A Library for Cracow

I belong to a Holocaust Survivors email list that travels around the globe online helping Survivors find other Survivors.  More than six years ago I received an email about a young man who wanted to start a library in Cracow, Poland and needed help filling the shelves with Jewish books.  Seems he was raised Christian to save his life.  Finding out as an adult that his biological parents were Jewish, he was determined to make this happen. 

As much as I love my books, I’ve learned to share over the years and this seemed extremely important.   I boxed up a huge box of books that included my college freshman Children’s Literature anthology (that was 30 years old) and my Bat Mitzvah prayer book (which was even older).  Books are one of my great loves, so there were many books that had been on my shelves for many years. 

It was important I told myself and left for the Post Office, almost leaving when they asked me to fill out a huge amount of paperwork for custom’s reasons.  Never heard anything, assumed my good deed was in a black hole somewhere at the bottom of the Atlantic.

While casually searching Google the other night for the three blogs I’ve created, to see what is being sent out to the universe (by me), I came upon this website in Poland which had my name attached.  Being unbelievably curious and not knowing Polish, I used Google translator.   

Copy, paste, click, read.    Copy, paste, click, read.  I had no idea what happened to my book box until now.  On Google.com it says ”darczyncy” and my name.  The Rabbi Remuh Jewish Library was established in June 2005 and it is the only Jewish Library in Cracow open to everyone. 

I am listed as a donor.  OMG was all I could pray through all the tears.  What makes this so special is my Dad Berek Nathan was born in Warsaw.  His entire family – brothers, sisters, parents, aunts, uncles died in the Holocaust.   He was the only living survivor.  Saving himself by running to the forest while the Nazis were kicking his brother to death in the streets of Poland.  He was 15.  Berek Nathan died August 2005 at age 87.  A Painter’s Daughter is listed amongst these poems as a small tribute to him.  He was my Hero.  At least some of his books are back in Poland at a Jewish Library where they always belonged.

 

 All rights reserved.  ©2009 by Sara Fryd  

 

 

 

A Painter’s Daughter

Before I knew the words to describe a rainbow,

I could mix the colors of heaven,

            of mountains; of Arizona in the spring.

Each morning in darkness before the molten Phoenix sun

            would crest the parched desert,

Papa would sneak out the door

            quiet as a whisper

            to paint this house or that castle.

Peeking…

            With one eye around the blinds covering the window

I heard more than I saw.

Sounds my Papa made loading his royal blue

            1948 Ford pick-up [truck] with ladders and brushes,

            turpentine, putty, tarps and cans.

Oh, those magical cans of paint

            that could change the heart of a room

            from sullen to sunlight

            from dreary to delicious.

Some knights ride into a little girl’s heart

            on horseback or steed

            large, tall, strong with white mane flowing.

My knight drove a short, wide blue ‘48 pick-up

            with a three-speed stick shift on the column

            and white wall tires;

            pulling a bed filled with cans of colors streaming

for all the rainbows that surprised us after a desert storm.

For all the saguaros, yuccas, Joshua trees in need of renewal.

Mostly though…

            for one little girl

            who wanted her room the blue of the sky

            after angels washed it with an August storm.

My Friend a Daddy

Everyday, somewhere a child  

          stares out a window

Waiting…

          for Dad to come home.

It doesn’t matter what kind of work he does

          (though a fireman or race car driver would be great).

It doesn’t matter how much money he makes

          (though getting a new bike is better than not).

It doesn’t matter how tall he is or what clothes he wears

          (though 501s and Nikes are cooler

          than Brooks Brothers and wing tips).

What matters is hearing the sound of him coming home

          his voice saying your great

          his hug keeping you safe

          his kiss on top of your head

          assuring you it will be okay.

Of all the words I’ll ever hear

          of all the folks I’ll ever meet

          of all the roads I’ll walk along

Nothing will ever make me feel as safe

          as important, as sure,

          as carrying my Daddy inside my heart

          next to my soul.

Where he can keep me safe whenever I need him to.

 

*for Nicholas J Baracco, Massepequa, NY

All rights reserved.  ©1996 by Sara Fryd