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Golanski's Treasures

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Golanski's Treasures

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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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In Honor of Mothers

14 Monday May 2012

Posted by Golanskis Treasures in Jewish Culture & Traditions, Jewish Genealogy, Writing

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Austria, books, family, Grandparent, Hungary, Jewish, Memoir, Mother, Mother's Day, Poland, Tribute to Mothers

As a special Mother’s Day tribute, I thought it only right to give a little bit of background on the character of Max’s mother, Pepe.  How she took form, and the qualities she embraces that made her a composite of the “Yiddisha Mama” touted in song and legend.

The original Pepe Golanski – Bessie (Pepe) Stein, my maternal grandmother.

Every character in the book has been named to honor family, friends “close as family,” and/or historic figures who may not be popularly known.  All of the children, and most of the current characters with whom Max interacts are currently alive.  The others hold people who have graced the planet in memory.

Max’s mother Pessel was actually named for my maternal grandmother, who was Austrian-Hungarian/Romanian by birth, and came to this country with her husband and first two (of nine) children.  Her husband’s name was Max (for whom my primary character is named, although my maternal grandfather died years ago — one of the exceptions to my naming of characters).  When Pessel arrived in the US, she was given the AMERICAN name of Bessie, which she begrudgingly accepted, although she was never comfortable within its skin. Compromising, she deferred to her nickname — Pepe — which is carried throughout the book.

So . . . to review.  Max is named after my maternal grandfather, and Max’s MOTHER is named after my maternal grandMOTHER.  (Ahh, the luxury of “poetic license” allowed writers!)  With me so far?

In the book, fictional Pepe was born to be a mother (as was my actual grandmother).  She embraced every opportunity to love, teach and support each of her children: Moishe (Max), Izzy (Isadore — incidentally, named after my own father), and Miri (Miriam), named after my maternal Aunt Mary.  Her husband Julius (Max’s father) is a kosher butcher.  In my family the real Julius was my paternal grandfather, who was, in fact such a butcher.  STILL with me?  

As a Mother’s Day tribute, I’d like to share a snippet from a scene in the book to bring you back to Max’s world as a child growing up in Poland — when the Jewish world of his existence was still balanced (however precariously), and logically unfolded within an environment filled and defined by cultural traditions, faith and the love of family.  It was a place where a Yiddisha Mama was revered, serving as the center of home, family and community.  So, without further ado, it is my honor to introduce Pepe Golanski, butcher’s wife, and Max Golanski’s beloved mother . . . .

(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.)

While Julius worked, Pepe would chat with the ladies who came by just as much to schmooze and trade recipes as to purchase meat.  Once she had completed her chores both in the shop and the family’s second floor apartment, she’d join her contemporaries in discussing the latest gossip of the day.  Always taking charge of such discussions to make certain the women in her shop shared information, rather than malicious rumors, Pepe kept a firm grip on such conversations, chiding those who sought out juicy details that might be hurtful to others.

“So, nu?  Marta?” she’d say.  “You wouldn’t sleep as soundly as you do each night if you didn’t know the details of Yonkel’s failing as a husband to poor Chava?”

Pepe’s belief that petty rumors were unnecessary, unkind and unworthy of attention made her greatly respected throughout the neighborhood.  Her use of discretion was legend and she was fond of reminding everybody that, “Small minds produce the world’s biggest headaches.” A traditional balaboste, Pepe was a highly disciplined housewife and adoring mother.

“You’d think the sun rose and set upon the heads of those three children,” Julius would often say, shaking his OWN head when she’d over-indulge them.

“But, my beloved husband, the sun DOES rise and set upon their heads,” she’d reply, her face alive with a mother’s love. Yet, she was also the undisputed disciplinarian of the family.

“Children, off to school with you,” Pepe would announce the second the last parcel of dark rye bread had disappeared from the table and her husband had left for work.

“Miri, I told you that dress needed a few stitches at the hem.  A lady you should be.  I’ve never known such a girl as you.  Now run and change.  Moishe, those fingernails look like those of beggar.  Do I need to take a brush to them myself?  Go scrub them again.  I’ll not have a child of mine going to school with dirty fingernails.  Izzy!  Now where is that child?” she’d mumble, full well knowing that her eldest had already bounded down the stairs to wait for his siblings in front while he sought to catch a peek of the attractive girl who lived next door.

