He must have known that power comes and goes, that one day Poland will be coated in hollow memories, but Torah is portable and forever
P
oland reeked of death.
There was life there, and movement, and action. But walking down the streets of Krakow, it was as if the world had been reduced to black-and-white, obscured behind a screen, dusty with oppressive memories.
Wherever I looked, there were buildings and homes. This one used to house a shul. That one a Talmud Torah. Those buildings down the block were once bursting with young Jewish families.
There was history here. Stories, so many stories — all of them dead.
We visited the concentration camps. The old, lonely shuls. The noisy marketplace. I’m sure the people who live there find charm in the old, cracked streets, but I found the stench of evil unbearable, even 70 years later.
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