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
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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.
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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”.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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"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.
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Bullet-riddled headstone, Breslau/Wroclaw cemetery (detail from photo below) |
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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.