Moishe remembered how the delicate fragrance of baking challah, and meat-filled, sweet cabbage wafted from her apron.  Perfumed by onions, Pepe’s large, peasant hands were moist and supple from folding schmaltz into her chopped liver.  But, Moishe most loved her laugh.  It shook loose from deep inside until her earrings danced, tears flowed from her eyes, and her ample bosom bounced up and down. What Pepe lacked in a formal education was more than adequately covered by her more pragmatic schooling as a perceptive student of life.

“People are my books,” she told her children, and would refer frequently to her living library when fielding questions about the world.  Pepe’s mish-mosh of characters seemed to hold answers from whatever might ail, to putting together a school report, to the most attractive ways of braiding the flaming red hair of the rambunctious Miri.

Born Pessel Libe she was raised in Galicia in the town of Shoenfolo in Maremosesiegatz, where she spent her childhood swimming in the river that divided Austria from Hungary.  Pessel was her Jewish, or Yiddish name, but she preferred her nickname, Pepe.  In addition to being the best swimmer and fastest runner, she was also known for her culinary skills, the result of early training by her own mother, Chana, who was well accomplished in the art of Jewish cooking.

“Pessel, to catch a husband, you should spend more time on your brisket and less time looking in the mirror!” Chana would say.

As catching a husband was top on every young Jewish girl’s list, Pepe watched intently, taking mental notes of what made up a “pinch,” or constituted a “dash.”  While not the sole reason, her cooking was certainly part of the reason she so quickly won the affection of a husband who was partner, provider, and father to her children.

I dedicate today’s entry to Max’s Pepe — my maternal grandmother, Pepe (who died before my birth) — my own beloved mother, Rose (whom I miss dearly since her passing several years ago at the age of 91. Mom would have so enjoyed being part of this journey) — and all mothers who bring children into the world, and lead them through its often confusing waters.

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

 – Remembering Mom.  Rose Ross with Baby Sue (a long time ago.  My skin was definitely too big for me).

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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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Passover in Poland – Memories from Max

29 Thursday Mar 2012

Posted by Golanskis Treasures in Jewish Culture & Traditions, Jewish Foods, Poland

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

books, Charoset, Cook, Jews, Matzah ball, Passover, Passover Seder Plate, Pesach

Charoset made with kosher wine, apples, pears,...

Charoses made with kosher wine, apples, pears, cinnamon, honey, pine nuts, and crushed walnuts.  (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

PASSOVER (Pesach) is still one week away, and I’m delighted to present a few holiday recipes from several wonderful readers to help make cooking “Kosher for Passover” not only delicious, but a shared experience.

In GOLANSKI’S TREASURES, Max’s mementoes trigger fond recollections of his life in Poland before WWII. Here’s a short clip from a story he shares during his flight home with a student who carried two items he purchased in a curio shop in Warsaw . . . an old wooden chopping bowl and a distinctive three-bladed chopper (called a “hackmesser” in Yiddish).

When I was a young and curious boy, Mama (of blessed memory), allowed my sitting quietly in a corner of our kitchen to watch the women work.  She was quite the expert on Seder preparations, and by the time I was ten she felt I could do simple tasks. That’s how I became the only boy around who knew how to make charoses, a delicious chopped spread symbolizing the mortar Hebrew slaves used to cement together bricks for the great pyramids.

I somehow became convinced that the quality of my charoses contributed to the ongoing architectural integrity of the pyramids, so I worked extra hard to perfect the dish.  I can still remember the ‘chop, chop, chopping’ sound as the multi-bladed hackmesser struck the wooden bowl.  Mama taught me how to create a charoses worthy of the Seder plate.  I could even remove the thin red, green and yellow glossy skins from each apple in long, continuous spirals with one of Papa’s sharpest knives.

Crisp and tart, the clear juices from the apples coated the hackmesser’s blades as I worked.  Chopping the walnuts into the apples, I’d add crushed cinnamon and a dollop of honey, then dribble sweet, red wine into the mix.  Chopping and blending, the fragrance of apples meeting walnuts, honey, cinnamon and wine was intoxicating.  Learning to reach the proper consistency took years to perfect.  As I grew older, I enjoyed embellishing upon the original recipe Mama had taught me, and must confess I became quite well known for my charoses!

