English Comp Paper: Film Review, Sophie's Choice

Film Review: Sophie’s Choice

Some films based on books end up becoming classics to be enjoyed for generations. Sophie’s Choice is just that; a classic film. The story of a Polish mother who survived Auschwitz but never escapes its demons, and who falls into a tumultuous love relationship, makes Sophie’s Choice bittersweet.

The film is based on the 1979 bestselling novel by William Styron, which received the US National Book Award for Fiction in 1980 (The National Book Foundation). Alan J. Pakula, a Polish Jewish American from New York himself, wrote the script and directed the film (Film Reference).
Sophie Zawistowski is played by Meryl Streep. Streep holds the distinction of having received the most nominations in Golden Globe Awards history with 23 nominations and the most Golden Globe awards at seven awards (O'Neil, Los Angeles Times, 2010-01-17). As a Polish immigrant raised around adults with Polish accents, I found her portrayal as a Polish immigrant woman flawless and flattering.

Sophie’s life story is carefully, slowly woven throughout the film and begins in Krakow, Poland where she was the daughter of a Fascist professor and wife to a man who was part of the Resistance along with his sister. Her time in Poland was filled with tragedy, as her husband and father were taken to concentration camps, and she was likewise arrested along with her children for smuggling meat to her sick mother. At the camp, an SS officer made advances at her and she used the German she knew to plead that he spare her children.

The terrible moment came in the film when she had to choose which child was to die by gas chamber and she chose her daughter, Ewa, over Jan and this became what is known now as “Sophie’s Choice”, an unbearably difficult decision, which haunted her forever (Urban Dictionary). She never found out what happened to her children. Over 1.5 million children were killed by the Nazis in the Holocaust (Holocaust Encyclopedia) Boys who survived selection were used as stonemasons, assistants, sexual toys for German Kapos, underfed and often poisoned with phenol injections (Children in Auschwitz, part 1). Given this grim reality, it was highly unlikely that Jan survived and that he essentially shared the same fate as Ewa. In my heart, I wonder whether the deepest agony Sophie carried about her “choice” was perhaps that she wondered if little Ewa carried that feeling of abandonment to her death.

The plot of the film begins with Stingo, played by Emmy award-winning actor Peter MacNicol, who moves from Virginia to Flatbush, Brooklyn, New York and starts working on a novel. He meets Nathan Landau, played by Kevin Kline, and Sophie. The film flows through scenes of friendship and flickers of unclear tension until Nathan has an episode, as he suffers from manic-depressive schizophrenia, and accuses Stingo and Sophie of sleeping together. The tension continues as Sophie tells her story, sleeps with Stingo and finally runs back to Nathan to commit suicide together with him by cyanide.

I believe that cyanide is used in the film as symbolism of irony. The irony is that Sophie ultimately met the same fate that she escaped but which her children did not escape from on the night they arrived at Auschwitz. And instead of dying holding her terrified children, she held the hand of a man who emotionally was in a way like a child. I also believe that the piano represented the past, the world before World War II and her mother. It also represented Sophie’s relationship with Nathan; him being Narcissistic and her being Dependant in terms of Personality Disorders.

In the end it is a beautiful, timeless film that tells a tragic story and ends with sorrow. Yet, even in it’s sorrow, Sophie’s Choice still leaves a trail like a spiders silk reflecting in moonlight: faint, delicate, but beautiful.
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　



