I recently had the pleasure of attending two events focusing on the subject of Polish-Jewish history. Professor Andrzej Bryk, of Jagiellonian University in Krakow, undertook the challenging task of distilling 1000 years of Polish-Jewish history into a 45 minute presentation, on invitation of the Polish Embassy here in the Netherlands. Later in the week, I heard Booker prize winning Polish novelist, Olga Tokarczuk, speak in Amsterdam about her recent novel on the same topic, ‘The Books of Jacob’.
My knowledge of eastern European history is limited. The isolation caused by the so-called Iron Curtain successfully retarded deeper, more nuanced understandings of the history of countries like Poland. So I was both intrigued and surprised by the tensions evoked in the ensuing discussions on the subject of Polish-Jewish history. Professor Bryk’s extensive knowledge of the subject was underpinned by the underlying theme of the greatness of this shared history. A perspective that he defended with some determination in the face of some awkward questions from Jewish members of the audience. Far more surprising, however, have been the extreme responses to Tokarczuk’s book. These have included calls for her expulsion from Poland, even death threats requiring the employment of bodyguards.
‘There is no history of the Jews without a history of Poland and there is no history of Poland without the Jews.’
‘There is no history of the Jews without a history of Poland and there is no history of Poland without the Jews.’ Professor Andrzej Bryk, outlined, with impressive authority, the relationship between the Polish and the Jewish people. Polish-Jewish history may be traced back as far as the tenth century. However, it was in the 14th century that the Yiddish civilization came fully into being, in and because, of Poland, Professor Bryk told us. An old Polish saying goes, ‘In Poland, even the trees whisper in Hebrew’.
With the large scale expulsion of the Jews from Western Europe toward the end of the 14th century, closely connected to the financial problems that arose with the failure of the Crusades, Poland became a promising alternative for many Jewish families. Poland had not become involved in the Crusades and neither had it been so badly affected by the Plague. Instead it had expanded successfully, so that by 1492, Polish-Lithuania was the largest territorial state in Europe, covering over a million square kilometers.
The Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth.
The Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, formed in 1569, with the signing of the Union of Lublin, was unique among states of that time. Monarchs were elected by the nobility, providing a precursor for modern concepts like constitutional monarchy. The population was largely multi-ethnic and noted for its religious tolerance, guaranteed by the Warsaw Confederation Act of 1573. Most importantly from a Jewish perspective, was the creation of the Council of the Four Lands. This was the most elaborate and highly developed institutional structure in European Jewish history. A national council or parliament, that operated from the mid-16th century to the 18th. Its decisions affected the lives of thousands of Jewish communities in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. This council allowed for the collection of taxes by these communities. It also helped them foster a special relationship with the Polish nobility.
However, the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth began to collapse in the late 18th century, leaving the Polish nobility with reduced economic and political status. As the nation’s intelligentsia, their Jewish links remained strong. So when the Nazis began a systematic ‘liquidation’ of this group in the first half of the war, large numbers of Jews were killed in the process. Later, 100 000 Poles would also be killed at Auschwitz. Thus began the darkest chapter of Polish-Jewish history. In all, Poland lost over six million citizens in World War II.
‘In Poland, even the trees whisper in Hebrew’.
Few would argue that Poland’s history has been an easy or especially happy one. Partitioned between the Russian Empire, the Kingdom of Prussia and the Austro-Hapsburg Monarchy, Poland ceased to exist as an independent state for over a hundred years. For their part, the Jewish people were stateless for centuries. Perhaps unsurprisingly, both groups have drawn on historical narratives of suffering and the elevated moral status that resulted therefrom in order to reclaim their identity and explain histories that are heavy with tragedy and loss. Perhaps this helps explain the extreme reactions to Olga Tokarczuk’s epic novel, The Books of Jacob.
Described by its English translator, Jennifer Croft, as a rewriting of history designed to ‘celebrate and problematize diversity of faith, gender, language and nation’, the book follows the life of Jacob Frank. A Jew of Sephardic origin, Frank was born in Poland but grew up in Romania and the Ottoman Empire. In the summer of 1579, he led the conversion of thousands of Jews to Catholicism, in an area of Poland which is now the Ukraine. Seeking to establish himself as the new Jewish Messiah, he adopted elements of Catholicism and Islam in his teachings.
“I thought we’d be able to discuss the dark areas in our history,” – Tokarczuk.
The book thus clearly highlights the importance of Jewish culture to Polish history. But also reminds readers of the role played by the Polish in the gradual suppression of the region’s multiculturalism. Tokarczuk told us that she realised, as her research progressed, why Frank’s story had been ‘swept under the carpet’. Three powerful groups in Poland were uncomfortable with this figure and what he represented. This included the Orthodox Jews who called him a traitor, Poland’s Catholic Church and the descendants of his very own followers, the Frankists. The latter had successfully assimilated into mainstream Christian society and did not want to be reminded of their origins. “I was very naive. I thought we’d be able to discuss the dark areas in our history,” Tokarczuk admits.
Some critics have explained the hostile reaction to the book by segments of Polish society in terms of the rise of white ethno-nationalism in Poland. However, the book sold over 170 000 hardback copies there and was awarded the ‘Polish Booker’ award. American Jewish historian, David Engel, provides a compelling explanation for these tensions via recourse to competing historical narratives that go back centuries.
A Christ of Nations?
Both Polish and Jewish historians have laid claim to notions of unique righteousness maintained in the face of unique suffering by their respective peoples. Some versions of Polish history have presented the country as a sort of ‘Christ of Nations’ where persecuted peoples like the Jews found a ‘paradise’ of tolerance and respect. Certainly such a sub-text could be identified in Professor Bryk’s presentation. However Engels points out that this narrative has never won substantial acceptance among the Jewish public. The various questions raised by Jewish members of the audience at the Polish professor’s presentation would seem to echo this.
Efforts have been made among both Polish and Jewish historians to bring these two narratives into conversation with one another and the works of authors like Tokarczuk clearly have a vital role to play here too. Let’s hope, that, in time, a rapprochement between these two beleaguered but incredibly resilient peoples will be reached in a manner that celebrates the very real achievements of both.
