As the dust settles: In the aftermath of Pillar of Defense

Last night at about 9:00 pm, Israeli time, after 8 days of rockets being fired into Israel, and Israel targeting Hamas terror sites,  a cease fire was accepted between Israel and Hamas. (Despite Hamas still firing rockets into Israel after the agreed upon time)

Israelis take shelter after a rocket was fire from Gaza

Today, the dust has settled, and quiet has finally been achieved.  The lull has provided a moment for both to step back and see the results of the Operation.  As usual, both sides are claiming victory.  In Gaza, Palestinians crowded the streets in a show of victory, claiming that they brought fear into the hearts of Israelis  and that they "changed the rules of the games" because Israel did not invade Gaza, as they did last time during the 2008-2009 Operation Cast Lead.

Israel is claiming victory because they targeted all possible terror sites within Gaza. 

So who did win?  It was certainly not the citizens of the south of Israel, who for over 8 days have been running in and out of bomb shelters, every time Hamas, and other terrorist groups within Gaza fired a rocket into Israel.  And it was not the citizens of Gaza, who suffered from Israeli targeting, just because Hamas placed their terror sites within civilian populated areas.  A cease-fire is not a peace treaty, and it's not the end of a war, rather- it's a temporary fix in the context of a much larger problem.  And within this temporal moment- no one wins. 

During Operation Cast Lead, which saw more causalities on both sides, there was also a cease-fire.  Just four years later, we have found ourselves in the same situation.  We're participating in a circular dance, that cannot be fixed with a piece of paper that guarantees some quiet, for some time.  Hamas, a classified terrorist group, has no intention of making peace with Israel.  According to Hamas'scharter, the only solution for "peace" is by militant Jihad.  Therefore, Israel has no partner for peace in Gaza.  Therefore, for the past four years, Israel has ignored Hamas.  As long as the number of rockets fired into Israel was kept at a low, Israel ignored it.  Only when the number of rockets escalated last week, did Israel target Ahmad Jabari, the second in command of Hamas's military wing, and began Operation Pillar of Defense.  Between the two Operations, Hamas and other militant groups have had enough time to amass enough rockets, even those big enough to reach both Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.  Will this time be any different?  In another few years, when the number of rockets fired into Israel, reaches an unacceptable level, will Israel begin another Operation?  Is this just more time for Hamas to reload?  

Where is the solution then?  

Perhaps the solution can be found on the other side of the country: in the West Bank. Just before tensions rose between Hamas and Israel, Palestinian President of the PLO, Mahmoud Abbas, stated in an interview with Israel's Channel 2 on November 1, that as long as he was President, there would be no third Intifada: Palestinians would achieve a two state solution, not through violence, but rather by diplomatic and peaceful means.  Abbas, a refugee from Safed, in the north of Israel, also stated that he would like to return to his hometown, not as a resident, but as a tourist- therefore hinting that he is willing to compromise on the Palestinian Right of Return, a huge point of contention in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. In essence Abbas is reaching his hand to Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu.  Instead, Netanyahu looked the other way- down south, where the situation is much simpler to deal with.

For Israel, Gaza is black and white.  There is no negotiating with a terrorist group that is trying to destroy Israel.  There are temporary lulls, but there is no long-term solution that doesn't include complete defeat for Israel, or the re-occupation of Gaza: both options the Israeli government would not consider. So, Israel, destroys it's terrorist cells, and then backs away, so that there is relief from rockets in the South of Israel. Therefore, the circular dance has no way but to continue.  However, the situation in the West Bank is different: the conflict  in relation to the PLO is multicolored: it's layered and complicated.  The PLO is a  potential partner in peace; Israel can talk to the PLO as it has in the past.  Yet, this option means compromise- for both sides.  It means making hard decisions, that are likely to be unpopular.  It means, potentially hurting oneself politically, something that Netanyahu may not be quite ready for, just before an election, or perhaps ever.  

