleksander Czyzewski translated for me and is seen introducing me in the video.

You will see Grzegorz Maleszewski standing and speaking and you will see me kind of posing with a group of people – the people in this shot are all descendants of Helena Stys.

Enjoy.

Moja Dusza Jest Przepelniona Radoscia: Historia Holokaustu – Will it or Will it Not be Sold at the Auschwitz Museum Book Store?

Yes, it’s really in Polish.  I know, that is crazy, but it is true.  

It was really a family affair – a Czyżewski family affair.
Aleksander translated the book (Joanna read it and told me it’s great), Adam edited and Elżbieta published it through her Warsaw-based company Trygon.   How is it possible that one of the few families that I know in Poland could take the book I wrote, that happens to include their own family’s story, and turn it into a beautiful Polish book – like magic.  I am full of gratitude to them all for doing such a great job and being part of my life.

OK, so now what?   Moja Dusza Jest Przepelniona Radoscia will be available for sale at the Treblinka Museum, at the POLIN Museum (I hope-they did not confirm yet), and at a few locations in Krakow:  the Jarden bookstore; the bookstore in the High Synagogue; and at the bookstore at the Klezmer Hoise.  

I really want to have the book sold at the Auschwitz Museum bookstore as well.  The Museum sees two million visitors per year.   But I had no idea how to make this happen.  So, here is what I did.

The day before the Ride for the Living, our group visited Auschwitz-Birkenau.  I took a Polish book with me, thinking I could just stop by the “gift shop,” give them a book and suggest that they might carry it in the store.  Well, not so simple.  

“There is only one person who makes these decisions,” the saleswoman behind the counter told me, “the Museum Director – Jadwiga Pinderska-Lech.”

“Well,” I asked sweetly, “is she available?”

“She is here today,” she responded, “but she sits in the administrative office building.”

“Oh, where can I find her office,” I innocently asked.

“The building is a red brick building just across from the gas chamber and crematoria,” she responded without flinching.  “She sits upstairs on the second floor.”

“OK, thank you,” I stuttered as I left the store.    

You must be kidding – the administrative offices of the Auschwitz Museum is just across from the gas chamber and crematoria.  Ok, I can do this.   Our tour of Auschwitz I, finished up at the exact place I needed to go to find Jadwiga – the gas chamber.  I felt super strange slipping away from my somber group as they were about to enter this chamber of death.  But I found the red brick building, just across, with a sign on the door – “DO NOT ENTER – STAFF ONLY.”  I hesitated, but my nephew Shmuel Treiger was by my side.

“This feels bizarre,” I whispered to Shmuel.

“You can do this Aunt Karen,” Shmuel encouraged, “go, go – now is your chance.”

I slipped away from the group and opened the door that said, “DO NOT ENTER,” knowing that if I had been here 75 years ago, breaking an Auschwitz rule would have led to my death.  But then again, as I was entering this forbidden place, my fellow bike riders were walking into the gas chamber!

It was completely silent in this building – it felt creepy and haunted.  I ascended the stairs as instructed and walked down the hallway looking for Jadwiga’s name on the office doors.  Each office had a closed door and seemed abandoned.  I got all the way to the end of the hall and did not find Jadwiga’s name, so I turned around and walked towards the other end.  I approached the final door, at the end of the hall, and there it was – her name – Jadwiga Pinderska-Lech.  I should have started with the “corner office” as she is the Museum Director, after all.

Well, that was the one door that was slightly ajar.  So, I gently knocked, and a woman responded.   I entered the large room with light streaming in through the windows with a view of the gas chamber and the chimney from the crematoria. 

“I am sorry to bother you,” I said, “I am looking for Jadwiga.”

“I am Jadwiga,” she responded.

“Oh, great,” I said turning on my most charming sales persona.  “I am Karen Treiger from the United States.  I wanted to give you a book I wrote and just launched in its Polish translation.  I was hoping that you might consider selling the book in the Museum’s bookstore.”

Well, we chatted a bit more.  I gave her the book and a card and thanked her for her time.   I left the building, closing the “DO NOT ENTER” door firmly.  I took a deep breath, feeling like what I just did took a lot of chutzpa.  As I lifted my gaze, the first thing that greeted me was the chimney of the crematoria – Oy Vey.

 

My group was already out of area, getting on the bus to travel the short distance to Birkenau.  I decided to slip into another group of tourists entering the gas chamber.  I needed to enter that space to bring me back to the reality of this place. 

Well, that got me back in the “Auschwitz spirit.”  Though I have not yet head back from Jadwiga about whether they will carry my book, if they do Sam and Ether’s “spirit” will be among the many ghosts that inhabit this place. 

Stay tuned, I will report back.         

Ride for the Living – 60 Miles from Auschwitz to Krakow

[Photo: Me & my cousin Rebecca upon arrival at Birkenau – 8 AM Friday, June 28]

Bernard Offen, a spry 90-year-old, pony-tailed, Auschwitz/Birkenau survivor, stood under the burning sun and described how, as a boy, he watched his father walk down the long path toward the gas chamber and crematoria #5.  It was outside the ruins of crematoria #5 that we stood the day before the ride to commemorate and memorialize the murder and suffering of the Jews during the Holocaust.  My heart broke as Kel Maleh Rachamim was chanted and as together, we recited the Kaddish.

[Photo:  Bernard Offen and Jonathan Ornstein on a tandem bike]

Well, the next morning, Bernard and the rest of us (250) were back, but this time, we had bikes and helmets.  Our goal – to ride 60 miles from the gate of Birkenau to the gate of the JCC in Krakow.  The intention of the ride was to both commemorate and celebrate – we are here, free to ride away from this place in a group of proud Jews.  Bernard rode a tandem bike with Jonathan Ornstein, the Executive Director of the 11-year-old Krakow JCC.   I think they just rode the first 14 of the 60 miles, but that if I can do that when I am 90, I’ll be pleased. 