　
　
　
　
　
Works Cited
"1980 National Book Awards Winners and Finalists, The National Book Foundation." 1980 National Book Awards Winners and Finalists, The National Book Foundation. N.p., n.d. http://www.nationalbook.org/nba1980.html#.UfdK6hwo670, Web. 29 July 2013.
"Alan Pakula Biography." Film Reference. N.p., n.d. Web. <http://www.filmreference.com/film/62/Alan-Pakula.html>.
　
O'Neil, Tom (2010-01-17). "Meryl Streep breaks record with win No. 7 at Golden Globes". Los Angeles Times. Retrieved 2012-03-02.
"Sophie's Choice." Urban Dictionary. N.p., n.d. Web. <http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=sophie's%20choice>.
　
United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. “The Holocaust.” Holocaust Encyclopedia. http://www.ushmm.org/wlc/en/?ModuleId=10005143. Accessed on July 29, 2013.
"CHILDREN IN AUSCHWITZ(part 1)." CHILDREN IN AUSCHWITZ. N.p., n.d. http://www.wsg-hist.uni-linz.ac.at/auschwitz/html/Kinder-II.html, Web. 29 July 2013.

Sadly, my internet crashed when I was halfway through completing the research for this paper.  However, I still received a B+ for it!  I hope you enjoy it.

Na razie...

 

I'm Back

I can't believe its been almost a year since I've written on here.  So much has changed, and the majority of it for the better.

I'm back in college, finally pursuing that English Major degree I've always wanted to go for.  My GPA is a steady 4.0 and I can't be more surprised at myself.

The little one has adjusted well to daycare and both girls are excited that their mommy is back in school.

My divorce is still pending but it's looking as though it will be any month now.  I'd say any day now but, with a divorce, the courts like to drag it out as long as possible for some odd reason.

This summer has been a blur of cool days filled with school, errands, the garden, and loved ones.

So, with all that, I'm back and happier than ever.

Na razie...

American Pierogi Stuffing

While I don't have a photo to share of the stuffing, I thought I would share the recipe for a stuffing that my Czech friend's husband described as "What I'm used to".  In other words, the ingredients are like those found in the frozen food section.  Except these are homemade and fresh.

We spent a few hours in their kitchen a week ago, mixing up various stuffings and kneading, rolling, and cutting the dough. 

The week prior was her family's amazing knedliky recipe, or knedle in Polish.  I'm hungry recalling how delicious those were.  I think I will have the recipe to share in a few days with you.

Ingredients:

2-3 red or yellow Potatoes, cubed, boiled, mashed
1/2 cup shredded medium Cheddar
1/4 cup Bacon *
1/4 of a Sweet Onion, chopped and fried in smalec
1/4 cup minced Curly Parsley (or less)
Salt and Pepper

Boiled pierogi ready to be devoured.

My recipe for the pierogi dough, as well as Ruskie Pierogi.

Pierogi cut outs ready to be stuffed...

* I usually chop up and fry a package of bacon and keep it in a sealed container inside of the refrigerator.  Then, I can just grab some for my recipes throughout the week.  And of course I save the bacon fat.


Smacznego!

Related Posts:

My Older Daughter's First Pierog

Take Apricot, Add Potato, Make a Kid Smile (Polish Apricot Knedle)

What's In A Name

One year in middle school, I decided to go by the name Katie.  It's such a nice, sensible, ordinary name.  One that requires no explanation at introduction and no repeating. 

Katie was Trés American.  As American as the ham and cheese on Wonderbread sandwiches I wished my mother would make for lunch, instead of Polish store ham and Morski cheese on sourdough rye bread.  Or a Twinkie, or even a bag of potato chips in your lunch bag.

At the beginning of the school year, when the teachers would read aloud the names of different students, when they would hit that long pause and begin the uncomfortable ritual of butchering my legal first name, I would raise my hand and say with a nervous smile "It's Katie".  You could see their shoulders collapse with relief at not having to struggle with a "foreigner" name.

For the first few weeks, when someone would say "Katie", I wouldn't register that they meant me.  Because for over a decade before, I was Kasia. 

And even after, the oddest sensation was of hearing someone say "Katie" and being confused which Katie they meant.  Since there were a billion in my school.  Along with Jessica, Jennifer, Amy and Kim.

It felt wonderful, or at least I told myself it did.  Blending into the background, not sticking out like a sore thumb.  It was fabulous.