However, if  a two state solution is reached, and the Palestinians finally had self-determination, at least in the West Bank, it would cause Hamas to be irrelevant. It would prove diplomacy and peaceful deliberation is the answer.  International, Israeli and Palestinian pressure could help free the citizens of Gaza from Hamas, and perhaps bring peace there as well.  However, while Israel continues to not turn all their efforts to Abbas and the peace process, Hamas causes both Abbas and the PLO to be irrelevant.  It proves that both diplomacy and peaceful negotiations can do nothing to help the situation.  It reinforces Hamas's argument that violence and Jihad are the only answer- and it continues the cycle of violence and hate.  Therefore, as long as there is no progression in the peace process, we will find ourselves right back where we are today- Israel being attacked by rockets, and Israel going back into Gaza to destroy terrorist cells that will only build themselves back up once there is another cease-fire.

Back to the Old Country Part V: There are still Jews in Poland?

Photo Credit: Alexandria Fanjoy

If Poland to Jews around the world represents one big Jewish cemetery, it goes without saying that for them, Jewish life in Poland is dead. Then, how can there still be Jews in Poland? After the Holocaust, after the 1948 Kielce Pogrom, and after the 1968 Jewish purges? It follows, that there must not be any Jews left in Poland, it only makes sense.

Yet, one thing I discovered in Poland- there are Jews, and even more, it’s not just an old survivor based community- there are young Jews, there are Jewish communities, there are secular Jews and there are religious Jews. There is a rich Jewish community and culture developing in Poland today, something that is incredibly admirable. I was at the Nozyk synagogue in Warsaw for my second Shabbat in Poland, and me and my friend Alexandria were standing in the hallway, when we heard a group of girls behind us, looking like very religious Jews, speaking in Polish together. Polish! They should be talking English, Hebrew, Yiddish, but Polish?

The current Jewish community is carving out their own space within Poland, they are creating a new Jewish culture, that combines elements from the past, but has the mark of a new generation. They are creating Judaism in Poland, a place where even after the darkest chapter in Jewish history, being a Jew was dangerous, and unstable.

Interwar Poland saw the outburst of the Jewish question, and even more than this, the development of the Jewish identity. Jews were playing with concepts of nationality, some that saw Poland as their future, or those whose nationalist feelings turned to Zionism and Palestine. But there were others, Jews who defined themselves purely religiously, those that assimilated, those that wanted to acquire autonomy based on culture. The Jewish question in Poland allowed for incredible Jewish creativity, such creativity that spilled over into America, and now Israel. Yet, the Holocaust decisively killed this Jewish creativity in Poland, and then communism froze any hope of a continuation of the debate. But, in the 70′s when underground independent intellectual groups began to pop up in Poland, a Jewish one started to flourish. Calling themselves the “Jewish flying university“, a mixed group of Poles met. At first, it was awkward, none of them had ever discussed Jewishness in public, some not even admitting their own Jewishness. Many were from assimilated or mixed backgrounds, who knew almost nothing about their Judaism as a religion or culture. But slowely, they began to piece together Jewish past in Poland, and discover who they were, and what kind of future could be for Jews in Poland.

Since the fall of communism, there has been a slow Jewish revival in Poland. On a Friday night dinner, I sat listening to the Chief Rabbi of Poland Michael Shudrich explain at a community dinner at Nozyk, about the community. He addressed the locals, and also visitors, like myself, who needed a place to eat for Shabbat. He told us of people who were returning to Judaism, who had pretended to be Catholic after the war, because it was safer, but discovered they were Jewish, many through weird customs or a Jewish artifact. He told us of a female who lit candles on Friday night, not knowing why. Someone who never ate milk and meat together. Someone who found books in weird writing in their attic. Jews were slowly discovering Jewish roots, and once discovered, flourished within this identity.

