Alexandra and Magda are two attractive young Polish women. Probably in their 30's (everyone's young as far as I'm concerned.) They are social workers, have been working with the homeless population. There used to be two shelters for homeless women in this area. One was forced to close--didn't meet fire safety regulations, and either couldn't (or didn't want to) come up to code.
So Alexandra and Magda started a foundation. Began searching for a place and money. Operating money can come from the government. But not for the building. Found this building, which needed substantial renovations, but had no credit to be able to borrow the funds to renovate it. Partnered with Habitat, and together, their vision is (closer to) becoming a reality.
They have come each day to the build site. Big smiles on their faces as they see the progress we have made. Still major hurdles ahead--the leaking roof requires much money, they don't know where it will come from, etc. But still they smile. Have energy. And dream.
They came again today, our last day on the build. Lots of smiles, many pictures, and a few glistening eyes. We've finished 5 bedrooms, done some major demolition work in the basement bathroom, and scraped and painted an incredible number of window frames. And had a lot of fun along the way.
I came back to Poiand to see what 46 years have brought to them. Soviet era the last time, EU and NATO membership this time. Some of the changes are very obvious. It feels much more like a Western European city than it did in the 60's. People seem to be more open, more relaxed. They can travel freely throughout all of the EU. And do. They are more affluent (generally) and don't have to fear criticizing the government or wonder who's reporting them.
And some changes are less obvious. More economic insecurity, giving rise to homelessness. And much more income inequality. Giving rise to people like Alexandra and Magda--the opportunity for them to create a vision, start a foundation, and meet the need of those left behind. Like Mother Eva did more than a century ago when she started the orphanage whose building we worked on.
Mother Eva was rich. She used her family's wealth to help others. Alexandra and Magda are rich in another way. And their vision and energy will create new hope for others. And a rich opportunity for people like me to get to know them just a little bit.
My "adventure" travel began in Poland 46 years ago. My return completes that circle. For now. Time to head home.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Poland: The War & Holocaust
Most conversations with Poles include references to The War (and it's always spoken of in that way--capitalized.) And of course for them, the reference is singular since it's the only war that truly has mattered.
I think about this when I encounter Poles of my vintage as I'm walking around. Thinking about their life history, as I understand it, compared to mine. They were born during, or perhaps a little before or a little after, The War. They may have some very early memories of it affecting their family, their home. Or they just may have memories of their early years, say when they were kindergarteners, hearing their parents talk about it. They may have grown up with the sounds of machine guns, artillery, planes flying overhead, perhaps bombs (if they lived in other parts of Poland, further from the concentration camps.)
And then the end of The War came. Their families may have moved (or been moved forcefully) to or from another part of the country as the national boundaries changed. Or they may have stayed in the same village but changed nationality (German to Polish, or Polish to Russian.) Regardless, there must have been a feeling of some relief as the active battles ended, soldiers came home, families reunited (or not).
And the Soviet era began. Stalin's ruthlessness was expressed in Poland as well, and affected their family's life. And theirs. It changed what was taught in school--Russian rather than German--and what could be expressed. It restricted their religion, their travel, their thought. They grew up being far more cautious, more circumspect in what they did/thought/said and whom they did it with.
And Stalin died and there was an easing of the repression. But only an easing, not an end. They finished their schooling and went to work. The economy was closed, the state was all powerful, and there was security in that. There was a public security net holding up everyone at a very low level and a ceiling limiting anyone (except party members) from getting too far ahead. This was Poland in the 60's, the last time I was here.
They came of age in the 70's and 80's, had their children, raised their families in a country that was gradually opening up. They watched as the world became more open and envied what they were seeing/hearing. A few took leadership, at great personal risk, in such things as the Solidarity movement. But most (and I would be one of these) laid low, kept their heads down, and hoped things would get better for their children's generation.
And then the 90's and 00's. Great opening up politically. Boom/bust/boom/bust economically. Individual freedom coupled with decreasing economic security as the public safety net fragments just as they're reaching older age. Their children embracing the political, economic and intellectual freedom that globalization brings. Some of their children emigrate to other EU countries because of economic opportunities, then return during the bust when those opportunities disappear. Disillusionment about the glories and benefits of globalization and what lies ahead for their children, and their grandchildren. And even for them.
