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Golanski's Treasures

~ a novel

Golanski's Treasures

Category Archives: History

Friendships – Part Two

15 Friday Jun 2012

Posted by Golanskis Treasures in History, Holocaust, Jewish Culture & Traditions

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College Hill School, Evanston Township High School, Facebook, Friends, Friendships, Gypsy, Illinois, Jews, Lower East Side, Middle East, New York City, Palestinians, Romania, Skiles Jr. High School, Syria

This past week I’ve continued to enjoy a fabulous exchange with childhood friends on FaceBook through what can only be called an ongoing “Virtual Reunion.”  My High School, Jr. HS and now even Elementary School friends have been examining and identifying the faces of children we knew and were) a very, very long time ago.  (Well, perhaps only one “very!)  It’s what got me thinking that it was time to introduce my novel’s central character’s band of friends — Max’s self-named, Alter Kochers Club (Yiddish for “Old Farts”).

Max's Alter Kocher Club

Max’s Alter Kochers Club

Max’s best friend Sammy (presented in the last post) is as gregarious on one side of the equation as the conversely withdrawn and sullen Sid. A curmudgeon, he gets quiet pleasure from engaging Sammy in lively debate, as his negativity is the perfect foil to Sammy’s positive energy. So, I invite you to join us again by pulling up a virtual chair at the Cafe Arabica, brewing your own cup of coffee and grabbing a pastry of your own as we enter Max’s world on New York City’s Lower East Side.

Cuppa Coffee and a Pastry

Cafe Arabica – “Cuppa Coffee and a pastry.”

INTRODUCING SID LEDERMAN! Sid is a man uncomfortable with the changing events around him, and definitely not receptive to a “one world, one family” viewpoint. He’s conflicted by wanting time with his friends, but having to meet with them in a place uncomfortable to his politics. He enjoys owner Dahoud’s fine Syrian coffee and pastries, but has made it painfully clear that he not only abhors anyone who might remotely be tied to Nazis, but is also is suspicious about current events surrounding Jewish-Arab relationships, feeling such things should not be taken lightly.

(NOTE:  Quoted text is copyright protected by Sue Ross, 2012 and remains the exclusive property of the author.  Use of this material without permission is prohibited.)

When Dahoud’s wife, Bahia Mariana took over the counter, Dahoud would pull a chair to the table and bait the old Jews about current events in the Middle East.  Max, Sammy and Morrie usually joined in the spirit of discourse, but Sid had actually left the café on more than one occasion.  Each time he vowed in a loud voice that he “would never return,” railing against the Palestinians, the oil-rich sheiks of the Middle East, and the need to keep Arabs and Jews apart.  Yet, for every time Sid had stormed off in a cloud of anger, he somehow managed to return the next Thursday, taking his accustomed seat as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired.

Sid could only be described as rotund, a man made large by the delicacies that seemed to follow him everywhere he went.  Originally from Romania, he was considered by some to be a bit of a ‘gonif’ (thief), an attribute accredited to his inherited gypsy blood.  Troubled by an asthmatic condition, ill-fitting dentures that clicked when he spoke, and a panoply of arthritic aches and pains that frequently prevented his getting a sound sleep, Sid’s disposition was what one might expect from someone walking in tight shoes for days at a time.  He was always dressed in the same plaid shirt, over which he managed to squeeze a sweater at least two sizes too small with trousers worn belted high above what was once a waistline.  Sid took comfort in his unhappiness and wore his badge as group curmudgeon with a degree of self-appointed importance.


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Counting Blessings

29 Tuesday May 2012

Posted by Golanskis Treasures in History, Writing

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High School, Holiday, Memorial Day, Memories, Reunion, Social Networking, Vietnam, Vietnam War Memorial, writing

Looking out of the window of my office I am amazed by the beauty of the day. Hammering away (well, at least lightly touching) the keyboard before me, I find myself distracted from my manuscript — my eyes having been lured towards the beauty of a clear sky brushed by leaves swaying in gentle breezes as the Memorial Day weekend draws to a close.