My group visited the JCC in Krakow, and they too boast a Friday night dinner every week. As we sat in the largeJCC, in the middle of the historical neighborhood of Kazimierz, we were told that everyday the JCC signs up new members. People who have discovered that someone in their family was Jewish and who want to be involved with the Jewish community. When we were in Bialystok, we met with the head of the Jewish community, and as she served as coffee and cookies, she explained that her Jewish community regularly meet, and hold cultural events. When we were in Warsaw, we met at “Tel Aviv“, one of the hip kosher restaurants, with a Jewish community leader that told us about Jewish daycare, Jewish trips to Israel, and Jewish cultural groups that meet. She insisted that antisemitism was low, and that for the first time in a long time, Jews were proud to be Jews, and walk proudly on the streets as such. All these people would laugh, if someone were to insist that there are no Jews in Poland, or more that Jewish culture was over in Poland. For them, it’s thriving.

It’s true that the Jewish community in Poland today is small in comparison to what it used to be, however this should not allow us to ignore what is developing there. Perhaps it will never be what it was, but I think that’s ok. It makes me happy to know that there are Jews in Poland. They are carrying on the legacy of the past, and adding something new and special. They may live in a country with concentration and death camps, but they don’t allow this to define who they are, and where they are going. They represent life, and they are following in the Jewish tradition that has defined Jews throughout Jewish history: we can continue, and we can go on; to create and grow.

Back to the Old Country Part IV: Neighbors

A German official at the Jedwabne memorial | Photo Credit: Alexandria Fanjoy

My group traveled to Jedwabne on July 11, 2011. We were not meant to go to Jedwabne; it was not on our original itinerary. We left Warsaw early in the morning, and by the time we pulled into Jedwabne, it was a beautiful day — the first nice day after a week of rain. The sun was shinning hard and the weather was hot. As we all got off the bus, we were silent. For us budding historians, Jedwabne was not just another Polish town. It was a symbol. It was a tragic memory. It was a point of contention. It was an event that challenged collective memory. It was bitterness.

We walked into Jedwabne’s town center, and saw some locals hanging around a bench behind us drinking beer. You could feel the tension as they stared at us. They knew why we were there. Why else would we come? One man came up to our tour leader, and explained in Polish, that the people living here now were good, they had nothing to do with what happened and we shouldn’t judge them.

We were in Jedwabne for the 70th anniversary ceremony of the 1941 pogram. Upon realizing that our trip coincided with the 70th anniversary, we got the opportunity to attend the event. The Germans occupied Jedwabne on June 23, 1941, taking it from Soviet hands. On the morning of July 1oth, 1941, the Polish residents of Jedwabne, violently rounded up the Jews of the town, and after brutally killing some in the streets, trapped the rest in a barn and burned it down. Jedwabne had a Jewish population of 1,600 before the war. 7 Jews survived. Only one lady, Antonina Wyrzykowska saved Jews. Two weeks after liberation, March 1945, locals raided her home and beat her and her family for saving Jews. As a result the Wyrzykowskas left Jedwabne.

The Nazis did not kill Jedwabne’s Jews, although they had their part in encouraging and approving the attack. It was the locals, the residents of the town. It was neighbors. Neighbors killing neighbors. And this is what makes Jedwabne so important, so critical. This is why, as we stood in Jedwabne’s town square on July 11, 2011, the residents glared us, and why we felt so uneasy, unsafe almost. Yes, we were there for the anniversary ceremony, but we were also there to judge. By standing there, we were saying, “How could you?”

In May 2000, Polish-American historian Jan Gross published his controversial book “Neighbors“, a book which described the massacre. Information about the Pogram was available before this, but his book brought the subject to the forefront of Polish dialogue. It spurred a Polish-wide discussion and soul searching. Previous beliefs that Poles were only victims during the Nazi war were dissolved. Neighbors showed that Poles were also perpetrators.

The following year, in July 2001, the first commemoration ceremony was conducted in Jedwabne, marking 60 years since the tragedy. Polish President Aleksander Kwasniewski stood in front of a crowd, of Jews and Poles, and apologized on behalf of Poland. He said, “We know with all the certainty that Poles were among the oppressors and assassins. We cannot have any doubts – here in Jedwabne citizens of the Republic of Poland died from the hands of other citizens of the Republic of Poland. It is people to people, neighbors to neighbors who forged such destiny…We are here to make a collective self examination. We are paying tribute to the victims and we are saying – never again… For this crime we should beg the souls of the dead and their families for forgiveness. This is why today, the President of the Republic of Poland, I beg pardon. I beg pardon in my own name and in the name of those Poles whose conscience is shattered by that crime.”

