I had heard a few stories from my grandfather about his time as a youth in WWII Poland; a few stories about the struggles of his mother to make ends meet while also averting catastrophe. But mostly he stayed away from the subject. I never got all the details.
I am not certain why I was so interested, considering I observed how uncomfortable it made my grandfather to remember. Perhaps I wanted some explanation of how he came to be how he was, or perhaps I more egotistically wanted to connect myself to the flow of history. In any case, I got a sketch outline but no testimony, no detail, and no narrative, just an archipelago of difficult episodes.
After my grandfather died, we found letters in Polish, written by him and his mother, Apolonia, to Zygmunt, my great-grandfather, who was safely but sadly exiled in New York City since August 1939. I started with the earliest letters, using Google Translate to render them idiosyncratically into English. The letters from 1939-1942 contain some hints of deprivation and forced movement. But then the letters stop until 1945. The abyss opened: the liquidation of the Warsaw Ghetto, the Ghetto Uprising, the Warsaw Uprising, the passing of the Soviet-German front over Poland.
And here, just after, a letter. My grandfather, a twelve-year-old, starts out cheerily, mentioning as an aside the orphan who stayed with them in Borowe, a village to the south of Warsaw. My great-grandmother follows up, hinting obliquely at the events following the Warsaw Uprising for which they were thankfully absent. In the words of my grandfather, “When we got back to Warsaw, you could see from one end of the city to the other.”
My grandfather always spoke rather dryly or emotionlessly about these times. I had approached it somewhat abstractly as well. But this letter renders the abyss, surfaces it 77 years later in sunny August New England.
Somehow even after writing this intro, I hesitate to post the letter. Am I selling out my family by making it public? Is it too tawdry? Who needs to remember these times? By now it is clear that all this will recur whether we remember or not. Indeed, it happens over and over again every day. We can only hope it avoids us for a generation or two. But I think in the end, it is part of the story, a thread in the weaving of the world, and a moment’s effects pass on, whether the original event is remembered or not.
So here is a letter from Warsaw, 1945, to New York City, a testimony from a city in ruins, before the Iron Curtain comes down, raw and free from the intervention of historians. It is Google Translated and the handwriting is transcribed, so accuracy will not be 100%.
Kochany Tatusiu!
Tak dawno już nie widzieliśmy się. Ale myślę że już prędko się zobaczymy. Jak Ty się czujesz? Co robisz? Napisz mi o wszystkim. Kiedy się spotkamy nie poznasz nikogo. Mamusia zgroiła się i osiwiała, Krynia podrosła i spoważniała do niepoznania. Ale je najbardziej się zmieniłam. Jestem tylko o głowę mniejszy od mamusi i chodzę do 1 kl. gimnazjalnej. Przerobiliśmy już połowę materiału. A czego uczy się Basia? Wdałym zostać w Polsce i tylko z musu wyjadę. Mała Danusia też się do "zygmunta" wybierz. (Danusia to 4 ro letnia dziewczynka która od dwóch lat jest u nas). Wszyscy czekamy na jakiekolwiek wieści od Ciebie a także te chwili kiedy znowu będziemy razem całzyemy Cię mocno: Danusia, Krynia, Mamusia i ja.
Dear Daddy!
It's been so long since we've seen each other. But I think we'll see you soon. How are you feeling? What are you doing? Write me about everything. When we meet, you won't recognize anybody. Mummy went and became gray, Krynia grew up and became serious beyond recognition. But I changed the most. I am only a head smaller than my mom and I am a junior high school student. We have already processed half the material. What is Basia learning? I really want to stay in Poland and only have to leave. Little Danusia also chooses "Zygmunt.” (Danusia is a 4-year-old girl who has been with us for two years). We are all waiting for any news from you and the moment when we will be together again, we kiss you strongly: Danusia, Krynia, Mummy and me.
Zygmusku! Jedyny!
Żyjemy i czekamy na Ciebie na wiadomość od Ciebie. Wysyłam ten list ale mam dużo do powiedzenia Przeżyliśmy dzięki Bogu straszne rzeczy ale żyjemy. Będę miała dużo dużo do opowiadania i rzeczy od których włosy siwieją. O znajomych i przyjaciołach napiszę w na Stępnym liście. Niewiele ich zostało na ziemi. Warszawa jeszcze jest nie oczysczona z trupów i truno jest chodzie po gruzach. Trudno rozpoznać gdzie co było. Nie mieliśmy dostępu do Warszawy prze cały tez czas od 1 go sierpnia. Jak świat światem podobnych rzeczy na świecie nie było tylko nana Warszawa musiała przeczyce ale nie będę otem już pisała. Chię coś wiedzieć o Tobie. My dzięki Bogu byliśmy cały czas w Borowcu i wszyscy jesteśmy zdrowi. Huragan przeszedł przez nas w ciągu trzech dni był straszny ale krótko to trwało. posyłam Ci tutaj Kryni i Stefa. Całuję Cię mocno, Twoja Pola.
Zygmunt! My Only One!
We are alive and we look forward to hearing from you. I'm sending this letter, but I have a lot to say. Thank God, we've lived through terrible things, but we're alive. I'll have a lot to tell; things that make my hair turn gray. I will write about my friends and acquaintances in the next letter. There are few left on earth. Warsaw is not yet cleared of corpses and it is difficult to walk on the rubble. It's hard to recognize where what was. We did not have access to Warsaw all this time from August 1 [in 1944 when the Warsaw Uprising started]. As the whole world was a world of similar things, it was not only Warsaw that had to stop, but I will not write anymore. I want to know something about you. Thank God we were in little Borowe the whole time and we are all healthy. The hurricane that passed through us in three days [the Soviet-German front] was terrible but it was short-lived. I am sending you here words from Kryni and Stef. I kiss you strongly, Your Pola.
There are photos from the period here.