Allen’s Thank You Thursday #24

Murder, Forced Expulsion, Confiscation, Slave Labour, Desecration

My apologies in advance, but this will be a longer post.

Instead of Throwback Thursday, I’ve decided to say “Thank-You Thursday”, to those who have had a deep influence in my life, but most likely are completely unaware of their impact.

The twenty-sixth person I’d like to say THANK YOU to is Piotr Pilch – who introduced Karen and I to the horrors and clarification of my history.

I am a 2nd G. I am the child of a Holocaust Survivor, who endured unimageable atrocities. Maurycy Nosal, (Morton Norris in Canada), witnessed his first wife Berzia and their child, his parents, siblings, nieces and nephews disappearing, knowing that they were being murdered, but helpless to take action. The only surviving members of his family had emigrated before the war.

In 1983, I asked my father, Morton Norris (Maurycy Nosal in Poland) to provide me his address in his home town of Kutno, Poland as I was thinking I’d like to visit it one day. He drew a map me that I could walk from the train station to 23 Stary Rynek, his front door. He mentioned that the property was stolen from the family and never returned and to be careful as others who tried to claim their property after the war were murdered.

His family home bordered on, what was then, the Jewish town square, a vibrant location of 8,000 Jews and a prominent location for his family’s home, which was also the store front of their butcher shop.

Maurycy’s family had been butchers and “gardeners” for generations.

When WWII began, my father was a husband, father, butcher and soldier an officer in the Polish army (Wtloclawek; Division 14) and he was called to arms and his regiment, fighting fiercely, surprised the German army and initially forced them to retreat. The regiment was finally forced to surrender and sent to Prisoner of War camps. During this time the Jews in Kutno were forced to evacuate their homes and with 48 hours’ notice, they were “relocated” into two ghettos. The prominent Kutno ghetto and the little known Krosnieziec ghetto.

The empty homes were immediately and illegally, taken over by the local population. The descendants of these disgusting acts of confiscation, those who were accomplices to slaughter, still live in them today, having never defended their neighbors nor “purchased the dwellings from the persecuted and murdered families”.

Once my father escaped from his POW camp, he became a resistance fighter, bring food and weapons into the Warsaw Ghetto. He eventually went back to Kutno only to find that his home and the Jewish section were occupied by strangers. He lived in barns and the forest for a couple of weeks, trying to figure out what had become of his community, when he finally walked into the local Gestapo office and proclaimed that he was Maurycy Nosal, a Jew, and he was hoping to find his family. He was reunited with his wife and child in the Krosnieziec ghetto. When Karen and I travelled to Poland with Mickey and Kathie in 2013 (to celebrate the 100 anniversary of our father’s birth) we were told by our guide, that because Maucycy was an officer in the army, it seemed he was allowed to also visit the Kutno Ghetto to support his immediate family as well. Throughout these two years, he was slave labour for the Germans.

Most of the ghetto inhabitants were systematically annihilated by being loaded into “gas trucks.” The exhaust was redirected into the cargo container, and families were poisoned with carbon monoxide fumes, suffocating while in each other’s embrace. They were then taken directly to the crematorium of Chelmo. His wife, son and entire immediate family perished by this barbaric and inhumane means.

In 1988, six months before the Berlin Wall fell, I travelled back to Europe, to spend three months traveling through Eastern Europe, as well as researching my history. My preference was to camp, with my knapsack, tent and sleeping bag attached to it. As a young dancer, I was going to travel in the most economical way possible.

With my father’s drawing in hand, I was determined to journey to Kutno, Poland and research my history. MYLOVE Karen, who was living in NY at the time, flew over and joined me for my final three weeks, meeting me in Krakow. We exploded the city, as well as heading to Auschwitz, were my father spent two tortured years as forced labour. He was in Auschwitz III: Monowitz/Buna, the site of the H.G. Farben chemical plant (to be discussed in another TYT).

The tour of the main camp and Birkenau was devastating, and beyond comprehension. How the f*ck could people fall to such deprivation and inhumanity. Karen and I were devastated, I cried for days. My people, my culture and my family were exterminated here, by a people without consciousness or shame. The city, Krakow, felt lonely and afraid.

Afterwards, Karen and I took the train to Warsaw, spent three days in that completely depressed, grey and desolate city. We went to the old Jewish Cemetery, to the remains of the Ghetto wall and whatever was left of any Jewish buildings or areas.

We then took the train to Kutno, one-hour west of Warsaw. Following my father’s map, we walked from the train station to his home. It was a two-story building with a store front as its main entrance. Being a Sunday, the store was closed and there were few people on the street. Not sure what to do or where to go for information we walked to the main town square and saw that a “travel agency” was still open. At that time, even though Karen spoke passable French, I spoke, what I called, Desperation Deutsche: genug um verstehen “enough to understand”. Thank goodness, this was our saving grace as most Polish people at that time, did not speak English or French.

At the travel agency, I asked about the “Jewish Section” of the city and was told that it was all burned down by the German army and rebuilt as an exact replica after the war. This was clearly a lie, but we didn’t fully understand the reasons behind it. After some futile discussions about my family’s past and history and more wandering, Karen and I decided to ask if there was a place for us to spend the night, as there were no camp grounds nearby.

The agency booked us into some dormitory rooms, as school was not in session at that time. There were no restaurants open at the time and we made it to a grocery store, just in time, to buy bread and cheese. In Communist Poland, food was very scarce, especially fruit. I found that in Czechoslovakia, fruit was plentiful, but milk products sparse. This seemed to be one of the ways the Russians kept control of the populations, by depriving them of food diversity (a wholly different discussion).