The apology and attendance of many Polish officials was significant. Poles were taking responsibility for the memory, even 60 years after the event. However, the residents of Jedwabne boycotted the event. No one came to the ceremony.

Ten years later, the residents of Jedwabne did not come to the ceremony. As my group moved from the center of town, to the site of the memorial, the atmosphere changed considerably. Attending the ceremony were many government officials, important members of the Catholic clergy, lots of media outlets, the chief Rabbi of Poland, Michael Shudrich and the Israeli ambassador to Poland, Zvi Rav-Ner. Former Prime Minister, Tadeusz Mazowieck read an apology given by current President Bronsilaw Komorowski, following Kwasniewski’s apology from 2001. The event was positive, albeit sad.

Jedwabne does not prove that all Poles are antisemitic, or were all perpetrators in the Holocaust. What it does is complicate history. It turns collective memory from black and white, to multicolour. It’s another chapter in the arduous history of Jews and Poles in Poland. While I stood in front of the monument, that stands on the grave of over 1000 Jews, who were burned to death alive, 70 years ago, I was happy that there was a ceremony for them, that they were remembered. That Poles, once again were apologizing. The Poles today in Poland are not responsible for what their parents or grandparents did during the war. But responsibility still exists- in the memory of the past that is passed down generation to generation. We are all responsible for how memory is remembered and and commemorated.

Israeli ambassador, Rav-Ner reminded the crowd that while we were commemorating the lives of Jews that were killed by their neighbors, there were also diffirent kinds of neighbors in Poland, and that we can’t forget these neighbors either. Neighbors like Wyrzykowska, that saved Jews. Neighbors that risked their own life and the life of their family to save Jews: Ya’ad Vashem has awarded 6, 266 Poles with the title of Righteous among the Nations for risking their own life to save their neighbor, and in many cases, a Jew they didn’t even know. Poles were heroes too.

On September 1, 2011, after I had already returned home to Jerusalem, I read in the news that the memorial had been vandalized. There were swastikas and the words, “they were flammable” and “I don’t apologize” written on it. President Komorowski was quick to condemn the graffiti, and an investigation was quickly set up to investigate the hate crime.

I’m still not sure how to feel about Jedwabne. When I stood in the center square of town, I did judge the residents. I know that many of them were young, and that they are probably good people. I don’t blame them for what happened, but I do blame them for not being at the ceremony. I do judge them for not being beside the President, when he says that Poles are sorry. I understand that they have to live with the weight of the memory on their backs, that they will forever be perceived by outsiders as murderers, and barbaric, even though many of their hands are clean of actual murder. But, at the end of the day, the land is tormented, and only when we can look into the eyes of the darkest chapter of our past, can we truly come out with clean hands. I hope that in the future, the brave actions of those that attend the memorial, will be passed to the younger generation of Poles, in Jedwabne and all over Poland.

Back to the Old Conntry Part III: Skeletons from the past

On my first day in Poland, as I sat jet-lagged in the only Kosher restaurant in Krakow, the "Olive Tree", my group leader told us each that we would be taking a day trip in a few days to small formally Jewish towns around Krakow. Only half aware of what was happening, me and my friend Alexandria were given a huge booklet of information, of which we were told we were going to be presenting on a town called Dzialoszyce. My first reaction: how do you even pronounce that?

As me and Alexandria got together to prepare our presentation, we began to leaf through the pages and piece together the past of Dzialoszyce. In 1939, on the even of the second world war Dzialoszyce’s population totaled about 8,000, 80% of that number was Jewish. Today, there are about 1, 100 people who lived there. As we delved into the past, we both noticed that Dzialoszyce was not an unusual town, it was quite what you might imagine a old Jewish town to be. There was the great synagogue, Beit Midrash, Jewish homes, smaller shuls. There were many religious Hasidim, but there was also a few Zionist groups as well. During the Holocaust, the Nazis set up a ghetto. Some Jews escaped, and fought with the partisans in the forest. The Jews were deported to Belzac and Plaszow and then the city was announced Judenrein. After the war some Jews returned, however, there was a flareup of anti-Jewish violence after the war, and these Jews eventually left as well. Today there are no Jews in Dzialoszyce, and the population is one eighth of what it used to be.