Happily, I did finish revisions on yet another chapter today! While the next one looms large before me, I find myself satisfied, feeling a small measure of accomplished for the moment.  The view from my office is peaceful, and the breeze has been kind enough to pick up the perfume from my garden and deliver it through the open window filling the room.  The weeping willow’s leaves acknowledge my presence . . . .

Weeping Willow

Backyard – willow

It’s been a long week.  My partner, Charles had back surgery. Blessedly, all went well, and his strength and fortitude have been extraordinary — as has been the tremendous outpouring of support and affection of many loving friends, colleagues and family members.  Charles is my rock, and being rather on the small size, I can only do my best as his pebble.  For the skill of his surgeon and the grace of God I am beyond grateful — I bow my head before the trees swaying in the breezes outside my window as I whisper prayers of thanksgiving.

It is also Memorial Day, and the magic of social networking has made possible High School classmates joining online for a “virtual reunion.” How appropriate that it is this weekend we have come together to remember the pain and strain of passing through the portal of adolescence into maturity.  SUCH memories have come to the fore.  The joys of first loves, the pressures of studies, obstacles encountered, and parental expectations, sporting events and parties, friendships forged (lasting to this day). Moments when we individually and collectively discovered where and how we fit into the world revisited and magnified by the mirrors of one anothers’ reflections.

Vietnam War Memorial

– Vietnam War Memorial, Washington DC

In addition, it’s been a day when old acquaintances joined together for a collective sigh. Our numbers have been diminished, the price exacted by the years.  Some were lost to illness or accidents, which must be expected. Yet, several classmates died as fallen warriors — casualties of war, which NO generation should have to expect.  Their lives may have ended in the distant jungles of Vietnam, but their memories have been forever etched into time. We remember them.

And so, today I pause from my usual commentary to listen to the quiet, treasuring the moments between life’s ups, and life’s down.  The light outside my window is tinged by the waning remnants of a sun-kissed day. Next week we will once again revisit Max’s world.  Thank you for joining me in this most amazing journey.  Until then, may your lives be gentle and your memories rich and joyous.

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Letting Go

18 Friday May 2012

Posted by Golanskis Treasures in History, Writing

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books, Empty Nest Syndrome, Jules Verne, Manuscript, Reading, writing, Yiddisha Mama

empty nest syndrome

“HOW?” I asked myself recently, “How is it that I used to reach for my trusty iPad every morning when I could pry my eyes open to work on second draft revisions to my manuscript?” Now, it’s all I can do to even think about moving mind and fingers towards such a goal?”  Then, after Mother’s Day, it hit me.  “Empty Nest Syndrome.”  We all know how parents (particularly mothers) struggle once their children leave for college, life elsewhere with a new spouse, travel abroad, or setting up a first apartment.  Never having had the good fortune to have children, might a similar phenomenon be at play as I look towards a time when I won’t be spending time with Max?  Have I become a Yiddisha Mama through the process of birthing a book?

YEP! That has to be it.  While all writers confront the day when no further meaningful edits and important changes can be made to tenderly crafted pages there comes a time when “THAT’S A WRAP!” seem the only logical words left. While we can edit until the proverbial cows come home, reality must step in so we can send our “children” off into the world.  Then, all we can do is stand back and await breathlessly the (hoped for) applause, or (dreaded) criticisms of the public as our hearts are laid open for scrutiny.

OR, is it possible that writing a (good) book resembles reading a good book? THAT must be it!  I recall years ago slowing down the pace of my reading when enraptured by an engrossing story.  As the end drew near (apparent because I checked ahead to see how many pages remained), I’d slow down.  Rather than racing through to see what happened next, each word, phrase, and chapter became all the more precious.

Cover of "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (B...