And the Holocaust, much of which occurred on their ground. To some of their people. And to virtually all of their Jewish countrymen. And to thousands of others from all over Europe.
I expect there isn't anyone of my generation who has not had a family member or very close friend killed or wounded in The War or the Holocaust. It is a constant memory and reference point.
Through all of this, I lived in a very different world. The War was historical, not personal or visceral. Postwar meant Cold War, Red Scare, communist under your bed, bomb drills at school (crouch under the desk), homemade bomb shelters and sermons on "should you share your shelter with your neighbor?", the unleashing of economic opportunities for my generation in the 60's when everything was possible and we dominated the world and had it all. We have experienced none of the deprivation, insecurity, or limitations that our generational counterparts felt in Poland. Or the displacement, politically, intellectually, or geographically.
And for me, the Holocaust is also historical, not personal. We toured Auschwitz and Birkenau today. The weather was appropriate to the occasion---penetratingly cold (50's), wind-driven rain at 45 degree angle, leaden sky, and most of the 3+ hour tour outdoors.
I remember visiting here before, in the 60's. I felt humanistic horror at the venality of humans to other humans. This time in addition, I was also cognizant of my German heritage and the fact that my cultural ancestors were capable of perpetrating this.
Despite having been here before, and despite having been to the Holocaust Museum and Yad Vashem Museum in Jerusalem, there is nothing that prepares me for the scale and scope of Auschwitz and Birkenau as they have been preserved. I remembered things from before but saw many more today. And this time, I paid more attention to the conditions for the living-while-dying (since virtually no one left alive.)
There is the "standing room" at Auschwitz. A small space, entered by crawling through a small opening at floor level. People who were being punished were crammed together in the standing room--4 or 5 in the size of a telephone booth--and had no choice but to stand all night, then work their 11-hour shift, then go back to the "standing room"....for days or weeks on end.
And the "dark room" at Auschwitz. A small room, completely devoid of any light, where 30-40 people were crammed together for days or weeks, some of them suffocating because of the close quarters, as punishment for violating some rule (perhaps sharing some food they found, or helping another prisoner, or anything else the guard didn't like.)
And at Birkenau, the sleeping barracks, using the design of a stable for 52 horses, where 800-1000 people "slept" on triple-stacked wooden pallets were the. 6-8 people lay on each pallet, crammed together so tightly, like packaged hot dogs, that it was impossible for anyone to turn over. The top "bunk" was preferred; human waste flowed down because of "accidents" during the night from people with disease or simply those for whom the scheduled two 5-7 second visits to the bathroom each day (one every 12 hours) were not enough.
I need space, light and the ability to move. These images make my heart pound and leave me gasping for air.
The War and the Holocaust can never mean to me what they mean to Poles and Jews. I did not experience war in my village, the loss of family members or friends. I did not face death solely because of my ethnicity and the desire of a world leader to wipe my people off the face of the earth.
But by listening, looking and living here briefly, I get just a little hint of what they mean. And how privileged my life has been, in so many ways.
Happy Independence Day. It is good to be able to return to scraping and painting.
I think about this when I encounter Poles of my vintage as I'm walking around. Thinking about their life history, as I understand it, compared to mine. They were born during, or perhaps a little before or a little after, The War. They may have some very early memories of it affecting their family, their home. Or they just may have memories of their early years, say when they were kindergarteners, hearing their parents talk about it. They may have grown up with the sounds of machine guns, artillery, planes flying overhead, perhaps bombs (if they lived in other parts of Poland, further from the concentration camps.)
And then the end of The War came. Their families may have moved (or been moved forcefully) to or from another part of the country as the national boundaries changed. Or they may have stayed in the same village but changed nationality (German to Polish, or Polish to Russian.) Regardless, there must have been a feeling of some relief as the active battles ended, soldiers came home, families reunited (or not).
And the Soviet era began. Stalin's ruthlessness was expressed in Poland as well, and affected their family's life. And theirs. It changed what was taught in school--Russian rather than German--and what could be expressed. It restricted their religion, their travel, their thought. They grew up being far more cautious, more circumspect in what they did/thought/said and whom they did it with.
And Stalin died and there was an easing of the repression. But only an easing, not an end. They finished their schooling and went to work. The economy was closed, the state was all powerful, and there was security in that. There was a public security net holding up everyone at a very low level and a ceiling limiting anyone (except party members) from getting too far ahead. This was Poland in the 60's, the last time I was here.