The day we set out for Dzialoszyce, it was raining, as usual. We set out and I was excited to see a place that I had researched, to understand it by being there. What did I expect though? I’m not sure. As my bus drove closer, and I started to see the signs for Dzialoszyce, I was getting closer, paying attention to the surrounding. And then, my bus drove into Dziaoszyce, and the first thing that we all see, because there is no way to miss it, is an enormous skeleton: the skeleton of the great synagogue. There it was. Empty, naked and incredibly large, just sitting in the middle of the small city. Our bus stopped in the parking lot adjacent to it. As we all got out, we took in it: the city was small- really just a street, and here it was, it was as though it was the elephant in the room. This big Jewish structure in a tiny Polish city.

I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. I was taken aback at first. Jews lived here, thousands of Jews. How can I even imagine that? I thought, as I looked on at the tiny population of the current city. And as people went about their business that day, I thought about them. Did they know any Jews? Did they help their Jewish neighbors by giving them food in the ghetto, or providing them with information? Who here hid a Jew? Who cried, as their friends were discriminated against, as their friends were taken away? Who here closed their drapes as the Nazi vans dragged away the Jewish elders to the cemetery, where they shot them, one by one into a mass grave. Who here betrayed a Jew? Who here collaborated? I couldn’t help it. I was standing in front of a skeleton, but every time I closed my eyes, the past illuminated before me and I judged everyone: for what they did, and what they didn’t.

After our presentation, we walked up and down the small road of Dzialoszyce to check it out. I’m pretty sure that this small little city doesn’t get many visitors, so the 11 of us kind of stuck out. People stopped to look at us, especially the elder residents. We smiled back politely. But I couldn’t stop thinking to myself: can they recognize me? Do they know me? This was my first time in Poland, I’d never been to Dzialoszyce. My family is not from Dzialosyce either. It’s not that I thought they’d recognize me as Hailey, but rather as a Jew. Although I do hate stereotypes, I really can’t deny the fact that I look really Jewish: and they knew it, they had to know it.

For me, Dzialoszyce was one of the most interesting places I visited. It is one of the clearest example of Jewish space within Polish land- in an intersection, a meeting point. Many of the small villages we visited that day were the same. An empty synagogue, and no Jews. It’s the clearest example of the Jewish footprint, of what we left behind, when we so hastily left.

Back to the Old Country Part II: Philosemites and Antisemites

My three week academic study trip to Poland, with 9 other graduate students, set off on Thursday June 30th. We were going, as students of history and the Holocaust, to look at modern issues concerning Jewish-Polish relations. We arrived in Krakow, smack in the middle of the 21st Jewish Culture Festival, which as we learned pretty quickly, is sort of a big deal in Poland. On our ride from the airport to our hotel, situated at the corner of the old city in Krakow, we caught glimpses of Jewish stars labeled with information for the festival- but it wasn't just a few signs, there were signs everywhere.

The Jewish Culture Festival in Krakow consists of tours of Jewish Kazimierz, Yiddish and Hebrew Language workshops, movies, lectures concerning history and present culture, Klezmer concerts (including a final "Jewish Woodstock" concert), Genealogist appointments, Shabbat dinner and services, open admission to Jewish museums, Jewish dance, Yiddish singing and more. Most events were offered in Polish and English, but there were a few in Yiddish and Hebrew (including a "Romeo and Juliet adaptation... in Yiddish). The festival itself, was widely attended, mostly by Poles, but also by Jews from Israel and the Diaspora. Poles, non Jewish Poles, were coming out in droves, to celebrate Jewish culture and religion. It was philosemitism at its best.

