Jewish anti-Polonism

By March 1940, Emanuel Ringelblum observed a growing hostility toward Christians among some Jews, accompanied by the belief that Poles were responsible for the economic restrictions imposed under the occupation. Within Polish circles, rumours were already circulating that Jews were collaborating with the Germans, which deepened resentment and mistrust between the two communities.

In August 1940, a National Democratic Party newspaper reported that while Jews were being beaten, Poles were being killed, and noted the striking absence of sympathy for Poles from behind the walls of the newly established Jewish Territorial Autonomies. The Germans, for their part, encouraged and exploited these divisions, knowing that suspicion between Poles and Jews weakened any possibility of unified resistance.

The atmosphere was so complex and tense that some Poles sought refuge inside the ghetto or even wore the Star of David to avoid suspicion from Germans. In Warsaw, Adam Czerniaków, head of the Jewish Council, cut contact off with the Poles and presided over what was described as a transformation from a small religious and cultural community into a broad, self-governing body, complete with its own administrative unit called Der jüdische Wohnbezirk in Warschau. The ghetto walls, which had been erected ostensibly to protect Jews from “excesses” by Poles, had already been standing for some time, and plans were in place to defend Jewish districts from Poles should such action be deemed necessary…

By 1942, Poles and Jews were separated by almost every possible social, political, and cultural fault line. News of atrocities such as the still undocumented case of the Jedwabne massacre, in which Poles were alleged to have taken revenge on Jews for their perceived complicity with Soviet authorities during the 1939–1941 occupation, spread rapidly through Jewish society. These accounts, often embellished and amplified by rumour, reinforced long-standing stereotypes of Poles as mortal enemies and deeply embedded mistrust.

Many of these wartime rumours and myths, despite their questionable origins, have endured into the present day, continuing to shape perceptions of Poland in an unfair and misleading way that obscures the true complexity of the historical record. The power of such narratives was so enduring that even one Jewish prisoner, on the way to the gas chamber, was recorded as still believing that the tragedy unfolding around him was ultimately Poland’s fault.

While Poles endured mass executions, deportations, and relentless persecution at the hands of the Germans, they often received no assistance from Jews who were confined within the ghettos. Jewish chroniclers themselves recorded that many Jews “did not wish to fraternise with Poles.” In practice, Jewish lives were not generally endangered by aiding Poles during these early years, yet the political and social gulf that had opened between the two communities meant that such acts were exceedingly rare. It is worth recalling that Emanuel Ringelblum himself, who so vividly chronicled the life and suffering of the Warsaw Ghetto, survived for a time only because of the courage of Christian martyrs who risked their lives and died saving him.

One historian, reflecting on decades of research into wartime Polish–Jewish relations, noted that he had never encountered a single case of a Pole who owed his life to a Jew during the first three years of the war. In contrast, there are countless documented accounts of Poles who risked, and often lost, their lives in order to save Jews later in the conflict.

The early war years, shaped by the pressures of Soviet occupation, German policy, and the rise of Jewish Territorial Autonomies, created a profound and enduring fracture. This fracture not only cast a long and bitter shadow over the shared tragedy of occupation – it also left behind distorted narratives that persist to this day, continuing to cloud historical truth and the memory of those years.

Edward Reid on Facebook