This was my second visit to Poland.
The previous one happened about 16 years ago.
Not much has changed there, especially when it comes to short visits that are more of a "jump" to Poland than a long visit.
Both times it was not a classic tour, in commemoration and memory centers of the Holocaust, but a tour with a slightly different character - around the world of Hasidism with different emphases.
But both times I noticed exactly the same effect: Poland is experienced neither in the head nor in the heart nor in the feet.
Only in the stomach.
All the time in the stomach.
And one more thing: you don't need to go to Poland for a Holocaust trip.
Go on any journey you want.
Do not worry.
It will already turn into a holocaust campaign.
In my case, it happens, already for the second time, through a small detail and maybe even marginal that does all the work: the direction signs.
You know when you're traveling a long way abroad, in an unfamiliar place, and suddenly there's a road sign or direction sign on the highway with a familiar name? You travel and travel in Italy, passing countless unfamiliar names and suddenly you see a sign: "Pisa"! I just know the This place, and a feeling of security, or satisfaction, spreads for a second. For me, it's always a part of every trip, these little surprises.
So in Poland, on a long drive from Warsaw to the cities of Galicia in Krakow - it happened literally every two minutes.
And unlike in Italy, where Pisa is reminiscent of the Leaning Tower and mathematics, and Padua is reminiscent of the Jewish past, and Ragusa is reminiscent of Biffa Street - in Poland, any such sign is a direct punch to the stomach.
No warmth and no feeling of home.
Lublin, Radom, Zamosc, Przemyśl, Yaroslavl, Lizhensk, Lansot, Rupshitz - there is hardly a single name on these signs that I do not know and that does not carry a whole world of content.
My grandfather's grandfather's grandfather, Rabbi Naftali of Rupshitz, lived in Rupshitz and was buried in Lanzot long before the Holocaust and the killing and destruction.
I could easily experience the return to these historical points from a healthy travel experience, and from focusing on the world that was and parts of it live inside me.
but no.
No.
It didn't happen that much, and it didn't even come close.
Because from the second I heard the word "Zloty", even before the flight, the only thing on my mind was action.
Not the Rama, not the synagogues of Rabbi Isaac, Rabbi Yakels, not the tomb of Noam Elimelech, not the shopping malls (the prices are really on the floor) and not the Vistula. Only blood and fire and smoke.
The journey was great.
And I returned to Israel with a sea of material that I taught and that I learned from others and with this bullet in my stomach, which does not let go.
And what I'm very interested in is, does the feeling overwhelm all Jews and Israelis visiting Poland, or is it related to the ultra-Orthodox education I received and the Hasidic cultural roots I grew up with?
In a few months, another trip like this in Poland awaits me, and I'm already counting the days.
I just won't get addicted.
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