The Jewish Culture Festival is organized and was established by a non-Jewish Pole, Janusz Makuch. Most of the organizers are not Jewish. Most of the participants are not Jewish. It is in light of this, many criticize the festival as being unauthentic, or virtual: it lacks Jews. Ruth Gruber, in her book "Virutally Jewish" describes the festival, and also the renewed Jewish quarter Kazimierz, which now boasts Jewish restaurants, Klezmer music, and Jewish symbols. She describes the quarter virtual, because in some senses, it is just that: a Jewish area, devoid of Jews. One restaurant I passed by, called Ariel, has a big Jewish star accompanying the sign, and lists Jewish favorites on the menu, like "Chulent"- a slow cooked beef stew traditionally made on Shabbat, and also sweet fish- also known by Jews as gefilte fish. As you eat, a Klezmer band plays in the background. Yet, there are no Jews sitting inside: the restaurant is not Kosher. Similarly, the Jewish cultural festival, isn't completely "kosher" either: the final Woodstock Klezmer concert began much before Shabbat ended- so while all my non-Jewish friends were able to go to the show, me and my other religious friend, Alexandria, had to sit inside our hotel room waiting for it to get dark before we could wander out. I turned to Alexandria and asked, "How is it that only the Jews cannot attend the Jewish culture festival?"

As the rest of my group made their way back to the hotel after the concert, they encountered a telling scene: a group of religious Jews, were making Havdallah near their hotel window. They were dressed traditionally: black suits, black hat, women covering their hair and wearing long skirts. Across from the window, outside, were a group of Poles, with cameras, taking pictures of the Jews making Havdallah. The participants in my group were taken aback: The real Jews were being treated either like old relics in a museum, behind a plane of glass. So while crowds flocked out to a crazy final concert, Jews were stuck in their hotel rooms, or being stared at while they performed religious ceremonies. We were the museum pieces, and left out of the Jewish fun. Was it ignorance? Was it antisemitism? It reminded me of the little Jewish dolls you can buy in almost any tourist shop around Poland: traditionally dressed Haredi Jewish men holding coins or bags of money. We were relics you buy and place on your fireplace mantel- stereotypes, virtual.

And here all the contradictions came flying in my face: on the one hand, the Poles are philosemites, celebrating the best of Jewish culture. On the other hand, it's unauthentic, pushing the Jews to the sidelines. Why are they even interested in Jews in the first place? Why do they care about Yiddish, and Jewish dancing and songs? Why are there tours informing Poles of long history of Jewish synogogues in Poland? And art, made by non-Jews expressing Jewish issues? Weren't the Poles antisemites, an image that is often held by many Jews? Didn't they want us gone? Weren't these the same Poles who instigated pogroms, even after Hitler's war was over? And the ones who purged out the last of the Jews in 1968? Yet, the more I stayed in Poland, the more I began to learn, that despite the lack of Jews, the history of the Jews does not exclusively belong to Jews.

The truth is that Poles do care about Jews, Judaism and a Jewish piece of their past, that isn't only Jewish, but also Polish. The Jews of the past, the ones that made up 10% of Polish population, weren't a separate part of the culture and country- they were part of it. Jewish culture was Polish culture, and the the Jewish culture festival, isn't only about celebrating Jews, but celebrating Poles, and Poland itself. I think that this concept is sometimes hard to grasp, especially considering that the younger generation of Poles never really knew a Jewish Poland. The Jews left over 60 years ago, and the growing Jewish community today in Poland, does not even hold a candle to the past. Yet, they are the generation that grew up in a place where the ghosts of the past could be seen everywhere. A foreign language, peaking out behind layers of paint, indentations of Mezuzah on their homes, and old decaying buildings, laden with Stars of David. The Jewish footprint exists in Poland- it is everywhere.