But what I realized after that first year was over was something I didn't count on.  I didn't count on my name, Kasia, evoking a sense of actually being.  And not just being here.  Physically breathing.  Me.  But a sense of being from, a line of existence stretching back generations before me.  Like whispers behind me encouraging me through my future.  A sense of coming from somewhere, others, events, dreams and prayers prior to, the chain of events that made me.

I realized that my name is not where I am from, it has nothing to do with a place.  My name is who I am from.

I was Kasia.  It didn't matter that it stuck out.  It didn't matter if it didn't.  It was my true name.  Like a brand on my soul, etched over countless generations slowly with tears, laughter, and change.

The Grand Canyon was carved by flowing water.  I was carved out by the flow of time.

I'm not a Katie.  I'm Kasia.




What's your name and what does it mean to you?  Did you ever try going by a different name, and if so, how did that feel?

Na razie..



Related Posts:

The Love Story

My Confession and a Campfire

A Gallon of Milk

Wordless Wednesday: Hay Maze

 

 

Odkrywają

pronounced Ohd-kriv-ayom

 

They are discovering

 

 

 

Na razie...

People Who Are Polish: A Video And Why We Share

I found this video on youtube and wanted to share it.

It's a slide show of people who are Polish or have Polish roots and who are famous.  Perhaps you might recognize a few?

I also want to explain why I share information about famous Poles and people who have Polish roots, or ancestry. 

It's not about thinking Poland or Polish peoples are better than America or American people.  Neither is better than the other, America and Poland are both amazing in their own ways.  

My children may one day feel inspired to not be ashamed of being Polish American.  I want them to be proud and not bow to Polack jokes or sneers by others. 

I don't want them to feel superior, it's not about that.  It's about celebrating who you are, whatever or whoever you are.  Whether it be Polish, Cherokee, Ethiopian, Indian, or whatever culture your family comes from.

I also want them to understand what it means to be Polish American.  That it is a culture, that we have certain foods, songs, traditions, a language, roots in a far away land where some of our family still lives and who we still have contact with because distance has nothing to do with love and family. 

It's about growing their souls as little people, making the world more understandable, helping them to become compassionate towards others, giving them the idea that the world is open to them and that they are a part of it.

I want them to also see that America is a land filled with stories like this, full of people who's ancestral ties are with countries around the world, and how wonderful that is, how unique.

I want them to grow, to be, to become, to feel inspired, to truly dream, to be kind, to know.

So, while I get a hard time by some for sharing stories about my heritage, my children's heritage, I just want to say that if you still don't understand why I share, that's not my or my children's concern.

We are here, we are living, we are celebrating who we are while respecting and celebrating who everyone else as well.

As it should be.

Na razie...

The Autumn Tree

It's an early Sunday morning.  The barest hints of Autumn have been creeping along the branches of trees.

My children are in the backseat playing with two stuffed animals, fully animated with deep voices for men and high pitched for women, laughing with complete abandon.  There isn't a single hint of worry or sorrow yet on their smooth young faces.

We turn left and find Autumn in the parking lot of a church.  The trees are bursting with yellows and oranges and a crunchy wave of color falls onto my windshield when the prairie wind blows just right. 

My kids look out the windshield and squeal that it looks like a princess's house.  This church is made of red brick, like the red brick castles and churches in Poland.  Perhaps that's what my older daughter is remembering.

Jarzębina trees are sporting their signature red berries along the walls of the church.

To my children, they're just pretty.  But...

"My Babcia's family on my mother's side had a tree like this next to their front door for good luck.  You can take the berries and put them on string with a needle and when they dry, you can wear it like a necklace for fun.  When I was little, there was a Jarzębina tree that grew near our apartment building and my Mommy, brother and I used to pick the berries for necklaces.  But you can't eat the berries unless you cook them carefully, because they are poisonous.  Maybe you can find the fairies that live in this tree."

In a fairy book we own, there is a poem about the Jarzębina. 

There is also a musical group called Jarzębina, in case you might remember them.

