While the wartime trauma of Poland’s Jews has been extensively chronicled, far less is known about ‘what happened next’ as they emerged from hiding or returned from the camps—now, a new exhibition at Warsaw’s POLIN museum is seeking to redress the balance.
Titled ‘1945: Not the End, Not the Beginning,’ the latest temporary exhibition at the museum explores the realities and post-war choices faced by those that survived the Holocaust as they scrambled to pick up the pieces of their broken lives.
“We give voice to forgotten or simply unknown figures,” said the museum’s director, Zygmunt Stępiński, at the exhibition’s opening.
“In addition, the fates of Holocaust survivors are usually presented in a certain context, viewed from the perspective of the non-Jewish majority, as if in a mirror reflecting their own perception of those events,” he added. “Today, we want to restore the subjectivity of the minority.”
“We give voice to forgotten or simply unknown figures,” said the museum’s director, Zygmunt Stępiński, at the exhibition’s opening.
“In addition, the fates of Holocaust survivors are usually presented in a certain context, viewed from the perspective of the non-Jewish majority, as if in a mirror reflecting their own perception of those events,” he added. “Today, we want to restore the subjectivity of the minority.”
To do so, POLIN have anchored their exhibition around the personal stories of 12 survivors, among them the teenage Pinchas Bursztyn, found alive among the dead in a lime pit after the liberation of Auschwitz.
Later emigrating to Palestine, and then the States, Bursztyn, who lost a leg as a result of his wartime ordeal, would enjoy a career as a successful artist, his disquieting work clearly impacted by the horrors of the past.
Later emigrating to Palestine, and then the States, Bursztyn, who lost a leg as a result of his wartime ordeal, would enjoy a career as a successful artist, his disquieting work clearly impacted by the horrors of the past.
We learn, too, of Roald Hoffmann—named after the Antarctic explorer, Roald Amundsen—who, after surviving by hiding in a school attic, moved to America. He later won the Nobel Prize for chemistry. One of the displayed items includes the pot Hoffmann’s mother kept during their three years in a displaced persons camp.
Although physical exhibits are scant in number, this makes those that are presented all the more powerful—for instance, visitors see a doll once owned by Zofia Chorowicz.
Although physical exhibits are scant in number, this makes those that are presented all the more powerful—for instance, visitors see a doll once owned by Zofia Chorowicz.
For Chorowicz, who lost all her immediate family in the Holocaust, the doll was to become one of the few enduring mementos of her previous life. Clad in peachy pink knitwear and thick, woolly socks, the doll casts an almost haunting presence, an object of childish delight sitting incongruously inside the somber exhibition space.
The personal stories that POLIN sheds light on provide a gripping human context to the exhibition, and this is framed against a wider narrative that brings into focus the stark challenges that confronted Jews.
“The end of the war meant standing face to face with the Holocaust, grasping its scope and totality,” reads one of the informational boards. “The survivors returned to their hometowns and to their homes, but these had long since been occupied. Their loved ones were gone, their community was gone, and their material surroundings had vanished.”
The personal stories that POLIN sheds light on provide a gripping human context to the exhibition, and this is framed against a wider narrative that brings into focus the stark challenges that confronted Jews.
“The end of the war meant standing face to face with the Holocaust, grasping its scope and totality,” reads one of the informational boards. “The survivors returned to their hometowns and to their homes, but these had long since been occupied. Their loved ones were gone, their community was gone, and their material surroundings had vanished.”
It was as if all memory of past Jewish life had been consciously erased, and to place a point on this the exhibition begins by showing various sacred objects repurposed after the war for everyday use—for instance, a stone grinding wheel made from a tombstone and the insole of a shoe manufactured from a Torah scroll.
We see, even, a banjo—bought at auction in 2018 by a collector. When it was later unscrewed by the buyer, its membrane was found to have been produced using a Torah scroll.
We see, even, a banjo—bought at auction in 2018 by a collector. When it was later unscrewed by the buyer, its membrane was found to have been produced using a Torah scroll.
However, it was not the desecration of their culture that would pose the biggest issue.
In all, it is estimated that around 350,000 Polish Jews survived the war (from a pre-war population of 3.5 million), but this number would soon plummet as reality set in.
“They returned to their place of residence, only to be met with indifference, hostility, and violence,” informs the museum. “This violence had its source in wartime demoralization, a rise in violent behavior, looting, and the fact that the Jews, lonely and exhausted, were an easy target. Above all, it stemmed from antisemitism.”