That evening we ate a late dinner in the room. While Karen and I were getting ready to sleep for the night, we heard a light knocking at our door. At first, we were uncertain of the sound, but I we heard it again, louder. Being suspicious and cautious, I asked who was there and an English voice greeted us, saying they were friends. I gradually opened the door and there was a small group standing there.

The head of the group introduced himself as Piotr Pilch, he spoke English very well and asked if we were the Canadians who were asking about the “Jewish Section” of Kutno. I said “yes”, not knowing what to expect. He introduced us to the other individuals that were with him (I don’t remember their names, but there were two women and another male).

Piotr said he would like to invite us to someone’s home as there was a group of people who would like to talk with us. It had to happen while it was dark, as we couldn’t be seen walking with them, for their safety. Relying on my background of combatives, I felt ok with us going with them.

We followed them through the streets and some alleyways of the town. Once at a dimly lit home, we entered through the back door, ascending some steps and finally into a brightly lit living room, where there was a group of about 12 people waiting for us. They were a curious group, all smiles and a variety of ages.

Piotr explained to us that these were individuals who’s families had saved Jews and Jewish families during the Holocaust, and we were the first Jews who they had met who were ancestors of the community, which was once vibrant in their town. My brother, Mickey and his wife Kathie were in Kutno eight years earlier to also see our fathers home, but they interacted with some other individuals briefly and did not stay the night.

The group was incredibly curious about my roots, what did I know of my family and what living was like outside of Eastern Europe. They treated us generously and kindly.

Turns out Piotr had just moved back to Kutno and was the new Director of the Museum there. They were in the process of renovating and putting in an exhibition of the former Jewish community. He asked Karen and I if we were in a hurry to leave Kutno, and if not, could he give us a tour of the town the next day. We jumped at the opportunity.

During our evening, the group told us stories of how their parents either cared for the children of Jews, hid families or tried to care for the community. They also told us of those who were disclosed by fellow Poles and subsequently killed by the Nazi’s. Towards the end of the evening, they also gave us a beautiful book of Kutno, which is still on our bookshelf today. We found out how great a risk they were taking by inviting us into their home and that they could be arrested and prosecuted for this action.

We thanked them profusely for the incredible evening and taking the risk to welcome us.

The next morning, Piotr met us at our room and helped us carry our bags to his car, so we wouldn’t have to carry them around. He drove us to the museum to park and unload our belongings.

He began our tour by walking us to the train station and from there, basically following the route my father had already laid out, we walked the streets toward the old Jewish centre. This time, during our walk Piotr pointed out where the famous Yeshivas were (houses of higher Jewish learning), Jewish homes including famous writer Shalom Ash, shops and areas.

We then hopped back in his car and drove to where the former Jewish graveyard was, on a hill overlooking the city. A beautiful location, but there were no headstones. It was all razed and flattened. He told us that Hitler had wanted to erect many Obelisks across Europe for the memories of all the populations the Reich exterminated and Kutno was chosen for the site of the lone Jewish monument, therefore the graveyard was destroyed. From this desecrated and abandoned site, we drove to the site where the Ghetto was situated.

It was, in fact, an old sugar factory, that was confiscated and converted into this unlikely prison. Approximately 4,200-6,000 Jews were forced into an area approximately the size of a public school, before the ghettos were liquidated.

The sugar factory was still closed and the gates were locked, so we couldn’t get into the area. I was able to tour the site many years later, when I arrived with Aniya in 2001, Mika in 2010 and again with Karen, Mickey and Kathie in 2013.

We drove back to the town centre, where we started walking towards the old Jewish section, where our father’s home was.

As we were walking, Piotr stopped us in the middle of the sidewalk and said, “Please look at your feet”. Karen and I gazed at each back at Piotr, questioning. He said, “Look at your feet”, gently but firmly. It was then that we took in what we were standing upon. The sidewalk was paved with the headstones of my ancestors.

I was devastated. Piotr explained that headstones where used in the main centre sidewalks, local walls and building foundations. He was actually in the process, which he had begun earlier that year, to dig up all the headstones, bring them back to the museum, photograph them and send them and the photos to Israel for identification and proper care. He was actively trying to atone for the crimes of his community.

He walked us to where the Jewish Centre had been and showed us that the wall surrounding it was actually built of Jewish headstones. Karen and I were completely overwhelmed. Then he took us to where the Synagogue had been. All that was left of the site was a plaque, and even this had a swastika spray painted on it.

Piotr finally walked us to my father’s family home. The front doors were open and it was now a fabric and sewing shop. When Karen and I entered with him, he knew the owners, and before anything was even said, the couple began screaming at us. We had no idea what they were saying, but Piotr rushed out and said to meet him outside. Just inside the door to the right was an old unused presentation fridge for displaying meat and poultry. It had a Magen David on it.

We stayed, as I wanted to take photos, but they continued screaming and holding up their hands for “no pictures”. I tried to ask if we could go upstairs to see the apartment. They were furious and relentlessly yelling at us.

Once outside, Piotr was walking very quickly back towards the museum. We were asking what they were saying, and he kept repeating to us “not yet, I’ll tell you when we get to the museum”. Once there, he explained that the couple were screaming “The Jews are here, they’re back to reclaim their homes, get them out, get OUT now!!!”. Piotr was visibly trembling.

Karen and I were incredibly shaken, but had no idea what we could do.

Poitr then took us into the museum where he showed us the headstones he had already gathered and he explained it might take years to collect the remainder.

He also took us through the Museum to see the “Jewish Exhibit”. Just a few items, photos and remnants of a culture that ceased to exist, in a single room at the back of the building. I appreciated his attempts, but felt the huge weight of history crushing my perception and ripping apart my sense of present and past.

Karen and I thanked our host profusely and promised to return.

I had no idea, at that time, how deeply this journey would propel me into 27 years of Holocaust based stage and film choreographies.