My little ones run around the Jarzębina, at first peering up into the branches, trying to spot a fairy or two, that might be hiding among the red berries.  After a few minutes, they revert to the timeless childhood game of "You Can't Catch Me!", holding with delicate hands onto the bark of the tree as they spin around under the Autumn Tree. 

Leaves fall down around us, the sky is blue above.  The air cool on rose petal cheeks. 

Na razie...

A Gallon of Milk

Late afternoon at the grocery store.  My Tato is watching his wnuczki while I run to the store and buy some milk, bread, frozen lasagna, and some ready-made salads for my lunches.

I'm waiting in line behind a Hispanic couple.  The woman has a child on her hip, thumb in her little mouth, less than 1 year old.  There are two other children in the plastic red car shaped shopping cart.  None are old enough to be in school yet.

They have a gallon of milk and bread for their purchase.  That's all.

The man is trying to pay for the food with a WIC check.  He's confused.  The woman is quiet and looking on, you can see she is stressed.  Their clothing is mismatched, stretched, the way clothing looks when you are given final hand-me-downs.  The woman doesn't have makeup on and you can tell she tried to do the best she could with her hair with an extremely limiting budget.  They only speak Spanish.

The check is old, it expired a couple of days ago.  They flip through their WIC folder with the cashier.  There are no new checks.

I feel uncomfortable.  I'm not sure how I understand the conversation.  Body language, Dora the Explorer, an insane amount of curiosity (or am I too proud to say that I'm nosey?).

They pull to the side and start talking to one another in whispers.  The cashier starts to ring me up while another worker goes to put their items back.

"Stop.  I'll buy their milk and bread."

The workers pause, look at me as if I have three heads.  I blush.  I gesture to the family and tell the cashier, "I don't speak Spanish.  Could you please tell them not to leave?  I need to buy their bread and milk."

I mean it.  I need to.

What is $5?  Perhaps dinner for that family.  A family that lives in my community.  A family with three small children and two parents who are obviously just trying.

I'm still blushing.  I toss a smile on my face because I know the last thing that family needs is a look of pity and I'm not sure what my face is communicating.  I don't feel pity.  Pity means you can't relate to the person but still feel sorrow for them.

And I can relate.  That mother and father, they are in the same position as my parents were years ago.  And nobody gave a shit when my parents were at the store and unable to buy something as simple as bread and milk for my brother and I. 

The cashier walks over to the mother, talks to her in Spanish, gestures to me, and I put my hands together, almost in prayer. 

My thoughts...

Please, just let me.  It's only milk.  I need this as much as you do.  Please.

The mother looks at her husband, he glances, shrugs his shoulders in a way that men are so capable of doing.  He looks down at his feet, turns slightly so that his shoulder is pointing at me. 

His body language says it all...

I'm embarrassed.  I can't provide for my family.  But we need this.  Don't make eye contact with me, don't see the look on my face.

But he knows as much as I do, children come before pride.

I'm mentally kicking myself.  I just embarrassed them.  It wasn't my intention.  But I needed to help.

The mother walks up, nods her head at me, takes the milk the cashier hands her.  She refuses the bread.  I understand.  That would be too much pride lost.

It's just a gallon of milk.  But it's infinitely more.

They walk away.  I take a deep breathe.  I say a mental prayer.  For them, for me, for everyone and everything.  God, give us strength to give help and to accept help.

Na razie...

9/11

There are no words to share today.

Only a day to pause, reflect, breathe deeply and relish that simple sensation.  Hug your children.  Smile at your friends and family.  Find the little things in life to be thankful for.

And pray.

To the victims of 9/11.  Rest in Peace. 

God Bless America and God Bless All of Mankind.

Na razie...

My Confession and a Campfire

I've been thinking a lot lately.

Some things have changed.  I don't feel comfortable sharing them all.