Check out the new page just added to the blog called “GOLANSKI’S KITCHEN.”  I’ve started the ball rolling with Max’s description of the ingredients and process of creating an easy, thick and chunky, yet spreadable charoses — the traditional Ashkenazi (Eastern European) recipe:

Ingredients:

  • 1 1/2 tablespoons honey
  • 1/4 cup ground cinnamon (or to taste)
  • 5 cups fuji apples – peeled, cored and chopped
  • 2 cups red wine
  • 1 cup chopped walnuts
Directions:
  1. In a bowl, mix the honey, cinnamon, apples, wine, and walnuts thoroughly and let sit several hours.

While I no longer cook that much (I’m blessed with Charles’ fabulous creativity in the kitchen), I still look forward to preparing my annual Chicken Soup with Matzo Balls for Pesach.  I confess that I generally use box mixes for the matzo balls, but please take note of the technique employed in shaping and introducing the mixture into the boiling water (a trick learned from my own “Yiddisha Mama”).

You’ll also find other Passover dishes from two contributing cooks who answered my call for recipes.  More have come in, but preparing recipe posts for the blog are somewhat labor intense for me, so please be patient and keep a lookout for other Jewish dishes that will be posted periodically.  All reflect the ongoing love affair between Jewish people and food.

(Please feel free to send your favorite recipes for future postings.)

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“So, What’s it About?”

19 Monday Mar 2012

Posted by Golanskis Treasures in Writing

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Tags

authors, blog, books, creativity, literature, novel, publishing, readers, synopsis, the writer's life, writing

After working for over twelve years to complete the first draft of my novel, it’s been exciting to tell the world that my labor of love is drawing nearer to publication.

Whether that means a gifted agent will swoop in and embrace Max’s story, making a case for its publication by a traditional publishing house, OR I follow the route of independent publishing so many authors are now choosing quite successfully is yet to be determined.

In either case, I’ve been delighted by the interest expressed by those who’ve learned about my work. The obvious first question is generally, “So, what’s it about?” and nothing gives me greater pleasure than responding! With that in mind, I realized that sharing an overview of the story on my blog was past due and have added a page presenting the novel’s SYNOPSIS.

It’s reassuring to know that there is a lively community of inquisitive minds who read voraciously and enjoy getting “sneak previews” to a work of art in progress. There is still a long road ahead.  From completing the first draft to having a final manuscript ready for publication entails further revisions, research, and expert guides to navigate unfamiliar waters.

Writers produce their work in the quiet of solitude, which (while necessary) can also be a very lonely place.  We write for the love of writing, and the hope that the images that dance through our minds will add something to the human dialogue. Having a supportive partner, friends, other writers, and all of YOU egging me on truly makes it all the more worthwhile.

Please take a moment to check out the SYNOPSIS just added to the blog (top of the page).  I so appreciate your questions, comments, support, and partnership in the process of building a community around GOLANSKI’S TREASURES!

Many Thanks!

Sue

P.S.  If you’re enjoying thus far, please “Like” posts and “Follow & Join the Community” in the left-hand column.  If you click the “Follow” button you’ll not only get posts automatically (once/week), but will help build a strong community of support.

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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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How a Book Comes to Be

28 Tuesday Feb 2012

Posted by Golanskis Treasures in Holocaust, Writing

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

books, jewish art, spertus institute, spertus museum, the writer's life, writing

I never intended to write about the Holocaust.  Perhaps (if possible) my character, Max Golanski sought me out.  His entry into my world came unannounced.  It was in the late 1990’s when I had one of those vivid, “right before waking” dreams we remember for a few minutes after opening our eyes. That’s where I was plunged into Max’s world, seeing the entire span of his life in one fell swoop.  It appeared like a rainbow, intact from the place where it leaps from the earth on one side, soars across the heavens, and returns to earth far from where it emerged.  I sprang from the bed, looked at Charles (my wonderful, albeit long-suffering partner), and sharply said, “Don’t speak to me!” As I raced to the computer to grab the images, ideas and story dancing inside, Charles sat perplexed. “But I didn’t do anything!” I recall him saying as I quickly jotted down a quick outline of an emerging book just as the story began to fade from my consciousness.  (Charles did forgive me.)

