Hold on to the Sun

Selichot* In Krakow: Migrations of a Melody

SELICHOT * in krAkoW: MiGrAtionS ofA MelodY (eSSAY, 2007) the only one of my mother’s melodies to remain is the sing-song of the shamosh† from the remuh Synagogue in krakow, as he passed at night through the streets of the ancient ghetto, kazimierz, knocking on the window shutters and waking the Jews for selichot, the early morning service before the high holidays. “Yidelekh, yidelekh, tayere koshere yidelekh, shteyen oyf, shteyen oyf lavoydes haboyre uleslikhes .”Jews,Jews,dear,kosher Jews,please rise,please rise to worship the creator and for selichot. My mother, rina Poser-laub Govrin left her beloved native city on the eighteenth of october, 1944, on a train going from the Plaszow labor camp to Auschwitz. By then, both her husband and son had been murdered. My mother never set foot in krakow again. recently i was invited by the Polish institute to participate in a cultural exchange program. i agreed only after 225 * (Hebrew) Jewish penitential poems and prayers leading up to rosh Hashanah andYom kippur † (Yiddish) assistant synagogue manager receiving assurance that, alongside the official visit, i would be able to join in the annual march commemorating the expulsion of krakow’s Jews. in 1942 the Jews were banished from their homes to a ghetto in the Podgorze district, and in 1943, after a series of murderous Aktionen, those remaining were deported by foot to the Plaszow labor camp, whose construction, inspired by the sadism of its commander, Amon Göth, was undertaken on the grounds of the Jewish cemetery. the Memorial March from the Podgorze district to Plaszow was set to take place on a Sunday morning. i therefore arrived on a train from Warsaw to krakow on friday afternoon, before sabbath. on the platform i was met by Sylvia, my official escort, a petite, shapely woman wearing a checkered coat—a perfect Polish beauty. i took down my suitcases and shamefacedly apologized for their weight. i found it hard to explain the anxiety that gripped me in anticipation of retracing the footsteps of my mother, of my murdered eight-year-old brother.And so,tormented by the migration of souls that i had embarked upon,i dragged with me on my journey all the books i deemed absolutely essential for my survival: kafka, and rilke, and Gebirtig, and Primo levi, and Szymborska, and Bruno Schulz, and viktor frankl, and a siddur,* and a mikraot gedolot,† and Noam 226 Selichot in Krakow * (Hebrew)A prayer book. † (Hebrew) often called a “rabbinical Bible” in english, an edition that generally includes three distinct elements: the biblical text, theAramaic translation, and biblical commentaries. Elimelech by the rebbe of lizhensk,* weighing in all some sixty pounds . . . Sylvia, delicate as she was, kept up a smile, even when, in her tiny car stuffed with baggage, we reached the small hotel with no elevator in kazimierz, the ancient ghetto, and even as we athletically dragged the huge suitcase up floor after floor after floor. i was the one who broke down when i saw the cramped, dark attic i’d been allotted, with a skylight that barely illuminated the room’s old wallpaper. i knew that if i spent three days there, including the march of returning souls, they’d have to carry me out straight to the loony bin. Sylvia, feeling responsible, was drenched in sweat. Sabbath drew near, and it was only by sheer luck that, at that last moment, a comfortable room was vacated in a hotel a few alleys away. And so we set out, Sylvia with the small bags, and i with the suitcase full of selected classics of world literature, bumping along the paving stones of the ancient streets. But then, in the midst of a struggle to negotiate a turn in the road, the suitcase handle snapped.the suitcase stopped and the detached handle remained in my hand. “What will we do!?” Sylvia was in a panic from the daze of Jewish wandering she had been thrust into. “it’s ok,” i said,trying to calm her.“i’ll carry the suitcase like this.”And immediately i began dragging the great weight God knows 227 Selichot in Krakow *A classic Hasidic work by one of the founding rebbes of the Hasidic movement. how.But Sylvia’s worry did not subside,sweat dripped from her brow, and her entire slender figure exuded despair. i knew i had to encourage her, and in...