Blood Washes Away; Bullet Holes Do Not; or: How to Not Get Arrested in Poland

The following article was guest-written by my good friend Jonathan M. Klein. After Jonn relayed this experience to me verbally, I invited him to share it with a wider audience. He was gracious enough to agree. - Ed Snyder 

Abandoned Jewish cemetery, Warsaw, Poland

Before we get down to the stories of my adventures in Poland, allow me to give a brief introduction.  I’m a 38-year-old bar owner from Philadelphia who has been an avid photographer for over 20 years.  I was what you might call a “goth“ for many moons, and I’ve always had a fascination with the morbid and decadent.  I first met Ed outside one of my bars when he stopped me on the street to snap some pictures of the hearse I used to own.  I have a salvaged Victorian tombstone in my front yard.  Finally, despite being a practicing atheist, I was born and raised Jewish and continue to culturally identify with the traditions, if not the religion.  I’ve been traveling regularly for 14 years and have always made it a point to explore abandoned Jewish cemeteries in the Holocaust-decimated countries of central Europe whenever I find myself in that region.  Germany, the Netherlands, Hungary, and the Czech Republic have all been targets of exploration.  This fall, I set my sights on Poland, which, pre-WWII, had the largest Jewish population in Europe and now effectively has none.  Having done my research, I left knowing that the four cities I was visiting had four of the biggest, most neglected Jewish graveyards in the world.

A lonely path through an abandoned Jewish cemetery, Warsaw, Poland

My first stop was Warsaw, which reading had told me was home to a humungous and extremely poorly kept Jewish cemetery that abutted an equally old, but still very much active, Catholic one.  These were on the edge of the former Warsaw Ghetto, and while I had hoped that the three mile walk from my hotel would provide some interesting sights, the bleak reality was that what the Nazis hadn’t destroyed, the Communists had.  Thus, my walk was very uninteresting, and I was chomping at the bit to use my camera for the first time that day.  It was also my last day in Warsaw, and I knew that I would not be returning anytime soon.  Imagine my disappointment when, after this long schlep to the graveyards, the simple black gate with a star of David on it was locked tight, displaying a handwritten note in Polish that pretty clearly said, “Closed Today”. 

Inside the (Catholic) Powazki Cemetery with the Jewish cemetery beyond the dividing wall

Unbeknownst to me, as a totally non-observant Jew, it was Sukot, a Jewish holiday I barely remember.  Despite the fact that the cemetery is abandoned and decaying, despite the fact that there are almost no Jews left anywhere in Poland, and despite the fact that the property is maintained by the city and not a religious authority, it was closed for the holiday.  However, I’m not one to be put off by simple things like locked gates and rules.  It occurred to me that, as I was planning on shooting the Catholic cemetery anyway, I could scout for a way to gain entrance via the shared back wall.  Imagine my dismay when reconnaissance revealed that, for some reason, the wall dividing the two properties had been almost completely rebuilt, clearly within the last few months!   

However, the work had not been completed yet, and there was one small section of the old wall, which was lower, and still had Catholic graves butting up against it.  I quickly discovered a cross tombstone that afforded me an easy foothold to vault the wall, but… It was a beautiful fall day, and the active cemetery was busy!  There were two funerals while I was there, and many people were tending to the graves of their loved ones.  So I, with my odd facial hair and bag full of camera gear, who stuck out like a sore thumb, had to skulk around for almost a half hour, trying to be inconspicuous and waiting for a clear moment to scale the cross and hop over.  I seized the moment when it came and was in the Jewish cemetery within 30 seconds.  The reward was one of the most unique experiences I’ve ever had in my life. 

Being the only living soul walled in with over 100,000 burials is something that can barely be described.  It was a beautiful sunny day, but the trees, which have been growing unchecked since 1942, created a canopy of such density that the lack of light was like shooting at dusk.  The only noises were the sound of autumn leaves rustling in the wind and my own footsteps, which I was desperate to keep quiet even though I knew I was alone.  Parts of the graveyard were kept somewhat clear for those few tourists who might wander in, but mostly, it was an overgrown morass of packed, toppled, defaced, and deteriorating markers for the long dead.  I only spent about 2 hours there, but that time left an indelible mark on my memory.   

After covering as much ground as I could without getting too near the gatehouse (just in case!), I returned to the low point in the wall half expecting to see a gaggle of Polish police calmly waiting to take me away.  I was trying to formulate an explanation as to why an atheistic American Jew felt it overwhelmingly necessary to break into an abandoned Jewish cemetery (on a Jewish holiday, no less!), but I could not come up with anything useful.  Fortunately, none was necessary.  My egress was just as clean as my entry, and I spent another three hours photographing the magnificent Catholic cemetery without incident.

Krakow graves in Jewish cemetery

Krakow offered a different experience.  This was a much smaller cemetery where many of the smashed tombstones had been haphazardly reconstructed by the Communists decades ago.  Because Krakow survived the war mostly intact, the graveyard, though abandoned, had a slightly touristy feel to it. The overgrowth is kept to a picturesque level, with clear paths and a fair number of people wandering through. It is surrounded by busy streets, and the former Jewish district of Kazimierz is thriving again.  This was a far cry from the decimated areas of Warsaw I had walked through.  I even got to see a Klezmer concert in a newly re-opened but historic Jewish restaurant. 