But I've been surrounded by moments.  The sort that sneak up, and if you aren't paying attention, disappear and leave no trace.  But if you catch them, and hold them while you can, they leave beautiful marks decorating your soul, feeding your strength and straightening your back so that you hold your head up.

I went to the local college and did a placement test.  I spoke to a counselor.  I spoke to a Financial Aid advisor.  And heard encouragement left and right.  I decided to go back to school to be an ESL teacher.  My scores were more than needed to be approved to be an English tutor to other students.  The tutoring wasn't even my idea, the counselor suggested it.

I placed my hand on my forehead in embarrassment at my math score.  Only a 45 in Elementary Algebra.  Is it the word "Elementary"?  Is it the fact that I took Pre-, I and II level Algebra in Middle School? 

Why was I embarrassed at this score?  The counselor looked in my eyes and said "How long ago did you take those classes?"  Over half of my life ago.  With absolutely no real life situations needing that skill.  And I only have to take 1-2 Math courses for my degree, whereas others have to take more because they didn't get that same score. 

It's that moment when someone puts it in perspective for you.  You don't have to be a genius in everything.  You don't even have to be a genius at all.  You just have to keep trying.  Pushing forward.  You don't have to smile if you don't feel the urge to.  But you don't have to frown just because there is a challenge.  That's what keeps you strong and reminds you that you have been forged in fire and came out stronger.

A fire like this one...

I made this fire with my own two hands, no help from any man, no chemicals or lighter fluid or starter sticks.  Just a match, kindling I found with the kids, and fire wood.  And on the first try, it started.  The flame licked the side of the leaves, jumped into the twigs, and lapped up onto the wood. 

I made a fire. 

I felt an urge to look up to heaven for a moment.  And smile.  Whisper "Woman make fire."  Ridiculous words that can easily scoffed at.  But I whispered them anyway with a tiny bit of pride.

Warmth eased from the fire onto me and the two little blanket wrapped giggles who hugged me.  Laid their heads on my chest and relaxed.  Safe.  Warm.  Leaning on me for their strength.

Me.  The one who won't take out the trash, who has never changed a tire, mowed the grass, and who cries to this day when the ant dies in Honey, I Shrunk the Kids. 

A moment of clarity.  A strand of my hair falls on the hair of my older daughter.  It reminds me of dappled sunlight on the forest floor.  Her hair the cool, welcoming, mysterious shade, mine the swaying burst of light that the sapling needs to grow. 

We cooked hot dogs and marshmallows on the fire that I built for them.

Na razie...

People Who Are Polish: Jane Krakowski

You've seen this stunning woman before if you watch television. 

Credit:  Jane Krakowski (30 Rock) by Capital M, on Flickr

 

 

 

Jane Krakowski is an American actress who is on 30 Rock. 

 

 

Other shows and movies Jane Krakowski has been in:

• National Lampoon Vacation
• Fatal Attraction
• Stepping Out
• Ally McBeal
• A Christmas Carol

 

 

 

This Polish American beauty is also a regular on Broadway.

 

Jane Krakowski's original last name was Krajkowski.  Her family is Polish and originally from Krakow.

 

 Na razie...

 

 

 

Related Posts:

Polish American Characters on My So Called Life

 

People Who Are Polish:  The Inventor of the Mine Detector

 

Books for Polish American Kids

 

 

 

 

 

 

Word(y) Wednesday: Mushroom

Following yesterday's post, today's word is Mushroom.

 

 

Grzyby

pronounced gzhih-bih

Mushrooms

Note:  The "rz" sound in Polish is like a softer z, almost like if you pretend to make a vacuum or lawn mower sound, or the sound of some other loud machinery.

Since the sound is hard to describe without hearing, here is an audio you can listen to of the pronunciation.  Check out the audio for ż (rz) - żaba, rzeka, tworzy. 



Singular form for Mushroom is Grzyb.




Na razie...