I was proud to ride together with so many wonderful people, but especially happy to ride with my cousin, Rebecca Seltzer of New York (see photo on top).  We share the same great-grandmother who was smart enough to get the hell out of Belarus in 1910.   We started slowly, all bunched together with a police escort due to the traffic on the roads surrounding Auschwitz/Birkenau.  I was frustrated, as I wanted to go faster, but I used the opportunity to meet some of my fellow riders. 

After the first 13 miles, there was a rest stop.  There was a camera set up for people to be interviewed, as the JCC is created a film about the renewal of Jewish life in Krakow and the Ride for the Living.    I noticed that a young boy was being interviewed and went over to see what he was saying.  He was the youngest rider (9-years-old) and like the oldest rider, Bernard, he rode the first 14 miles.  He had heard his parents discussing the “big bike ride in Poland” and he told them that he did not want to be left out.  So, he came with his parents and grandparents, who at the time of the interview, were not present. 

“What would you say to other nine-year-old kids about why they should learn about the Holocaust?” 

“Nine-year-old kids should learn about the Holocaust so that they know that life is not always happy,” he answered, “but they should know that life is not always sad.”  I was blown away by his answer and then a man came and stood next to me as I was watching this unfold – I turned to him and said – “listen to this kid– he’s amazing” – and the man said – “that’s my boy!”  I slapped him on the back and said, “well done.”   This young man’s wisdom goes well beyond his years and it was a snapshot of the meaningful things that were discussed and said on this life-enriching ride. 

We were set loose to bike at our own speed for the next 36 miles. There was a speedster group in the front, who traveled about 20 miles per hour – too fast for me. But I was faster than the slowest group that gathered in the back.  Consequently, I rode for hours by myself – through the Polish countryside – meeting some riders here and there, talking for a bit and then moving on.  It gave me plenty of time to assess my complicated feelings about Poland.  Every farm I passed (and there were many), I thought of Sam’s family farm in Bagatele.  Every small town I passed through, I thought of Esther’s small Shtetl of Stoczek.  I wondered what these families did or more likely did not do to help Jews during the war – so close to Auschwitz.   The towns nearby could smell the flesh burning – day after day.  But the countryside is so peaceful.  Some of the locals came out of their houses to gawk at the group of riders passing by.  Did they know we were a group of Jews riding from Birkenau to Krakow?   I don’t know.  But I wondered, if they knew, what they would think? 

[photo on left: chickens wandering by the roadside; right – acres and acres of farmland]

I was deeply moved to meet many of the non-Jewish Poles who volunteered for the ride, as marshals riding along with us, as helpers at the rest stops, as people who put our welcome bags together, greeted us with a smile as we reached the Krakow JCC and then greeted us again that evening as we joined for a 600 person Shabbat dinner in the middle of Kazimierz – the old Jewish Quarter of Krakow.  The non-Jewish Poles that I met were so happy to be involved with this ride and to meet us and discuss what is going on in Krakow and how they want to help rebuild the Jewish life there – their tiny bit of tikkun. 

Some characters I met on the ride: Jeff and Sean (photo above) – a grandfather, grandson team from the Boston area – both so sweet and so happy to be doing this together; a New Yorker who married a woman who grew up in Krakow and only discovered that her grandmother was Jewish as a young woman and was welcomed at the JCC to learn about what it means to live as a Jew; Rabbi Steve Moss, the Rabbi of B’nai Israel Reform Temple in Oakdale who gave a dvar torah at the small kiddish for the “locals” at the Old Izaak’s Synagogue on Shabbat morning; Michael and Suzanne Brodsly from CA – Michael was one of my fellow early risers and we had some good schmoozing over coffee.  I could go on and on with the wonderful people that I met – but I won’t. 

The design of the bike shirt, as well as a sport shirt they gave us as swag,  includes a yellow star.  At first it seemed disconcerting to put this symbol of discrimination and death on shirts to wear biking or around town.  But my discomfort was put to rest by another 90-year- old Holocaust survivor who was there to share her mother’s art.  On Shabbat evening, there was an opening of a small art exhibit of work done by Sofia Guttentag-Davidson.  Sofia is no longer alive, but her daughter, who survived labor and concentration camps together with her, was there with her own children and grandchildren.  The survivor-daughter, who is a tiny, white haired, soft spoken woman, began to speak.   I could see that she was overwhelmed with emotion to be back in Poland and to bring her mother’s artwork, painted after the war, to the JCC. 

No one made a sound as she spoke of being a child with a yellow star on her clothing and how the Nazis had ordered that no Jews could cross any major street. So, to get to school, she had to walk way out of her way.  One day, she said to her friend: “I don’t understand, last week it was fine for us to just cross this street and go home from school, but now we are not allowed.  I am tired and I just want to go home.  Let’s cross the street and go home.” These two Jewish girls with yellow stars as bullseye on their jackets, began to cross the street.  All of the sudden they heard someone shout – “Nazis” – and then they heard gunshots – the Nazis were shooting at them because they were Jews crossing a major street, which was against “the law.”  They began to run, but her friend was hit and fell to the ground dead.  She kept running and made it home. 

“I noticed,” she continued, “that yesterday, the riders had a yellow star on their shirts.  At first, I was shocked, but my shock turned to happiness because I realized that these people wearing yellow stars are free Jews.  They are the future of the Jewish people.  My grandchildren are here with me; they are my future; they are our future.”

That sums it up.  Thanks for supporting me on this meaningful ride.