These uncomfortable facts are not shirked. Over 1,000 Jews were murdered in Poland in the year after the war, with the bloodshed culminating in the 1946 Kielce pogrom. In its aftermath, over 100,000 Jews left Poland.
In all, it is estimated that around 350,000 Polish Jews survived the war (from a pre-war population of 3.5 million), but this number would soon plummet as reality set in.
“They returned to their place of residence, only to be met with indifference, hostility, and violence,” informs the museum. “This violence had its source in wartime demoralization, a rise in violent behavior, looting, and the fact that the Jews, lonely and exhausted, were an easy target. Above all, it stemmed from antisemitism.”
These uncomfortable facts are not shirked. Over 1,000 Jews were murdered in Poland in the year after the war, with the bloodshed culminating in the 1946 Kielce pogrom. In its aftermath, over 100,000 Jews left Poland.
Given the prevailing atmosphere, it is no surprise that many Jews sought to hide their identity. “Some Jews advise I should remain a Pole and not admit to being Jewish, I don’t know what to do,” reads one handwritten letter dating from 1945.
According to the historian David Engel, between 5,000 and 20,000 Jews who had survived the war using fake documents chose not to relinquish their new identity. “To blend safely into Polishness, into the Polish environment, was the dream of some survivors,” reads one of the accompanying boards.
Not all, though, shared this outlook and the exhibition also dwells on those that sought to rebuild both their lives and their ‘Jewishness.’
“At the beginning we thought our life was over—snuffed out,” reads one recollection. “The last branch of thirty generations of Polish Jews lay broken off and withering. Jewish life in Poland would never flow again, we thought. But life, it seems, is more powerful than theories and historical parallels.”
According to the historian David Engel, between 5,000 and 20,000 Jews who had survived the war using fake documents chose not to relinquish their new identity. “To blend safely into Polishness, into the Polish environment, was the dream of some survivors,” reads one of the accompanying boards.
Not all, though, shared this outlook and the exhibition also dwells on those that sought to rebuild both their lives and their ‘Jewishness.’
“At the beginning we thought our life was over—snuffed out,” reads one recollection. “The last branch of thirty generations of Polish Jews lay broken off and withering. Jewish life in Poland would never flow again, we thought. But life, it seems, is more powerful than theories and historical parallels.”
As if galvanized to revive their culture, a significant core of Jews chose to resurrect what had come before—perusing the exhibition, we see posters for post-war Jewish theater performances and dance recitals, youth group banners, pictures of orphanages and schools, as well as photographs showing the construction of the first monument commemorating the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising.
One photograph, taken in the Łódź Ghetto, is particularly striking, depicting as it does a Jewish male staring into the distance. Looking deep in thought, he is the picture of defiance.
“There is something moving in this photo of a young man standing in the ruins of a Ghetto, who has lost his family and home, but at the same time is working for the sake of the surviving Jews and helping them build their lives anew,” says the exhibition’s curator, Zuzanna Schnepf-Kołacz.
One photograph, taken in the Łódź Ghetto, is particularly striking, depicting as it does a Jewish male staring into the distance. Looking deep in thought, he is the picture of defiance.
“There is something moving in this photo of a young man standing in the ruins of a Ghetto, who has lost his family and home, but at the same time is working for the sake of the surviving Jews and helping them build their lives anew,” says the exhibition’s curator, Zuzanna Schnepf-Kołacz.
But history, as we know, would have other plans. Had all Polish Jews who had survived the war stayed in Poland, it is thought that by 1950 the Jewish population would have stood at 400,000, making it the second largest Jewish community in Europe after the USSR.
Instead, the aggressive Stalinization of the country saw political, social and ideological freedoms dramatically curtailed, and with this, so too the embryonic rebirth of Jewish life. More waves of migration would follow, with the last mass exodus seeing 13,000 Jews leave in 1968.
Leaving the exhibition, it is impossible not to ponder just how different Poland could have been were this not the case.
Instead, the aggressive Stalinization of the country saw political, social and ideological freedoms dramatically curtailed, and with this, so too the embryonic rebirth of Jewish life. More waves of migration would follow, with the last mass exodus seeing 13,000 Jews leave in 1968.
Leaving the exhibition, it is impossible not to ponder just how different Poland could have been were this not the case.
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