Cover via Amazon

One book in particular comes to mind. Sometime between pre-pubescence and adolescence I was reading Jules Verne’s 20,000 LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA.  The adventures of the mysterious Captain Nemo had pulled me into a magnificent world of fantasy made factual.  The immensity of childhood angst was lost amid an endless sea of fantastic characters and situations. Daily life faded into obscurity when weighed against those played out so many fathoms beneath the ocean’s surface.

Once I complete my own novel’s revisions and hand it off to a professional for a solid “whooping” to lift my manuscript to its loftiest potential, it will be out of my hands. Then, the adventure and magic of creating a new world and living within another’s skin will vanish. I’ll be left alone, without Max to serve as my conscience, filtering the world’s magnificence and injustices through his far more experienced eyes.  Sigh . . . . Empty Nest Syndrome.  I will no longer anticipate that delicious sense of curiosity as to “what will happen next?” (as so often happened while Max’s story unfolded before me).  I’ll be finishing my favorite book.  Sigh.

But, WAIT!  Even after this second swipe, I need to print the entire manuscript and read every word aloud to make certain that it can stand on its own. I’ve been assured by industry experts that there is no better way than reading aloud to test whether the story that has danced in my head for the past 12 years comes across as clearly and magically as it was whispered to me.  Why, in that case I’m far from finished!  I can test drive it while bonding with my cat and dog (who don’t care what I’m saying as long as I’m directing attention towards them).  WHEW!

And then? Once revisions are in place, I’ve read it aloud making changes here and there — THEN what? The copy editor will assuredly have reams of notes as to how I can improve the manuscript — so I will have to revise it yet one more time.  Oh joy, oh rapture!  Max isn’t leaving me just yet, although even with such delays, the time will come when just like a parent packing up a darling child striking out on its own, I must come to terms with a hole in my life.  Of course, Max and I will stay in touch.  AND I’ll inherit a new room to decorate and fill with other things!

Whatever will I do with all that room?  Why, write another book, of course! And the subject matter? I’ve been wondering what Max’s life was like between his 81st year in 1992, and his liberation from Auschwitz in 1945. Those years aren’t explored in GOLANSKI’S TREASURES, and I’m most curious. I’ll bet if I asked Max he’d be more than forthcoming, and we could hang out together for years to come.

Of course, that means I’d better get busy and finish this book if I want to get to the next one!  Gotta dash . . . I have another five chapters to revise before printing and reading the whole manuscript out loud!  Until next time . . . .

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Humanity’s Moral Imperative

05 Saturday May 2012

Posted by Golanskis Treasures in anti-Semitism, Genocide, History, Holocaust

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Aremenian Genocide, current-events, Genocide, holocaust, Human Rights, Keene State College, Nazism, Nuremberg Trials, Rwanda, Rwandan Genocide, Sonoma State University, World War II, YOM HASHOAH

Yom HaShoah has passed, yet discussions continue as to the importance of keeping the Holocaust “present” in memory and psyche.  Having immersed myself in studying the events leading up to and through one of the acknowledged crimes of any century, I have come to learn several things that bear repeating.

One piece of information came from Dr. James Miller from Keene State College, an extraordinary presenter in the Holocaust and Genocide Lecture Series at Sonoma State University.  Dr. Miller actually conducts week-long training sessions with diplomats and military leaders at Auschwitz to empower their greater understanding of the nature of genocide.  It is hoped that as “boots on the ground” they can identify early warnings of hostilities toward groups of people before they erupt into full-fledged genocide.

Dr. Miller shared studies as to how it was possible for such evil to exist and be visited upon innocents both during the Holocaust and other 20th century genocides (Armenia, Cambodia, and Rwanda, to name a few.)  It was chilling to learn that the Nazis were not unusual in their makeup and are not believed to have been born inherently evil (a nation of “bad seeds” so to speak).  While The Third Reich’s leadership set into motion the unfathomable murder of millions, the lower-level functionaries who carried out their heinous crimes were average individuals . . . the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker . . . the doctor the lawyer, the housewife . . . the teacher, the merchant, the laborer.  Individuals like any other.  Individuals.  No different than you or me.

