Rekindling the flame — my journey to strengthen the Jewish-Polish bond

Warsaw, Poland — My relationship with Poland is deeply personal. My grandfather hailed from Łomża, a city that once thrived with Jewish life. This lineage instilled in me a profound connection to Poland, a land that was once a sanctuary for Jews fleeing persecution. Poland was not just a refuge; it was a cradle of Jewish thought, culture, and spirituality.

Poland’s decision to preserve sites like Auschwitz and Birkenau stands as a testament to its commitment to remembering the atrocities committed during the Holocaust. These sites serve as solemn reminders of the past, ensuring that the memories of those who perished are never forgotten. It’s imperative to recognize that these were Nazi German death camps, and any attempt to label them as “Polish death camps” is a gross misrepresentation of history.

In my travels to Poland, I’ve found a sense of safety and acceptance that is, unfortunately, lacking in some other parts of the world. Walking the streets of Warsaw or Kraków, I feel a sense of peace and security. This contrasts sharply with experiences in cities like New York, where I’ve faced threats simply for being visibly Jewish. Poland’s efforts to restore Jewish heritage sites, such as the Warsaw Jewish Cemetery, further demonstrate its dedication to honoring its Jewish history.

Engaging in open and honest dialogue is essential for healing and understanding. I’ve had the privilege of discussing complex historical issues with Polish leaders, including many times with Polish President Andre Duda, whose wife, Agatha, the First Lady, is Jewish, and with my friend, former Prime Minister Mateusz Morawiecki. These conversations have been marked by mutual respect and a shared commitment to confronting the past while building a brighter future. It’s through such dialogues that we can address historical grievances and foster a sense of unity.

The Jewish-Polish relationship is rooted in a complex history, but it’s one that holds immense potential for growth and collaboration. By acknowledging the past, honoring the memories of those who suffered, and engaging in meaningful dialogue, we can pave the way for a future defined by mutual respect and understanding. Poland’s efforts to preserve Jewish heritage and promote cultural exchange are steps in the right direction, and I remain committed to supporting and strengthening this vital relationship.

To be sure, the issue of Polish complicity in the Holocaust needs to be properly addressed in its full historical context. After all, this is an exceptionally sensitive issue, one better defined by nuance and exception than by broad generalizations and oversimplification.

On the one hand, few doubt the centuries of antisemitism in Poland, fueled as it was by a Catholic Church that saw Jews as deicides (this was prior to the radical revamping of Catholic attitudes toward Judaism undertaken by the greatest Pole of the 20th century and the greatest of all popes, John Paul II).

Few, too, dispute the fact that tens of thousands of Poles abetted the Nazi slaughter of their nation’s three million Jews, with Holocaust researchers having collected significant evidence of a large swath of Polish villagers who murdered Jews fleeing the Nazis, as well as the existence of Polish blackmailers who saw in Jewish helplessness an opportunity for financial gain.

The Poles’ very own Underground State’s wartime Special Courts investigated 17,000 Poles who collaborated with the Germans, sentencing about 3,500 to death. The devastating Kielce pogrom of July 4, 1946 — in which Polish villagers massacred 42 Jews returning from Nazi camps — all but confirmed the presence of deep-seated antisemitism amongst many Poles, as did the efficacy of the antisemitic persecutions set into motion by Soviet-backed Polish minister of the interior General Mieczysław Moczar in March of 1968, which spurred the mass emigration of what was left of Poland’s Jewish community.

However, all of that is only a part of the story. There is another that puts forth a picture of a nation that fought bitterly against the Nazi beast and had many citizens take great risks to save Jewish lives and suffered brutally at the hands of the Germans as a result of both. From the moment the Nazis invaded Poland at 5 a.m. on the morning of September 1, 1939, the Poles fought back. They were no match for the Germans, and within weeks their country fell.

Even so, the Poles never established a collaborative government with the Nazis in the way that France, Hungary, Norway, and even Belgium did. Even the Soviets, whom we credit with the liberation of the worst Nazi camps, willingly cooperated with Hitler far more than Poland did (the invasion of Poland, of course, being the best example). The government of Poland never even surrendered to the Germans, choosing instead to evacuate their government and armed forces via Romania and Hungary to allied France and England, where they continued to direct an allied Polish resistance force known as the Home Army.

The Polish government in exile even had Jewish members, the most famous being Szmul Zygielbojm, who committed suicide in London after the fall of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising in order to protest the Allies’ reluctance to intervene on behalf of the hapless revolt. Another renowned member of this government was the non-Jewish Jan Karski, who stood at the forefront of Polish efforts to inform the global community of the atrocities being committed against his country’s Jewish community. (He would later be made an honorary citizen of Israel.)

The Polish Foreign Minister, Count Edward Raczyński, too, used Karski’s work to provide the Allies with one of the earliest and most accurate accounts of the Holocaust. Clearly, there’s more to the story than either side of this political debate currently claims. My own grandfather moved to the United States from Poland about 1905 and often lamented the antisemitism he faced on a regular basis. Shamir’s father was murdered by Polish villagers outside his hometown after jumping from a Nazi transport. Still, to equate actions like these with the industrialized slaughter of the Holocaust is both inaccurate and unjust. Worse, it shifts the blame away from the German people who singularly planned, manned, and implemented the mass-killing of European Jewry.

For a foreign minister of the Jewish State, sophisticated historical insight and diplomatic sensitivity must outweigh popular sentiment and emotion in delivering the Israeli government’s understanding of issues like these. His words were certainly not a great way to kick off his appointment as the chief foreign diplomat of the Jewish State.

In 2018 the United States Department of State chose to host a conference primed to enlist global support in reenacting critical sanctions against Iran in Warsaw. Poland agreed. It did this even as England, France, and — outrageously — Germany plotted to undermine President Trump’s courageous decision to leave the Iran deal and punish the mullahs for their promise to enact a holocaust of their own.

If this doesn’t bespeak a positive offer of friendship, I’m not sure what does.

Rabbi Shmuley Boteach of Englewood is the author of 32 books, including his most recent, “The Israel Warrior.” He served as rabbi at Oxford University for 11 years and won the London Times Preacher of the Year competition. Follow him on Twitter @RabbiShmuley.

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