They came of age in the 70's and 80's, had their children, raised their families in a country that was gradually opening up. They watched as the world became more open and envied what they were seeing/hearing. A few took leadership, at great personal risk, in such things as the Solidarity movement. But most (and I would be one of these) laid low, kept their heads down, and hoped things would get better for their children's generation.
And then the 90's and 00's. Great opening up politically. Boom/bust/boom/bust economically. Individual freedom coupled with decreasing economic security as the public safety net fragments just as they're reaching older age. Their children embracing the political, economic and intellectual freedom that globalization brings. Some of their children emigrate to other EU countries because of economic opportunities, then return during the bust when those opportunities disappear. Disillusionment about the glories and benefits of globalization and what lies ahead for their children, and their grandchildren. And even for them.
And the Holocaust, much of which occurred on their ground. To some of their people. And to virtually all of their Jewish countrymen. And to thousands of others from all over Europe.
I expect there isn't anyone of my generation who has not had a family member or very close friend killed or wounded in The War or the Holocaust. It is a constant memory and reference point.
Through all of this, I lived in a very different world. The War was historical, not personal or visceral. Postwar meant Cold War, Red Scare, communist under your bed, bomb drills at school (crouch under the desk), homemade bomb shelters and sermons on "should you share your shelter with your neighbor?", the unleashing of economic opportunities for my generation in the 60's when everything was possible and we dominated the world and had it all. We have experienced none of the deprivation, insecurity, or limitations that our generational counterparts felt in Poland. Or the displacement, politically, intellectually, or geographically.
And for me, the Holocaust is also historical, not personal. We toured Auschwitz and Birkenau today. The weather was appropriate to the occasion---penetratingly cold (50's), wind-driven rain at 45 degree angle, leaden sky, and most of the 3+ hour tour outdoors.
I remember visiting here before, in the 60's. I felt humanistic horror at the venality of humans to other humans. This time in addition, I was also cognizant of my German heritage and the fact that my cultural ancestors were capable of perpetrating this.
Despite having been here before, and despite having been to the Holocaust Museum and Yad Vashem Museum in Jerusalem, there is nothing that prepares me for the scale and scope of Auschwitz and Birkenau as they have been preserved. I remembered things from before but saw many more today. And this time, I paid more attention to the conditions for the living-while-dying (since virtually no one left alive.)
There is the "standing room" at Auschwitz. A small space, entered by crawling through a small opening at floor level. People who were being punished were crammed together in the standing room--4 or 5 in the size of a telephone booth--and had no choice but to stand all night, then work their 11-hour shift, then go back to the "standing room"....for days or weeks on end.
And the "dark room" at Auschwitz. A small room, completely devoid of any light, where 30-40 people were crammed together for days or weeks, some of them suffocating because of the close quarters, as punishment for violating some rule (perhaps sharing some food they found, or helping another prisoner, or anything else the guard didn't like.)
And at Birkenau, the sleeping barracks, using the design of a stable for 52 horses, where 800-1000 people "slept" on triple-stacked wooden pallets were the. 6-8 people lay on each pallet, crammed together so tightly, like packaged hot dogs, that it was impossible for anyone to turn over. The top "bunk" was preferred; human waste flowed down because of "accidents" during the night from people with disease or simply those for whom the scheduled two 5-7 second visits to the bathroom each day (one every 12 hours) were not enough.
I need space, light and the ability to move. These images make my heart pound and leave me gasping for air.
The War and the Holocaust can never mean to me what they mean to Poles and Jews. I did not experience war in my village, the loss of family members or friends. I did not face death solely because of my ethnicity and the desire of a world leader to wipe my people off the face of the earth.
But by listening, looking and living here briefly, I get just a little hint of what they mean. And how privileged my life has been, in so many ways.
Happy Independence Day. It is good to be able to return to scraping and painting.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Poland: "Is it 12:30 Yet?"
There's a fairly predictable pattern to these events as it relates to the team, the work and the energy level.
Day 1: everyone is excited, eager to go to work, jumping at everything offered in terms of tasks. Lots of happy, smiling faces throughout the day. People can't believe when lunchtime comes--"seems like we just started working"--and quitting time--"just let me finish this one thing." Lots of chatter among the team as we ride back to the hotel, again at dinner.