Nuremberg Trials

For me, that information makes Yom HaShoah even more compelling.  Once a year we not only commemorate the systematic destruction of human life, and set in our hearts the memories of those who perished — but engage in self-examination.  If “regular people” perpetuated such horrors upon others, what might WE have done had we been given such orders?  Would we have followed along without question?  If so, how might we have justified our actions against the moral compass that steers our lives?  What would have made it feel “right” to murder innocents?

Yom HaShoah also invites our putting ourselves in the position of those targeted for destruction.  What would we have done to save ourselves and our loved ones?  Would we have questioned?  Would we have hidden behind a wall of denial to maintain our sanity?  Would we have resisted?  Would we have tried to hide or flee?  Would we have denounced our heritage?  Would we have sacrificed others to save ourselves?

Moral dilemmas on both sides of the equation.  And now, as the numbers of Holocaust Survivors dwindle due to the passing years, efforts to record their memories and keep alive their stories has escalated.  Escalated, for as memories of the Holocaust fade, the potential for it being repeated grows stronger.  Many years ago, when I visited Jerusalem’s Yad v’Shem Museum, the words, “LEST WE FORGET” were emblazoned upon a large sign at the entry.  Those words stood as a reminder to all human beings that lessons not learned, or forgotten are doomed to be repeated.

There is a distinct challenge in writing a fictionalized version about real events that happened to real people in real places so many years after the fact.  Those who experienced WWII directly, or the generation that followed is not the experience of young people now in school, let alone future generations.  It is disturbing to realize that a growing number of people are unaware of the Holocaust.  Taking it a step further, many have also never heard of Rwanda’s genocide, notwithstanding the news coverage that marked the gruesome events of 1994 — just 18 years ago.

Remembering Rwanda Genocide

As a society, we are exposed to images of violence and brutality daily – in the news, online, in video games, television and film.  Such distancing from the Holocaust and equally disconcerting, the desensitization of our young people, is a breeding ground for future genocides.

Genocide is dependent upon various things falling handily into place:

  • Victims must be either demonized and/or dehumanized so the distance between “us and them” widens.  The more people are identified as “others,” or “outsiders,” the less empathy one builds towards them and the more likely actions against them are not perceived with the same level of intensity than had they been close to us.
  • Those who take comfort from a pack mentality consider whomever holds a leadership position above question.  They prefer being told what to do rather than think independently, tending to forgive themselves from even the most unimaginable crimes as being appropriate and condoned by the larger group.
  • And most importantly, genocide would be less likely to succeed if others spoke out against the oppression of others.  Bullies – whether national leaders, religious zealots, political power-mongerers or the big guy throwing around his weight on the school playground – could be rendered less powerful if people stood up and said, “NO!  THIS IS NOT ACCEPTABLE!”  The silence of witnesses, whether complacent in the crime or not, allows the criminal free reign.

If people, young or old, are unfamiliar with what happened both during the Holocaust, and other instances of genocide around the world — it is the responsibility of a sane, compassionate and humane society to inform them.  If such examples seem too distant, ask if they’ve ever experienced, or witnessed bullying, bigotry, or racism.  EMPATHY is key.  If the human race is to retain its humanity, we must see ourselves as part of a larger family of mankind – OUR family – which must be protected and respected by everyone if we are to survive as a species.

NEVER AGAIN!

Yad V’Shem, the Memorial Museum in Jerusalem

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NEVER AGAIN!

18 Wednesday Apr 2012

Posted by Golanskis Treasures in anti-Semitism, Genocide, History, Holocaust

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

6 Million, Auschwitz, books, Day of Remembrance, Elie Wiesel, Final Solution, Genocide, Hitler, holocaust, Jews, John Donne, Martyr, Nazi, Poland, World War II, YOM HASHOAH

YOM HASHOAH – REMEMBERING THE MARTYRS

Yom HaShoah Memorial Candle

No man is an island, entire onto itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were: any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee.