In Poland, contradictions are part of the past, they are part of the present and they are part of the future. True, the Jewish Culture Festival has virtual and unauthentic aspects, just like the "Jewish" restaurants in Kazimerez, but what could they be based on? Poles are trying to put the pieces of the past together. On the other hand, antisemitism still exists in Poland as well. Just a few weeks ago, the memorial in Jedwabne commemorating Jewish victims, who were killed by their Polish neighbors during the Holocaust, was desecrated with Nazi slogans, and unforgiving statements. This action came in the wake of similar acts of hatred against Jewish memorials. But a few days later, in Bialystock, Poles marched in protest against antisemitism. They were protesting this wave of hatred. Clearly, the answer is not simple: Poles are neither Philosemites nor Antisemites. They are dealing with a past that is still present. A few weeks ago, I stumbled upon the following quote from Janusz Makuch, who established the Krakow culture festival. In it, he expounds on the contradiction that define Poland Jewish relations today.

"My name is Janusz Makuch and I come from Poland. I come from a country of rabbis and tzaddikim, gaons and melameds, from a country of Jewish sages, writers, bankers, architects, painters, doctors, shoemakers and tailors, film directors and producers, physicians and politicians, scientists and Jewish soldiers, from a country of devout, good people. I come from a country of anti-Semites and goodhearted people, from a country of szmalcowniks (blackmailers and informers) and the greatest number of Righteous among the Nations, from the country of Father Rydzik and the country of John Paul II, from a country of anti-Jewish graffiti on synagogue walls, and a country where thousands of non-Jews study Jewish history, culture and religion, from the country of the German death camps and the country of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, from the country of Shmuel Zygelboim, Mordechai Anielewicz and Marek Edelman, and from the country of Jan Karski, Jan Nowak-Jezioranski and Wladyslaw Bartoszewski. I come from the country of the Vaad Arba Aratzot, the Jewish Parliament of the Four Lands, from a country of countless shtetls, yeshivas and Hassidic courts, from a country of Jewish autonomy and pluralism and I come from a country of the numerous clausus, ghetto benches, pogroms and murder. I come from a country whose greatness was co-created by Jews who were Polish citizens. And I come from a country that after the war kicked out Polish citizens who were Jews. I come from a country of anti-Semitic madness where they burned Jews in barns. And I come from a country of Christian mercy where they hid Jews in barns. My name is Janusz Makuch. I come from Poland and I am a goy, and at the same time for more than 20 years I have created and run the largest Jewish culture festival in the world. I'm a Jewish Pole - and I'm proud of it."

Back to the Old Country: 3 weeks in Poland

It’s weird to think that only 100 years ago, the number of Jews in Israel was insignificant, especially compared to its population today. Yes, there were Zionists, but they were only the first dreamers, tilling a land that was still quite empty. 100 years ago, America was a growing Jewish center; it was the Goldene Medina (Golden Land), the New World for Jews.
The real core of Jewish life, just 100 years ago, was Europe. And straddling in eastern and central Europe was the core of the core: Poland. A country where 10 percent of the population was Jewish, a country with millions of Jews, living in both shtetls and Jews the major cities. In Europe, there were Chasidic Jews, Orthodox Jews, Reform Jews, religion-hating Communist Jews, socialist Jews, Yiddish cultural Jews and more.
But today, it’s almost possible to forget this. Jews live in Israel, they live in America, they live scattered through Europe, but they don’t live in Poland anymore. Because Poland, for us Jews, is the land of death, the land of our ashes: Determined firmly by Nazi concentration camps that still grace the Polish landscape. And every year, Jews from around the world remember this. They travel, in groups to Poland for a week or two, touring the death camps and the concentration camps, reciting Kaddish at mass graves and proudly singing “Hatikva,” with Israeli flags hanging off their backs. Against all odds, they are reclaiming the continuity of the Jewish people. When we proclaim “never forget,” what we mean is that we will never forget that there was an attempt to exterminate us. We will never forget so that we can be assured it will never happen again.
Despite these trips, the hundred of years of Jewish life in Poland is sometimes forgotten. After all, we’ve transported that which was important to our new homes. We’ve rebuilt the Yeshivas in Bnei Brak, Mea Shearim and Brooklyn. Jews are still cooking cholent on Shabbos, and you can find knishes, pickled herring and matzah ball soup in the heart of Manhattan. Bubbies and Zaidies are still distributing Jewish guilt all over the world. And the politics and religion that developed in the old country are happily developing in new places.
And so, for us, Poland is the concentration camp. It is used as the symbol of what can never happen again. And along the way, we quickly sweep over the past, both the good and the bad of it.
This summer, I received an opportunity to travel to Poland, to study Jewish-Polish relations before, during and after the Holocaust, with nine other graduate students. The trip was three weeks. When I was asked what my plans were for the summer and I replied, “Three weeks in Poland,” the response was generally the same. “Three weeks in Poland?! What can you do in Poland for three weeks? That is so depressing. You only go to Poland to see the camps. You need one week, tops.”
But I was excited to go to Poland, to return to the Old Land. I felt that feeling that Jews feel when they go to Israel for the first time, like they are going home. I am, after all, a Polish Jew, somewhere down the line–so it really was like going home. And so, in the next few weeks, I would like to share with you an experience in Poland. Three weeks in Poland–with days that were depressing, that did make me want to take the next flight back to Israel, but also days that were fun and days that really challenged how Jews see and connect with both Poland and Poles.
While I was in Poland, I kept hearing the same story. The story is that as the Jews were wondering east through Europe, they arrived in Poland. However, after discovering the name, Polin in Polish, they knew they were destined to stay. In Hebrew, Po lin means ”Here we stay.” The land in Poland was once holy to Jews, and I wanted to find out, not only why, but if any of that remains.

