10. Presence of the void

Ruins everywhere. There were no houses at all, only one wall of the Maharshal synagogue was left. I looked for where our house had been, where we lived. But there was nothing, rubble. And so I walked around. I cried.

Ewa Eisenkeit, born 1919 Lublin, recorded 2010.

Ruins of the Maharshal Synagogue on the site of the destroyed Jewish quarter in Podzamcze, Lublin after 1942.
Robert Rogowski’s Collection.

Lublin was liberated from German occupation on 22 July 1944. World War II ended in Berlin a year later on 8 May 1945. After the war, a physical, political, social and cultural border ran through Germany, dividing the continent into a democratic Western Europe and an Eastern Europe under Soviet control.

In June 1946, I returned to Lublin. I walked from the train station and didn’t see a single familiar face. I went first to the caretaker’s flat. He told me how everyone had died. My parents, my family and everyone else. The only consolation was that he gave me an envelope with a letter that said that my sister was alive, that she was in Otwock. The envelope also contained my school ID card, some photos of family, acquaintances, friends and myself. That was all I found. I know that my heart will never stop bleeding until the end of my life.

Symcha Wajs, born in 1911 in Piaski, recorded in 1999.

European Jewry was nearly wiped out – six million Jews had been murdered. The survivors could not and did not want to go back to their countries where their homes had been destroyed or taken over by locals and their communities lost. Postwar trauma and antisemitic violence in the decades after the war led many who had initially stayed to emigrate.

Empty space after the destruction of the Jewish quarter in Podzamcze, Lublin, 1948.
Stanisław Radzki’s Collection.

The destruction of Jewish heritage continued after the war. Synagogues, cemeteries and other signs of Jewish life fell into disrepair and the memory of the past was consigned to oblivion. Eastern Europe – once a vibrant centre of Jewish life – was now associated with mass murder and loss. A huge void existed in the middle of Europe, which is still seen and felt today.

Jewish cemetery in Frampol, 2019. In the foreground is the gravestone of Malka, daughter of Chajim Eliezer who died on 16 adar 1, 5622 (16th February 1862).
Author: Monika Tarajko.

In 1988, I decided that my sons should know what happened here. We went to Belzyce. I went to the mayor: ‘I’ve come with my sons to look for my father’s grave, where I buried him and I can’t find it.’ He said: ‘Come with me, I’ll show you.’ We went to this place where we hung around all the time. And what was there? It’s a place where young people are hanging out and there are trees. He tells me: ‘This was a Jewish cemetery.’ There are no gravestones here, there’s nothing here.

Nimrod Ariav, born in 1926 in Lublin, recorded in 2005.

Extras:

Ewa Eisenkeit

Symcha Binem Wajs

Nimrod Ariav

Stanisław Radzki’s Collection