I have long felt John Donne’s eloquent statement to be a somber reminder of what should be a basic tenet of human existence. How different might our world have been had such ideals dominated Europe from 1939 – 1945. Instead, our human family was indeed diminished.

Six million Jews and millions of others were systematically annihilated in the penultimate pogrom we have come to know as THE HOLOCAUST: Communists, Czechs, Greeks, Gypsies, homosexuals, Jehovah’s Witnesses, mentally and physically handicapped, Poles, Resistance fighters, Russians, Serbs, Socialists, Spanish Republicans, trade unionists, Ukrainians, Yugoslavians, prisoners of war of many nations, and countless others.

Those  who perished were lost to the world in body, but not spirit, for as long as we remember them, they live on.  And so we remember. And in remembering we honor the innocent, and reaffirm our condemnation of the guilty. We remember in the hope that in so doing such crimes will not be repeated.

We will remember them in services around the world today during YOM HASHOAH, “The Day of Remembrance.”  We will be moved by speakers, some who survived the conflagration. We will voice heartfelt prayers and light memorial candles. We will reflect upon man’s inhumanity to man as perpetuated by the Nazi killing machine in Europe. We will realize the immensity of the crime — six million Jews. Two-thirds of Europe’s Jewish pre-WWII population, and half the world’s pre WWII Jewish population.

In 1989 the Holocaust became irrevocably real to me as I explored the killing grounds of Auschwitz while traveling on behalf of Spertus Museum of Judaica.  I was not obligated to visit, but felt a that bearing witness to the Holocaust was a responsibility – a moral imperative. Walking past displays of “physical evidence” I kept reminding myself that “but for the Grace of God….” It was a sobering and life-changing experience.

Years later, immersed in writing, my fingers froze as they were poised above my computer’s keyboard. I was uncertain as to how to tackle the chapter where my fictionalized character (Holocaust Survivor Max Golanski) visited the death camp where he had been imprisoned.  I simply couldn’t wrap my brain around it. Knowing the impact visiting Auschwitz had upon ME, I was stymied as to how to enter the skin of one who had actually lived that horrific truth, then returned to renew his tie to the time, place and events as a living witness.

As happens sometimes among those of us who are either blessed (or condemned) to write, I finally removed myself from the process and let Max tell his story. I typed at a rapid clip, through closed eyes as my heart drummed madly against the walls of my chest.  The chapter quickly evolved into a surreal ballet. I was there only to serve as scribe.

To honor the memories of the innocents murdered in the Holocaust, I offer the following selection from that chapter of  GOLANSKI’S TREASURES.  May the memories of the Martyrs be a blessing, and may we live to see a day where “Never Again” is no longer a prayer, but a reality.

(NOTE:  Quoted text is copyright protected by Sue Ross, 2012 and remains the exclusive property of the author.  Use of this material without permission is prohibited.)

Max entered a darkened room made smaller by the omnipresence of a large urn.  Its circumference was the size of a mature tree’s trunk, yet stood only a few feet tall.  The focal point of the room, the simple and unadorned urn beckoned Max to approach.

Slowly walking forward he stopped abruptly, as if confronted by a hidden barrier.  Noticing a sign in Polish, he drew closer to read the faded words, then pulled back abruptly, his breath wrenched from his chest.  Suspended in time, Max felt the presence of invisible sentries hovering nearby.  Stepping back a few paces his heart slowly absorbed the simple words inscribed.  The simple clay urn cradled precious ashes collected from the ovens.  Ashes taken from the nameless, faceless, countless, unknown souls who had perished in the crematoria.

Reaching a trembling hand towards the vessel, Max felt a bolt of electricity course through his body as his hand made contact.  Was he touching the cheek of his beloved wife?  The shoulder of his childhood friend?  Had the ashes of a young Russian soldier co-mingled with an old Gypsy woman with flashing gold-earrings, or a sympathetic Catholic priest who dared to object?  Was that the laughter of a small girl?  The sobbing of an old woman?  Were those the persistent and distinctly melodious strains of a violin crying with her?