Poznanski mausoleum - largest known Jewish mausoleum in the world

The city of Lodz is actually home to not only the largest Jewish cemetery in the world, supposedly, but the graveyard itself is home to the largest single known Jewish mausoleum as well.  That mausoleum is maintained as a monument, but the rest of the cemetery, as in Warsaw, was an overgrown ruin.  I spent the only rainy day of my vacation traipsing through muddy brush, marveling at piles of tombstones that the Nazis had pulled up for use as pavers but never found the need for.   
 

Stacked headstones in Lodz Jewish cemetery

There are acres of beautifully carved gravestones in Hebrew simply being consumed by the woods, but which are too proud to disappear altogether.  Rusting wrought iron railings demarcate the plots of wealthy Jews whose descendants were still shipped off to the gas chambers regardless of money or status.  The grey, damp weather merely accentuated the sense of loneliness and desolation.

The forest reclaims, Lodz Cemetery

My final stop was Wroclaw.  Having again done some research, I learned that what is now the Polish city of Wroclaw was, until 1945, the German city of Breslau.  The story goes that Breslau, which was the easternmost major German city, put up such fierce resistance that, at the end of the war, Stalin, as punishment, took Breslau from Germany and gave it to Poland as part of the massive border rearrangements that marked the end of hostilities and the start of the Cold War.  I can speak and read a little German, so I was excited that I might be able to understand the inscriptions on some of the tombstones, which obviously were all pre-1945.  

"30mm in Art Nouveau," Breslau/Wroclaw cemetery

Breslau had a vibrant and wealthy Jewish community,  thus the artwork in the graveyard was supposed to be quite elegant, especially that from the Art Nouveau period.  My GPS guided me to a tiny dirt driveway which was so inconspicuous I drove past it the first time, and it wasn’t until I saw the cemetery walls that I realized I had missed it.  After looping back around and parking in the grass, I wandered up to the tiny gatehouse.  The little shack had a bit of information in English, and it was there I learned that as part of the last, desperate Nazi defense of Breslau, SS troops had taken refuge using the high walls against the oncoming Russian army. 

Bullet-riddled headstone, Breslau/Wroclaw cemetery (detail from photo below)

Bullet-riddled grave marker

The resultant gunfight did more damage to the cemetery than the years of neglect or anti-Semitic vandalism. When you wander through the graveyard, which is just barely maintained for the few tourists willing to pay the equivalent of $2 to wander around, the battle scars are everywhere.  Granite, unlike marble, never weathers – it’s why Egyptian sculpture holds up so well.  But, no stone is impervious to gunpowder and bullets.  Marker after marker bore the tell-tale pockmarks of small-arms fire.  Certain tombstones showed evidence of heavy weaponry, while some mausolea were nothing but collapsed piles of rubble.  Snapping picture after picture, I tried to follow the individual trails of gunfire, and I was filled with an odd sense of satisfaction.  The idea of Nazi soldiers, frantic and losing, holed up in a hated Jewish cemetery is surreal enough. But, being able to look at certain tombstones and just know from the level and position of the damage that someone was almost certainly shot against that marker is a whole different idea.  Nazis shot by Russians against wealthy Jewish graves – how could it not appeal to all of my cultural sensitivities?

However, reality then filtered in, and I realized that I was looking at a place where not only is someone buried, but more than likely someone else spent their last few agonizing moments of life.  As Americans, we are so insulated from many of the horrors of the last hundred years.  In that cemetery, I was standing at a place frozen in time, at a pivotal point in history.  The city of Wroclaw has moved on.  Everyone speaks Polish.  Buildings destroyed in the war have been rebuilt or something modern raised in their place.  But amongst those bullet-riddled tombs, it will always be Breslau, 1945.  Those Jewish graves, inscribed in German, chipped and broken, forever bear witness to one of the darkest chapters in human history.

Veterans’ Day – Finding Uncle Tommy

All my Mom remembered about her favorite uncle, “Tommy Jacob,” was that he was in the Army and Navy, used to send her pineapples from Hawaii, and lost an eye somewhere along the line. She thought he died around 1988, because a check arrived in the mail back then. It was from his estate lawyer and was for $1500 - $500 for each of my Mom’s children, i.e. my brother, sister, and myself. There was some oddness to it all, something about his wife Millie not wanting him to associate with us or something. 

I never knew the man, but I accepted the money graciously and gratefully. Years later, in 2012, I was talking to my Mom about several genealogists I had met through Facebook. She wondered if we could find out where Uncle Tommy was buried. I tried off and on for over a year, until the search eventually paid off, thanks to Ancestry.com.

