Fleece in June, the Tale of An[Other]

Yes, that’s right. I’m wearing fleece in June. I’m also wearing wool. After a few weeks of glorious warm weather, the weather in Poland seems to have bypassed summer and already ushered in autumn. Indeed, it feels like October or an[Other] autumn/winter month.

A few weeks ago, the Pope arrived in Poland. A larger-than-life cross was erected in the Ogrod Saski park (public property) in conjunction with a temporary ban on the purchase of alcohol. Hundreds of thousands of people took to the streets and parks to hear Benedict XVI’s words of “wisdom.” Some people camped out overnight to ensure that they’d view him in the flesh instead of on a large projection screen. An estimated 900,000 people attended Mass in Krakow. Transportation was a total balegan (disaster) which meant that getting across town was virtually impossible. And with the weather being a tumbling colossus of wind and rain, a leisurely stroll to a friend’s house wasn’t exactly pleasurable (though clearly I strolled anyway).

I had many moments of “Otherness” during the time that the Pope was in Poland. For one thing, my office was most definitely open and everyone came to work. Nearly every other organization, school, or business in Warsaw was closed -- even public schools; even the Jewish Day school. But the Jewish community offices were open and hence, arriving at work soaked to the bone on the Friday of the Pope’s big shebang, was a bit surreal. One would have thought it was just an ordinary day. For Jews, I suppose it was. But for everyone else in the country -- Catholics, Atheists, and Nationalists alike -- this was a day in history. So there I was in my office, photocopying materials for a seminar for Romanian-Jewish and Polish-Jewish volunteers and preparing a presentation about the Jewish responsibility of giving to others, while the Pope was (uncharismatically) addressing the world less than half a mile away.

That same Friday afternoon, I took my chances and got on a tram to go to Mokotow to visit my lady friends. I was delivering challah and homemade cheesecake (indeed, I actually nurtured my domestic side -- I baked!). Clearly, I should have known that the trams would be blocked, delayed, or re-routed. Eventually, we were all told to disembark from the tram at which point I had no patience to wait for another one, so I just walked. Walking proved to be equally inefficient though certainly a bit more amusing. There I was walking in the rain carrying challah for Shabbat and homemade cheesecake covered in tin foil that kept getting ruffled, torn, and ultimately blown off by the wind while everyone else in the city was marching toward me in the opposite direction carrying red and white Polish flags, crosses, and portraits of Benedcit XVI. Indeed, I was the fish out of water. I was the Other.

On Sunday, the Pope visited Auschwitz and the entire country was glued to the television watching his every gesture, his every kiss on every person’s hand, his every expression of introspection as he confronted gas chambers, prison cells, and his shameful history. I watched all of this for a short while; perhaps a total of 20 minutes. Then I gathered with my friends and some Romanian-Jewish visitors to celebrate Rosh Chodesh with candles, tea, and brownies. As the Pope addressed the nation, we read poetry by Adrienne Rich and Denise Levertov and blessed the New Moon.

* * *

Tomorrow morning is Warsaw’s Equality March (known to most Germans as “Christopher Street Day” and known to most Americans as “Pride”). I suppose it will be another “Otherness” experience, but this time the colors of the flags will be different and the masses won’t be praying.