It Might Be Mushroom Picking Time

If the mushrooms that bloomed in our worm farm and garden are any indication, I think it might be the right week to go traipsing through the woods around Illinois and the surrounding area for mushrooms.

Not sure what mushroom this is but I doubt it's edible.  Found this mushroom in a pot at the base of a tomato plant in some of the worm castings we had put there the week prior.

And two species of mushrooms in our worm farm, again, I assume they are not edible...

 

I checked on the worms and they seem to be doing just fine with the mushrooms in the farm.  In fact, I just had a worm population explosion, it appears.

So, have you ever gone mushroom picking?

 

Na razie...

Related Posts:

Mushroom Picking in the Polish Mountains

Where I'm From



Polish American Characters on My So Called Life

For those of us who were teenagers in the 1990's, My So Called Life was a short-lived show that captured so much of our lives.

While there is little information out about the show, after all there were only 19 episodes before it was canceled, the show has to this day a bit of a cult following.

When I watched the show as a teenager, the names of two characters seemed for a split second to stick out for me.  However, growing up being told over and over that being Polish was something to be ashamed of, I figured that I was either imagining it or something along those lines.

And they aren't stupid, in fact, the character "Sharon" isn't portrayed as... very loose. Since that was the typical Polish character on TV at the time, and even to this day, I wrote them off as not Polish.

Plus, I didn't think that they looked Polish, or at least, they didn't look like me.  In my humble opinion (My So Called Life reference, he he).

Fast forward 17 years later, I decided one day to watch the series after my kids bedtime just for fun.

In the first episode, I heard the names again.

Sharon Chirsky and Brian Krakaw...

And I thought, it had to be my imagination.  They don't sound like Polish names, I told myself.

So, for fun, I decided to look up more information on the show.

It turns out Sharon Chirsky is actually spelled Sharon Cherski as I thought it would be.  She's very intelligent and is actively involved in school activities.  Her father's name is revealed as "Andy", which I assume to be Andrew, the English version of a popular Polish name Andrzej.

Brian Krakaw is actually Brian Krakow.  Of course, I always forget how Krakow is pronounced in English.  And it turns out he is Jewish.  With Blond hair.  Brian is also very intelligent.  Socially awkward, yes, but then again, his parents are a behavioral psychologist and Freudian psychiatrist.  Brian's father's name is "Bob".

So, here are two TV characters that don't portray Polish American and Polish Jewish Americans in the typical negative light that we are so used to seeing as a society.  At a time when I was so used to seeing Poles and Polish Americans as nothing more than overly religious, stupid, slutty, back stabbing and cowardly, I missed that here were two positive and relatable characters on one of my absolutely favorite shows.  And this at a time when I needed, absolutely needed to see positive Polish American characters on TV.

Of course, the series never made it past the first season. 

Hopefully when my kids are old enough, we can snuggle on the sofa together and watch the show together, and I can whisper in their ear during the first episode, "Sharon is Polish American and Brian is Polish Jewish American.  They are both very smart and good hearted people, just like you."

Na razie...

I Don't Know

I'm at a point in my personal life where I don't know what to write about. I'm not sure what to share, what is inspiring, what is worth the time.

I have cherries that we pitted and froze so that I can make cherry pierogi. I've been talking about making them for some time now. I just don't have the time.

I've been making different versions of surówki for dinner, I just don't have the extra few seconds to grab the camera or my phone to take the photo.

I hope you have patience with me while we deal with some personal issues and also prepare for the new school year. I will do my best effort to post more often.

Na razie...

My Own Understanding of What Happened

Why did we leave Poland?  My older daughter asked me this question a few times.  I still don't know what to tell her.  The facts are so many, so overwhelming, so double sided. 

In the end, all that has ever rung true for me is this:  Here I am, Polish born raised and living in Amerika, with two beautiful daughters who I love.  And, really, that's the most important fact.  My daughters. 

I hope one day they understand what I mean when I hug them and say "Life is a complicated, strange thing.  And it led me to where I needed to be so that I could be sitting here hugging you.  That's all that matters, really."