Day 2: eagerly gather at breakfast, off to the site, resume our tasks. A few aches or pains, since virtually none of us does physical labor, and certainly not for a whole day at a time. Plenty of enthusiasm, smiles, happy conversation throughout the day. A little readiness for lunchtime, and for quitting time, but still a focus on finishing the particular task one is doing.
Day 3: a little slower moving, more quick grimaces as we resume working, perhaps changing tasks to give different muscles the "opportunity" to be fully worked. Novelty of the tasks is beginning to wane. People occasionally taking a little break, in addition to any team breaks. And eagerly heading off to lunch, then later to the bus to go back after work. The ride back is quieter. People more eager to go out to dinner, then back to the hotel, and bed. Usually before 10, or earlier. Even the young folks.
Day 4: still slower moving. I sometimes say my body recovers about 90-95% after each day. By Day 4, that means its functioning somewhere around 75% maybe, and beginning to express its attitude to me in very direct ways. Habitat usually builds a short work day into the schedule for Day 4, with perhaps a little cultural activity in the afternoon (town museum, the dreaded orphanage visit, or something like that.) When we raised this possibility with the team on Tuesday, several said "no, I came to work." We did, so we did. A full day. And very, very quiet riding back.
Day 5: another full work day for us. Mid-morning, a team member comes to me and says "is it 12:30 yet?" (the time our lunch comes.) In the afternoon, another comes, asks me the time (2:30) and says "I can't believe it's only that late!" And I think to myself, yes, Habitat knows what they are doing when they schedule a shorter day once during the week. We simply aren't accustomed to doing physical work all day for days in a row.
So I had our bus come pick us up about a 1/2 hour early. No one complained. And Saturday is always a half day of work, since local people really don't want to work on their weekend. And so our bodies recover, a little, during the weekend. And we're much better able to return for more work the following week.
I think of mold as soft and moist. Something that wipes off with a rag, perhaps wet with some anti-mold solution. Began preparing another one of the bedrooms for painting. There had been a leak in the roof above it at some point, and there was mold on the ceiling and walls under the leak. First task was to scrape the mold off, removing all of the loose material. Very easy, very satisfying, very messy (hard on the hair/eyes/body, but very washable.) But there's still a gray tinge on the (formerly) white walls. Hardened mold (which I would have thought was an oxymoron.) Must be removed, this time with a sharper paint scraper and lots of force, repetitively applied. On a ladder, reaching above one's head at times. Satisfying when it comes, essential to be removed, and I'm glad to say that it is finished. Others spackled the cracks, ready for sanding, priming and finish coat over the next few days.
Figured out today that our goal is to have 4 bedrooms completely done, including cleaning and furniture, by when we leave. We're doing other things, too--endless windows, some demolition, etc.--but it's the bedrooms that will "show"--to the donors, to us, etc. We should be able to do that.
Off to Castorama on the way to the site today. Bought an electric sander, "which can be hooked up to the shop vac so the dust won't blow." Connection doesn't fit. "Use some tape." Tape holds for 1 swing. Jim fiddles and fiddles with it (he's an orthodontist by profession, so is very meticulous and particular.) Finally, says "here", leaves for the other room...and I sand happily (and messily) without connection to the shop vac. Don't ask about the color or texture of what's coming out of my nose. But the sander works very, very well. And quickly (not counting the time spent trying to connect it to the shop vac unsuccessfully.)
There are 50+ windows in the building. Each consists of 4 separate parts that open, and each has a double set of windows (for better insulation.) All are metal frame, painted many times, including the hardware on them. So that makes lots and lots of scraping opportunities. For reasons I don't know, we are to not only scrape off the loose paint (makes sense) but also scrape all the paint off the hardware (much more difficult and meticulous.) But we do what we are told. And have endless opportunities to hone our skills.
On the way back today, stopped at the Habitat village, home to 8 8-flats built over the last 17 years. Very, very impressive. Both the design and the construction. All appear to be in wonderful condition, with obvious pride of ownership evident.
And now it's our weekend. No more construction until Monday. Instead, we'll travel to Auschwitz where we'll tour the camps. This will be exhausting in a very different way.