As he withdrew his hand, Max’s breath swooped back into his lungs leaving him gasping and light-headed.  Closing his eyes he sighed deeply.  A long, thin puff of air escaped his lips.  Max was reminded that the Third Reich’s perverted quest for world domination was built upon subjugating and exterminating all non-Aryans.  Its malignant vision left no one people holding a monopoly on suffering.  Death had become the great equalizer.

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Speak Out!

12 Monday Mar 2012

Posted by Golanskis Treasures in anti-Semitism, Genocide, History, Holocaust

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Civil War, Crimes Against Humanity, Darfur, Genocide, Homs, Human Rights, Neimoller, peace, Rwandan, Sudanese, Syria, war

OUTRAGE as a moral imperative must sometimes become one’s compass when political policies and accepted definitions no longer suffice.  In today’s world there are many events and practices where I take issue: greed promoted over social responsibility, ongoing inequality between genders and groups, and self-centeredness trumping compassion (to name only a few).  While I grumble, like many others I’ve excused myself from participating more actively in the discussion so as to attend instead to the daily responsibilities of my life.

I wasn’t always so passive.  In years past I probably would have raised my voice while protesting beside fellow marchers.  Movements fueled by fearless passion for causes supporting: peace, civil rights, religious freedom, and egalitarianism (to name only a few).  Perhaps it is simply that I am older now, with a bit less fire in my belly.  Comfortable walking shoes have replaced my marching boots, and I’ve learned that many shades of grey color the world.  Life is not as clearly apparent as before.

So, what has changed?  Perhaps entering another time and another place in a life imagined through a fictional character has reawakened my impatience with allowing the world to right itself while I go about my business.  In my novel, the central character is a man struggling against the silence of complacency by speaking out against injustice.  Through recast eyes I have begun to see the world and my place in it somewhat differently.

My fictional character, 81-year-old Holocaust Survivor, Max Golanski perfected the art of blending into the horrific scenery of his times by not making waves.  It was a skill acquired as a protective device, an armor of invisibility shielding him from detection by those bent upon his destruction.  Inherent in Max’s choice to return to Poland to reconnect with his past was his choice to become visible once again.

Dropping his protective shield Max chose to speak for those who had died in full view of a world that should have come to their assistance, and instead turned a collective back.  He grew to believe that remaining invisible — silent in the midst of evil — was to abandon a joint responsibility of conscience and allow inaction to become action.

Like Max of my imagination I find it increasingly difficult to remain silent when witnessing attacks by armed forces against civilians throughout the world.  “Rules of Engagement,” don’t exist when governments attack their own people and sovereign countries have engaged in internal battles since the beginning of time.  In Darfur, the battles continue raging with 300,000 killed and almost 3 million displaced since 2003.  In Syria, the question remains as to whether a civil war is underway.  While the question is answered, men women and children in Homs are being killed simply because they live in harm’s way.

It is my personal hope that a global outcry will bring an end to the hostilities against these, and all groups of civilians under siege.  In civil wars, issues become even more complex as people of conscience must watch from the outside without involvement.  What is the right thing to do in such an instance?  The human thing.  As an individual I do not profess to have the answers, but believe it essential to pose the questions.

The fight against genocide will not be won as “Crimes Against Humanity” continue.  Our human family cannot afford to continue losing its humanity. Let us pray for peace among nations, and an end to violence against innocent civilians.  Take action by contacting your elected officials in Congress.  REMEMBER . . .

 First they came for the Communists and I did not speak out –
 because I was not a Communist.  Then they came for the Socialists and I did not speak out – 
because I was not a Socialist.  Then they came for the trade unionists and I did not speak out – 
because I was not a trade unionist.  Then they came for the Jews and I did not speak out – because I was not a Jew.  Then they came for me –
 and there was no one left to speak out for me.