Blood Libel for the 21st Century?

For awhile now I have been following in the news a group called the “intactivists” who are attempting to ban circumcision in San Francisco. The group claims that no one, but the owner of the penis has a right to cut it off. Man was born perfect, they argue, and no one has the right to cut off the foreskin. When the child comes of age at 18, he can then choose to be circumcised. The group is likening male circumcision to female circumcision, and is claiming that it is a barbaric custom that is unethical. The group has succeeded in getting enough votes that the “circumcision ban” will be placed on the next Municipal Election Ballot. However, interesting enough as this topic is, as I could also write an entire blog ranting against these ideas, the topic of my blog is about a product of the campaign to convince San Franciscans to vote in favor of the ban.

I don’t believe the ban is antisemetic, definitely it infringes on religious freedom, but i don’t believe intrinsically it’s antisemetic, although perhaps anti-religious. This was until the campaign came out with “Foreskin Man”, a superhero that so far features in two comic books, that is meant to “enlighten” the public on the dangers of circumsion. So what does he do? He protects babies from the “monster mohel”. That’s right, Foreskin Man, a blond hair blue eyed man, goes around saving innocent babies from the evil Jew, who is represented pretty similarly to Nazi Germany’s depictions of Jews in the 1930s and 40s.

Which one is from Nazi Germany, and which was drawn today?

But where the comic book gets real interesting is its use of old blood libel accusations on Jews. Blood libel accusations, which came in all shapes and sizes in the Middle Ages, basically accused Jews of needing blood (generally Christian child blood) for sacrificial and religious purposes. In panel 36 of the comic book, the Aryan hero overhears the Mohel say: “And thank thee, O Lord, for the Joyous Metzitzah b’peh for which I am about to partake”, and then in panel 46, after the Monster Mohel is defeated by Foreskin Man, he says, “I’ll just keep coming back until his foreskin is mine”.

Metzitzah b’peh, a controversial form of Circumcision, where the Mohel sucks the blood out, in order to stop excess bleeding or infection, is not a common practice amongst Jews today or for a very long time. (A tube is used in common practice) Yet the choice to include it in the comic book, aside from being deceitful and unfair, not only makes a point against circumcision, but discriminates against Jews. We are the bloodsucking nation, and the Mohel clearly needs that foreskin, because he will just keep coming back for it. It really

Modern Antisemitism at its best

is reminiscent of Medieval times when the Jews were accused of capturing Christian babies and using its blood for Matzah. Here we are in 2011, after the Holocaust and the debunking of such silly myths, and yet it reappears in a new modern form.

Perhaps I’m taking the comparison a little too far, but one thing I’m not taking too far is the antisemitsm manifested in the comic book. Read the comic book, and judge for yourself, are you as offended as me?