I know this isn’t going to make a lot of sense to many people, but for me Poland has always been the land of shadows. It has been the black and white photographs from the Second World War. It is the amalgamation of my great-grandfather’s paintings. It is “the old country.” It is the country of Isaac Bashevis Singer’s stories. I have come to know it not through its current residents, but through the memories of survivors. It is a place where I am afraid to go – not for my physical safety – but because the shadows of the past frighten me. I wonder how not being called the Americanized “rye-neck-e” that I know as my own identity, but rather a “ri-net-ski” (the proper Polish pronunciation) will make me feel. I am confused by the issues of history, identity, memory, and self. It is why I will NOT go alone when I travel there to film for my documentary film.
My great-grandfather lived at 24 Krucza Street. While I’ve always known this fact, it was confirmed and made very real for me with the discovery of this envelope and letter showing it as his return address. I’ve always known it is the place where the family had the art supply store and that Moshe’s home and studio were upstairs. I think this painting was probably made of their apartment.
My mind is filled with images of a world I’ve never seen, of a place I’ve come to know through paintings and an active imagination. But of course Poland rebuilt and people live in a modern Warsaw, and this world that lives in my mind does not exist. It is, however, so very jarring to see this photograph of a bank on a busy city street. The bank, you see, is at 24 Krucza Street – the very spot where my great-grandfather once painted and lived. If I find it so difficult to look at this photograph, how will I feel to stand in this spot?