Other subtle facts float by on the edges.  I have an American accent, not a Polish one.  My kids are Polish-American, not just Polish, not just American.  We are the bridge between the two worlds, as there always is in every American family.  At some point in all of American family history, there is a bridge between the two worlds.

There is nothing wrong with preferring a snack of pickles over potato chips, or loving barbecue pulled pork, or not knowing what it means to stand in line for hours for food.  There is nothing wrong with continued contact with the family left behind.  There is nothing wrong with speaking English, the third language of a person's life, better than their mother language. 

So, how to answer my daughter's question?  I don't know.  And part of it comes from the fact that, in order for my parents to answer it, they will have to look back on that time and embrace homesickness as well as the feeling they had watching the news, seeing with their eyes what was happening, and then snuggling their little baby girl after standing in line for food.  They can't answer it all the way, nor can I.

So, I started looking for videos I could save to show my kids later in life to explain.  I found this one.  I'm not sure if I should share it.  I don't fully understand the facts, whether it was really like this, I'm no historian, no sociologist, no diplomat, no expert.  I'm just a Mama.  That's enough.

To those of you who remember this time, or understand it, what do you think of this video?  Does anyone else struggle with how to answer this question when your children ask?

Na razie...

ADL "Bearing Witness" Program

I would like to ask you a favor.  Please read the article "Bearing Witness to the Holocaust" on Jewish Exponent.

I will briefly quote a part of the article to give you an idea..



The middle school English and religion teacher at Saint Agnes School in West Chester also learned that helping Jews during that time period was punishable by death in Poland -- a fact that made her ashamed to have Polish ancestry.
"It was really hard to listen to," said Dunn, her voice thick with emotion. "They're my people and how could they be like that?"




Now, if you are as disturbed as I am at reading this, please read the letter I wrote:


"I am writing in regards to the article “Bearing Witness to the Holocaust”, July 25^th, 2012 by Deborah Hirsch. I am letting you know I will also be forwarding this letter to the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) National and Philadelphia chapters, as well as the Archdiocese of Philadelphia.

After reading the article, I must express my disappointment and hurt, as a Pole living in the USA. Specifically, regarding the incorrect statement attributed to a teacher, Eileen Marie Dunn, “that helping Jews during that time period was punishable by death in Poland”.
The statement, and her following statements of horror, shock, and shame of being of Polish ancestry, essentially and strongly insinuate that the Polish government was responsible for the laws which forbade Poles from helping Jews.
This is completely untrue, and could be misconstrued as slanderous to the character of the Polish people. We all know, or else, should know by now, that the German Nazis occupied Poland during that time. That it was the German Nazis who passed and enforced that law, and many others which hurt Jews, Poles, and many others during that time period.
Whether Ms. Dunn believed this, and stated this, Jewish Exponent, as a news entity, has the responsibility to, either a. quote Ms. Dunn as saying such, and making a clear note following the statement that this is untrue and the actual facts, or, b. not quote Ms. Dunn at all. Because Jewish Exponent did no such thing, it comes across as though Jewish Exponent and ADL are presenting Poles as the incorrect perpetrators of this horrific crime. Which I presume, of course, was not in any way your intent.
Also, I call into question where Ms. Dunn learned this misinformation. Did she learn it from the ADL “Bearing Witness” program? Is ADL properly presenting the facts regarding this time period? I would presume that they would be, since any organization wishing to present classroom training and material to teachers bears responsibility to present correct, clear and complete information to the same teachers.
If the “Bearing Witness” program is incorrectly teaching that responsibility lies with the Poles and not the German Nazis, is the Archdiocese of Philadelphia aware that this is happening, since it is their teachers receiving this training? That their teachers are being told this misinformation, and then passing the guilt to their students, that Polish American students be raised in the school system feeling shame for what their grandparents and great-grandparents are, in fact, not guilty of?
As a Polish woman living in the USA, whose children also attend Catholic school under the Chicagoland Archdiocese, I am especially alarmed. Does this mean that teachers are being trained to present this incorrect blame to children such as mine? So that they may grow up feeling shame for their heritage because Poles are accused of something that every historian knows is the fault of the German Nazis and not the Poles?
Is this the aim? If so, I find it absolutely disturbing. Both the Jewish victims of the Holocaust and the Poles whose land was occupied and used by German Nazis for evil intent deserve to have the truth be shared of their death and brutal abuse, as well as the truth of who was the perpetrator. Truth must not be distorted."




