So today I finally got to see my uncle’s house in Warsaw– or at least where it used to be. Count that basically for all three places. His childhood home was Franciszkanska, # 11 . The street straddled the dividing line of the Jewish Ghetto, the monument marker for the wall running along it and you can see on what became the Christian side almost all is preserved and the Jewish side of the wall is modern, completely rebuilt after the destruction of the Ghetto. “They took the Jews away from us, we weren’t allowed to live with them,” my uncle said, including his first girlfriend, Rivka, though he does not know her exact fate. We went to his church, St. Francis just on the border of the Ghetto, which gives the street its name. My uncle’s house became incorporated into the Jewish Ghetto and they had to move from what was once a mixed Christian and Jewish area. He said he had not returned to the street since being forced out of Warsaw in 1944. The Chinese Embassy now sits on the land where his building used to be, he, his father and his mother living in one room. We were joined in our quest by two military artifact collectors in historical military uniforms and their wives who were fascinated in hearing my uncle’s stories of being in the resistance against the Nazis as they had never met anyone who had done so. (Warsaw is full at the moment with people in 1940s military gear for the commemorations.) This meant my uncle told stories effusively, though mostly in Polish, so I will have to figure all that out. At the end, he was too tired to see the others, so I went to see them on my own. One was on Freta Street, beautifully rebuilt and preserved, though he could not remember the number, so I dont know which one, on this place now full of tourists and nightlife and restaurants. The final house he was forced from when the Nazis deported all the surviving resistance fighters and other Warsaw residents to camps was on Mostav Bolesce Street, #5, though he insisted it was now just grass with nothing to see. Walking the street, which curves to the Wisla river, I felt for sure he had to be wrong, the street was one of the best preserved in this old area. I counted down at the old townhouses, 13, 11, 9, 7, and sure enough, like he said, the moment you get to 5, it’s gone, a cobblestone walkway for a park outside of the old city walls in its place. So in the end at least, I was able to see the places, he had once lived, and at least one, with him next to me telling me the stories I came to Poland to hear before I leave tomorrow. What also amazes me is how many times I must have passed the locations on this trip without knowing where things were until today.
Posted on: Sat, 02 Aug 2014 20:48:14 +0000
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