I tried the veterans’ sites first, but to get records, you needed the deceased’s social security number and be a next of kin. We didn’t have the former, and we weren’t the latter. Matter of fact, we weren’t even certain of his NAME! When it came right down to it, we really didn’t know WHEN he was in either branch of the military, or exactly when he was born or died. My Mom’s memory is a bit hazy on such details, she being 79.

I really wanted to do this for my Mom, but I was having no luck cracking the military burial records websites. With all the talk lately about family trees, I really thought this would be easier! Apparently I was barking up the wrong tree. I’m no genealogist, not even an amateur one. I was just futzing around, really, not knowing what I was doing. Which is exactly what many people are like, right? So kudos to Ancestry.com for understanding the needs of the layman!

Around May of 2013, I heard an ad for Ancestry.com on the radio (yes, I still listen to the radio, being “up in age” myself, at 54!). I decided to give it a try – I think it was free for ten days or something. Basically, all I had to input to their search engine were variants of his name and the approximate years he died. Other clues were asked for, like WHERE he died (luckily, my Mom knew this – it was Nanticoke, Pennsylvania) and the names of his siblings. My Mom knew the latter as well – “Thomas D. Jacobs” had five brothers and sisters, my Mom’s mother Anna (my grandmother) being one of them.

Burial record from Ancestry.com websearch

Detail from 1930 Census record (Ancestry.com)

So with the information above, not only did I get a copy of the 1930 U.S. census with the entire Jacobs (not “Jacob,” but “Jacobs”) family information on it, but I got Tommy’s Veterans’ Administration burial record, which indicates where he is buried. All within fifteen minutes! My mother was absolutely thrilled. Having her hear me read the names of her aunts and uncles, their ages in 1930, her grandparents’ names, was astounding to her. Her Mom, Anna (who I wrote about in a separate blog, "My Grandmother's Grave"), was 17 at the time; Tommy was 5. Tommy was actually the youngest of Michael and Mary’s five children. Besides Anna (my grandmother) and Tommy, there were Elizabeth, Helen, and Andrew. I myself have vague recollections of people mentioning “Aunt Helen” and “Uncle Andrew,” from back when I was very young. Andrew was the oldest child, 22 in 1930. The handwritten census record also indicated that my Mom’s grandparents were born in Czechoslovakia.

Full page of hand-written 1930 Census record provided by Ancestry.com

Tom Jacob's burial record showed the name of the cemetery in which he is buried, which happens to be just a few miles from where my Mom lives in northeast Pennsylvania. It also indicated he was a United States Army veteran, having been retired as a Staff Sergeant. Makes you wonder what kind of man would serve in three wars. He may have been drafted I suppose, but WWII, Korea, AND Vietnam? He and his wife Millie had no children.

I phoned Chapel Lawn Memorial Park in Dallas, PA, to see if I could get specific location information on Tommy Jacobs’ grave for my Mom. The woman who answered the phone was extremely helpful. She looked up the name and told me that it was a bronze government-issued grave marker in the veterans’ section. I was rather surprised when she told me that his wife Mildred was buried next to him, with her own plaque. I didn’t realize the government did this. 

The cemetery representative told me she could send me a map with the grave location marked, and that whenever we visited, someone from the office would gladly help us find the grave. I thanked her and received the map about a week later. I sent the map to my Mom.
 

Thomas and Mildred Jacob, Chapel Lawn Memorial Park, Dallas, PA

After several botched attempts to head north to the Wilkes-Barre area (from where I live in Philadelphia) to visit the grave with my Mom and my brother Tim, I finally had to just let them do it on their own. So on July 28, 2013, Tim took her to see her favorite Uncle’s grave. It was quite an emotional experience for her, an experience which I, unfortunately, missed. Luckily, Tim took all these photos with his smartphone and sent them to me.
 

My Mom, Beverly Snyder, at her Uncle Tommy's grave

My Mom called me after they returned from Chapel Lawn. She said, “That was such a good thing that you did, thank you!” She said they had asked for help from the office, and a man guided them to the grave. My Mom said, “It was heartbreaking when I saw it. He used to call my mother ‘Annie’.” As my Mom stood over her Uncle Tommy’s grave, she told me she said, “Annie’s daughter is here to see you.” 

The man who showed my mother and brother to the grave apologized that there was no American flag at his marker. He went back to the office and got one, returning to place it on his grave. We all need tangible links to our past. I will at some point physically visit my Great Uncle’s grave. With his Social Security Number (199-12-1756), we might now be able to access some of his military records, as my Mom may be the only next of kin. I’d like to find out where he was stationed throughout his twenty-year military career and if those pineapples really came from Hawaii! His army serial number was 13-335-094 if any kind soul out there might want to save me the trouble of searching; I’d really like a photo, to see what he looked like.

Rest in Peace:

Thomas D. Jacobs (a.k.a. Tommy Jacob)

Born July 30, 1924

Died January 22, 1993

Notes and References:
All photos of the Jacobs' graves were made by my brother, Tim Snyder.
The images of the various grave medallions were made in Cedar Grove Cemetery, Adamstown, PA.
Chapel Lawn Cemetery, Dallas, PA website
Ancestry.com website