ADL's "Bearing Witness" program is a national program which is done in partnership with Catholic schools to teach more about the Holocaust.  In no way do I find anything wrong with that.  It's great, in fact.  My concern is that the article might be shining light on a flaw in the program, or perhaps there is no flaw but the article is incorrectly quoting someone, or who knows what.



If you would like to also write a letter to the Jewish Exponent editor regarding this matter, please do so. 

I will keep you up to date on this.

Na razie...

More Teaching Kids About Poland

I know many of you are parents looking for ways to teach your children about Poland. 

I found some more interesting ideas to help teach kids about Poland.




First, Yahoo! Kids has an entire section about Poland.  There are no games or videos, but the site is great for research.  You could check out a few interesting tidbits there about Poland and talk about them while looking at a map of Poland together. 


WGBY in Connecticut, together with The Kosciuszko Foundation, Central Connecticut State University, Polish National Credit Union, and the Polish National Alliance, has some great coloring pages for Polish American kids.




With the temperatures still soaring outside, you could print out a couple of these pages and give them to your kids to color in.  Say the colors of the crayons in Polish with them and ask them to repeat it back to you.  Cheer them on, no matter their pronunciation.

I once had a pediatrician tell me that, unless a child has an actual speech problem, in which case speech therapy is the best option, they will naturally correct themselves over time.  There is no need to say "No, say it like this" to them, if anything that just affects their self esteem negatively, particularly regarding learning a new language.  My childrens' pediatrician explained that the more you say the word around them, the more the correct pronunciation is embedded in their "language memory".  And, eventually they will say it correctly themselves.

I hope helps keep you encouraged as the keepers of your family language and culture.  Have patience, keep trying and keep encouraging, and eventually, our kids will get it.

Another bonus to being persistent?  Our kids will be more quickly able to master other languages, such as Spanish.  They will also have a better understanding of our world and have more compassion toward others.

There could be nothing wrong with that.




On another topic, what do you think of this latest article "FACT CHECK: Romney on Polish Economy, Gov't Role"?  The author discusses with figures the Polish Economy and Government Role in it.  I'd love to hear your opinion.

Na razie...

Wordless Wednesday: Tomatoes

Pomidory

pronounced poh-mee-doh-rih

Tomatoes

Na razie...

Related Posts:

My Dad's Tomato Soup

Stuffed Porkchops

Fasolka po Bretonsku or Breton Beans 

Polish Olympic Dresses

Last week, we saw the beautiful dresses and other uniforms of the Polish team during the opening ceremony.  Several women, myself included, have been gushing over how beautiful the dresses were.

I asked the Polish Embassy on Twitter.  By the way, do you follow them?  You should. 

Here's what they found out.  Apparently, quite a few others have been inquiring about the dresses.

The article on RFM24 is in Polish.  You can use Google Translate to get the gist of the information.  The dress is designed by Poland's Ranita Sobańska.

I decided to check on the 4F website, since that is the company who made the uniforms.  They have the dress!

Polish Olympic Poppy Dress - 2012

The price is 249PLN, which converts to roughly $75USD.  However, it looks like according to their website, they don't offer shipping to the USA at this time.  I will find out and let you know.

After all, I also want one for myself.

Na razie...

Disclaimer:  No compensation in any way has been received for this post.  I was not asked to promote anything in any way.  I just really love that dress!