Day 1: everyone is excited, eager to go to work, jumping at everything offered in terms of tasks. Lots of happy, smiling faces throughout the day. People can't believe when lunchtime comes--"seems like we just started working"--and quitting time--"just let me finish this one thing." Lots of chatter among the team as we ride back to the hotel, again at dinner.
Day 2: eagerly gather at breakfast, off to the site, resume our tasks. A few aches or pains, since virtually none of us does physical labor, and certainly not for a whole day at a time. Plenty of enthusiasm, smiles, happy conversation throughout the day. A little readiness for lunchtime, and for quitting time, but still a focus on finishing the particular task one is doing.
Day 3: a little slower moving, more quick grimaces as we resume working, perhaps changing tasks to give different muscles the "opportunity" to be fully worked. Novelty of the tasks is beginning to wane. People occasionally taking a little break, in addition to any team breaks. And eagerly heading off to lunch, then later to the bus to go back after work. The ride back is quieter. People more eager to go out to dinner, then back to the hotel, and bed. Usually before 10, or earlier. Even the young folks.
Day 4: still slower moving. I sometimes say my body recovers about 90-95% after each day. By Day 4, that means its functioning somewhere around 75% maybe, and beginning to express its attitude to me in very direct ways. Habitat usually builds a short work day into the schedule for Day 4, with perhaps a little cultural activity in the afternoon (town museum, the dreaded orphanage visit, or something like that.) When we raised this possibility with the team on Tuesday, several said "no, I came to work." We did, so we did. A full day. And very, very quiet riding back.
Day 5: another full work day for us. Mid-morning, a team member comes to me and says "is it 12:30 yet?" (the time our lunch comes.) In the afternoon, another comes, asks me the time (2:30) and says "I can't believe it's only that late!" And I think to myself, yes, Habitat knows what they are doing when they schedule a shorter day once during the week. We simply aren't accustomed to doing physical work all day for days in a row.
So I had our bus come pick us up about a 1/2 hour early. No one complained. And Saturday is always a half day of work, since local people really don't want to work on their weekend. And so our bodies recover, a little, during the weekend. And we're much better able to return for more work the following week.
I think of mold as soft and moist. Something that wipes off with a rag, perhaps wet with some anti-mold solution. Began preparing another one of the bedrooms for painting. There had been a leak in the roof above it at some point, and there was mold on the ceiling and walls under the leak. First task was to scrape the mold off, removing all of the loose material. Very easy, very satisfying, very messy (hard on the hair/eyes/body, but very washable.) But there's still a gray tinge on the (formerly) white walls. Hardened mold (which I would have thought was an oxymoron.) Must be removed, this time with a sharper paint scraper and lots of force, repetitively applied. On a ladder, reaching above one's head at times. Satisfying when it comes, essential to be removed, and I'm glad to say that it is finished. Others spackled the cracks, ready for sanding, priming and finish coat over the next few days.
Figured out today that our goal is to have 4 bedrooms completely done, including cleaning and furniture, by when we leave. We're doing other things, too--endless windows, some demolition, etc.--but it's the bedrooms that will "show"--to the donors, to us, etc. We should be able to do that.
Off to Castorama on the way to the site today. Bought an electric sander, "which can be hooked up to the shop vac so the dust won't blow." Connection doesn't fit. "Use some tape." Tape holds for 1 swing. Jim fiddles and fiddles with it (he's an orthodontist by profession, so is very meticulous and particular.) Finally, says "here", leaves for the other room...and I sand happily (and messily) without connection to the shop vac. Don't ask about the color or texture of what's coming out of my nose. But the sander works very, very well. And quickly (not counting the time spent trying to connect it to the shop vac unsuccessfully.)
There are 50+ windows in the building. Each consists of 4 separate parts that open, and each has a double set of windows (for better insulation.) All are metal frame, painted many times, including the hardware on them. So that makes lots and lots of scraping opportunities. For reasons I don't know, we are to not only scrape off the loose paint (makes sense) but also scrape all the paint off the hardware (much more difficult and meticulous.) But we do what we are told. And have endless opportunities to hone our skills.
On the way back today, stopped at the Habitat village, home to 8 8-flats built over the last 17 years. Very, very impressive. Both the design and the construction. All appear to be in wonderful condition, with obvious pride of ownership evident.
And now it's our weekend. No more construction until Monday. Instead, we'll travel to Auschwitz where we'll tour the camps. This will be exhausting in a very different way.
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