– PASTOR MARIN NEIMOLLER –

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Seeking Jewish Roots

01 Thursday Mar 2012

Posted by Golanskis Treasures in anti-Semitism, History, Holocaust, Jewish Culture & Traditions, Jewish Genealogy, Poland, Sokoly

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

Bialystok, books, Claude Lanzmann, ellis island immigration, family, family lore, history, jewish genealogy, Poland, Shoah, shtetl, Sokoly, spertus museum, yiddish accent

SOKOLY (So-koh-wee)! The first time I heard the name of my grandfather’s birthplace was from my father’s cousin, Marie.  She lived in Paris, was a doctor, medical researcher, and reputedly a Polish Countess. Now what, you might ask, does my distant cousin and Polish Countess have to do with the story of Max Golanski?  

In 1989, when I traveled to Poland on behalf of Chicago’s Spertus Museum, I stopped in Paris to ask Marie to fill in missing blanks regarding our family heritage.  Grandpa Ross had arrived in the United States as a young man seeking to leave Russia rather than face the mandatory 12-year military service required of Jews.  (Non-Jews served four years for the Czar.)  He had followed his brother Willie to this country via Ellis Island, and couldn’t remember our family’s original last name, or why his brother had selected the surname Ross.  Fortunately, Cousin Marie remembered names and places that helped round out our family lore.

When Great Uncle Willie arrived at Ellis Island, Immigration officials asked where he was from and without hesitation he replied, “Białystok” (Bee-al-i-stok).  When asked his last name he said, “Białystokski” (Bee-al-i-stos-kee), which translates “from the Białystok region.”  Białystok shifted between  Russian and Polish rule over a period of several hundred years.

Immigration officials decided that Great Uncle Willie was either confused, or his name was too difficult to pronounce, so asked him to select “an American name.”  Of course, he didn’t know any “American names,” so when an attractive female Immigration worker walked past he pointed to her and asked, “Vat’s her name?” in a thick Yiddish accent.  “ROSS!” Without hesitation he said, “If it’s good enough for her, it’s good enough for me.  I’ll take it!”  And so my Eastern European Jewish family had a new, Scottish surname.

And SOKOLY?  Once Marie related the story regarding our family name she also remembered our family’s village.  Upon arriving in Poland I hired a driver to take me to the town (25 miles from Białystok).  Sokoly was a modest farming community of 3,500 people, distinguished by an impressive Catholic church in the town’s center. Surprisingly, my visit generated substantial excitement as word quickly spread that an American Jew was visiting.  People poured from their homes to meet me, saying “No ‘Shoah.’  We like Jews!”  I later discovered that the 9 1/2-hour film “Shoah,” by Claude Lanzmann, had recently found its way to Sokoly.  Residents seemed to feel that by convincing one Jew that not all Poles were anti-Semitic, they absolved themselves of participation in the Holocaust to all the Jews of the world.

Pulled into the kitchen of a humble farmer and his wife, I sat with them seeking the answer to my one burning question:  “What happened to the Jews of Sokoly?”  Their response was translated for me by my Polish driver, and the tape was donated to the Chicago Jewish Archives.

Years later, the Internet made possible more extensive research.  I was surprised to discover that Sokoly had been a renowned center of Jewish scholarship, claiming many doctors, scientists, literary scholars and other distinguished native sons and daughters.  The majority of Sokoly’s survivors immigrated to Israel.  A few others came to the States.  As one might expect, their stories were markedly different from the farmer’s original tale.  Folding differing perspectives of my impressions visiting in 1989, the farmer’s story, and researched testimony of Sokoly’s Jewish Survivors into a fictionalized tale gave birth to several chapters in GOLANSKI’S TREASURES.

As for my family’s Polish Countess?  A story onto itself for another time!

(Church in Sokoly, Poland - Photo by Leszek Zaremba)

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