I am acutely aware that my time in Poland is drawing to a close. Chris and I had another half-day planned in yet another state archive--this one in Piotrokow Trybunalski. We planned to stop in Jezow, my great-grandfather's home in the latter part of the afternoon.
I think the P in Poland stands for patience, patience, patience. For an American like myself who hates to wait, it is difficult to stand idly by Chris as he explains my case to the archivists, translates back to me, fills out form after form, and then pages through deteriorating moldy books written in Cyrillic which may unlock the door to family mysteries.
But as I have discovered working with Chris, patience --and keeping my mouth shut and my ears open--pays off. After three hours of working in this very busy place (every desk was occupied by similarly focused patrons), Chris and I walked out of the Archives with a small treasure of Galas birth, marriage and death records. I was able to add two more branches to the family tree and determine the pre-war whereabouts of these family members.
By 3 p.m., we were hungry, but determined to make it to Jezow where we knew we could stop at the same gas station as last year--the place that led to many discoveries about my immediate ancestors--not a branch of the family tree, but rather the trunk.
Again, you learn patience in Poland. The food service is European-style: you wait for menus, you wait while the food is custom cooked, and you enjoy a leisurely dining experience. Even in a gas station! Of course, my mind was racing, because a few meters away lived the Galinskis, the owners of the gas station who had been so instrumental in helping me make the connections that ultimately led to the discovery of my cousins in Sweden. The Galinskis and I have been corresponding over the last 12 months, and their last email to me indicated that they had found the location of the Galas family business (a hardware store) and the former synagogue.
Finally, we finished dinner, and Chris said it was time to let the Galinskis know that we had arrived. Apparently they had already been alerted: the waitress had called them, saying that "Angielsku-speaking" customers were in the restaurant and mentioning their name. So we were advised to go directly to the Galinski home next door.
The Galinskis have a lovely home--tastefully furnished with modern custom-designed cabinetry and a wild espresso maker in the kitchen. They served us beautifully with a delicious homemade cake and a great cup of coffee. Chris kept me in the loop as much as possible as we exchanged pleasantries. When he could, Chris translated.
Like everyone, the Galinskis (see picture) have their worries: their gas station is on the main drag between two big cities--Lodz and Warsaw--but a new highway is planned around their location. It could spell the death of their business. I discovered that they had a beautiful daughter, an only child, who died at age 16. Yolanta has had some serious health problems. But in spite of their troubles, they still managed to make the time to help me.
After an hour or so of chatting, I worked up the nerve to ask questions about my family. I didn't want to interrupt the natural course of conversation, but I just had to know where my family had lived. Tadeusz immediately went to the garage, got his car, and invited Chris, me, and his wife to head a few hundred meters to the main section of town.
Tadeusz had done his homework: by talking to the old people in this village, Tadeusz had discovered where the Jezow synagogue used to be and where now a tall pine tree grows (see picture). I was shocked to learn that several Jezowers not only survived the war, they returned to live in the village afterward. They didn't leave Jezow until political problems of the 70s forced them to go. The owners of the land around the synagogue (which was destroyed during WWII) sold it to others who put up apartment buildings. This area is no doubt where the Galas family attended services along with approximately 700 other Jews in this community.
We then drove a few blocks to the main square of the town. Tadeusz and Yolanta pointed out the buildings on the corner (see picture) where my great-grandfather and his oldest son ran a hardware store (I confirmed this information in a Polish business directory from 1929) and where they lived. While walking around the square, Tadeusz noticed the lady whose mother remembered the Galas family hardware store, and she spoke with us about the store and other Jewish families in the area. Her mother had hidden one Jewish man, a great risk during these times.
From this woman, I discovered the fate of a dozen or more Galas family members who remained in Jezow during the war: in 1942, they were rounded up and taken east to Rawa Mazowiecka where they perished in the Treblinka death camp.
This lady provided one more stunning piece of information: her brother was still friends with one of the Jewish children with whom he went to school after the war. With that piece of information, off we went racing to the brother's house. The brother opened his residence gate to Tadeusz and then opened his home to us, and within about 15 minutes, I had the address of Moshe Luster in Israel. (Apparently Moshe returns to his home town periodically to visit his Jezow friend).
About an hour later, back at the Galinski home, the brother called with the phone number of the family in Israel. Chris immediately called Moshe Luster who said he was going to call his mother and ask about the Galas family of Jezow. I should have some more information tomorrow.
It is amazing to me how these strangers have rallied to help me. I am also heartened to hear that Jezowers tried to help their Jewish neighbors during the war, and to see a man talk happily about his friendship with his Israeli classmate, Moshe.
My great-grandfather and great-uncle lived across from the Jezow Market Square, a small town plaza shadowed by the steep spires of the Catholic Church that dominates this village and its history. The synagogue was across the street from this square, a few blocks away. I don't know what Jezowers thought when they saw their Jewish neighbors rounded up and taken away. But I know that Jews came back to live in Jezov after the war and stayed for 30 more years--a rarity in post-war Poland. Perhaps these survivors realized that, in spite of the tragedies of the Holocaust that they experienced, they could peacefully co-exist with their neighbors and even find friendship.
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