I had visited Poland on behalf of Chicago’s Spertus Institute for Jewish Studies as part of a Spertus Museum planning group seeking to put together an exhibition of Polish/Jewish art, but that was a decade earlier.  I wonder how long Max had languished somewhere deep inside waiting for the right moment to grab my attention, and wonder still what spurred his bursting forth at that moment.  

Having no idea as to what was involved in bringing a work of literary fiction from concept to fruition, I doodled away in my spare time over the years, writing whenever mood, or time allowed.  Some years time simply didn’t allow, and yet the insistent voice of this 81-year old Jewish man living on NYC’s Lower East Side jabbered away to me in Yiddish (which I don’t speak), or prodded me in a Yiddish-laden English (which I do).  He was not to be quieted, so I wrote.  

At times, I was frustrated by the amount of time needed to move the work forward. Now that the first draft is solidly in place and I am into revisions, I feel blessed for the process.  During those 12 years the Internet was born, and with it, access to historical data.  My writing also matured and I discovered professional avenues to hone my craft.  “The Writer’s Life” is not an easy one.  Not easy for those of us who create in isolation, or the poor souls (like my dear Charles) who allow us to exist beside them even as we travel to alternate realities.  Has anybody out there ever had a similar experience?  I’d love to hear about it!

Sue

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“Family is Everything!”

23 Thursday Feb 2012

Posted by Golanskis Treasures in Holocaust, Jewish Culture & Traditions

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

blog, books, Eastern Europe, family, Final Solution, holocaust, Jewish, jewish genealogy, Poland, Shoah, shtetl, the Chosen People

“Family is everything!” Mama used to say.  Yet, I never realized just how important everything was until I had nothing.  Until my family was consumed by the hatred and misguided megalomania of a single lunatic, who crafted “The Final Solution” as the way to rid the world of all that was precious to me.

People generally understand the Holocaust as one of history’s darkest periods.  Yet, that understanding is framed by viewing footage from newsreels where the Jews of Eastern Europe become familiar as victims — black and white images of naked skeletal remains stacked up like kindling, or victims-in-waiting kneeling before open pits, Nazi soldiers standing behind them with rifles poised.  Or iconic images of a young boy with his hands raised above his head.

Then, of course, are the numbers.  The sheer volume of those destroyed in the first genocide where science was employed to systematically destroy those selected by a virtual killing machine.  6 million souls.  Two-thirds of Eastern Europe’s Jewish population.  Gone.  Murdered.

Yet, each of those 6 million were members of families like mine in a culture that lived and breathed family from every pore.  My family was much like yours, the only difference perhaps that we lived in shtels (Jewish villages) and cities in Poland.  We were born, lived, loved and laughed — just like your families.  We made our livings in a variety of ways, from working in farming communities to city butcher shops.  We sought our degrees in institutions of higher learning, studied art, became professionals, fell in love and married.  We debated the finer philosophical points raised by history’s great minds, and immersed ourselves in worship to the God who was the center of our existence.  We harbored the same hopes and dreams as every living soul.

Yet, as Jews, we stood in the same shadows of fear occupied by our ancestors from the moment we chose God, and he in turn chose us for our love of Him and dedication to his ways.  Being “The Chosen People,” was never easy, and when I was young I wished that God would choose somebody else for a change.  But me and my family — Mama and Popa, brother Izzy, sister Miri, wife Sarah, grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins – were born into times and circumstances where choosing and being chosen framed our existence.  Our choices defined our humanity, informed our destinies and shaped our relationships with God.

Like you, we were born into a world where God gave us the freedom to choose how to act, or react to the world around us.  Yes, “Family is everything,” but we are all extended family, aren’t we?  So, as family, I invite you to get to know more about my world, for within that world you may discover some pieces of your own.

A blog is a personal connection in today’s impersonal universe.  I will attempt to keep my scribe busy as she relates some of the stories of my life, but most can be found in the book she has been working on for the past 12 years.  Her book – MY book – is called “Golanski’s Treasures.”  Until it is ready to be brought forth into the world, perhaps we can become acquainted through this blog.  Feel free to ask questions, or join conversations.  No need to stand on formalities – speak right up!  This is a dialogue.  Speak your mind, but please be considerate of one another, me and my family, and your writer Sue Ross along the way.  It’s easy to stay in touch.  Just click on the “follow” button at the left and you’ll be notified of new posts.

Thank you,

Max Golanski

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Categories

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