‘Only two important things thrive in the Ghetto: Love and Death’- Relationships in the Warsaw Ghetto

ABSTRACT

This article examines the role of romantic love among middle and upper-class, married and single heterosexual Jews in German-occupied Warsaw during World War II. It spans from the onset of the war in September 1939, through the establishment of the Warsaw Ghetto, to the mass deportations of 1942. It analyzes the impact of extreme conditions on relationships and delves into emotional experiences and challenges faced by individuals, drawing on the lenses of the history of emotions. It investigates how individuals perceived their roles as partners and managed challenges to love, exploring reactions within the Jewish community of Warsaw.

KEYWORDS:

• Holocaust
• Warsaw Ghetto
• social dynamics
• history of emotions
• romantic love

I was in love, I had a romance in the ghetto, perhaps the most significant romance imaginable, one that gave me so much I can’t fully grasp it; it was simultaneously ordinary, normal, and completely insane… You walk down the street, and someone collapses and dies, and you keep walking, heading to your first meeting with your boy, as if it’s the most normal thing. There are no screams, no shouts, no running home to declare, ‘The world is falling apart!’ Instead, you walk, you kiss, you desire him, and he desires you, as naturally as nature intended for two people living in a comfortable home, enjoying good food, within the confines of the bourgeois system.¹

In these words, Jewish Holocaust survivor Aviva Unger recounts her emotions and experiences from spring 1941, when she was 15 years old and confined in the Warsaw Ghetto with her family. Her reflections center on how romantic love was both ordinary and utterly surreal amidst the yearnings of ghetto inhabitants, defying the brutality around them and finding solace in intimate relationships. They also illuminate a wider range of intricacies in relationships between men and women, and the profound challenges faced by love in dire circumstances.

This article explores the evolving role of romantic love among middle and upper class, married and single heterosexual Jews under the German occupation of Warsaw during World War II. It focuses on the period from the beginning of the war in September 1939, through the sealing of the Warsaw Ghetto, and continuing until the mass deportations in the summer of 1942. The study investigates the emotion of love and its expressions, exploring how specific emotional experiences and challenges evolved throughout this period. It analyzes how the reality of life under extreme conditions affected relationships between men and women, to what extent it eroded or strengthened them, and what attempts were made to preserve them. These dynamics influenced both individual and communal emotional practices amidst the crisis, as reflected by Unger.

Before the Holocaust, Warsaw was home to the world’s second-largest Jewish population, comprising approximately 380,000 individuals, around 30 percent of the city’s total population.² In September 1939, Warsaw’s Jewish community faced upheaval as the German invasion led to a three-week siege and mass displacement.³ Following the occupation, the first anti-Jewish decrees were issued.⁴ On 16 November 1940, a ghetto was established, confining Jews within a small area surrounded by a three-meter-high wall, cutting off access to the non-Jewish part of the city. Around 460,000 people, about one-third of the city’s population, were forced to live in an area covering roughly 2.4 percent of the city, leading to severe overcrowding. It was the largest and most populated ghetto in Nazi-occupied Europe.⁵ Both in 1941 and in the first half of 1942, approximately 10 percent of ghetto residents died, mostly from hunger and various diseases.⁶ From July to September 1942, over 265,000 Jews were deported to the Treblinka extermination camp and perished. Post-deportations, the Warsaw Ghetto transformed significantly, resembling more of a concentration camp than its former state. The Warsaw Ghetto Uprising in April 1943 saw over 20,000 Jews seeking refuge post-revolt. Following the suppression of the revolt, the Germans converted the ghetto ruins into a concentration camp.⁷

Examining the first 34 months of the German occupation sheds light on how the extreme changes faced by Warsaw’s Jewish population influenced their emotional experiences, including the portrayal of love during this period. This exploration of the evolving role of romantic love amidst crisis situations draws on several lenses of the history of emotions. The term ‘emotional practices,’ as defined by Monique Scheer, theorizes that emotions are produced through their practice, viewing emotions as actions that are ‘done’ or performed. These performances vary based on cultural and historical contexts. Scheer’s practice theory shifts the focus away from the challenging pursuit of finding emotional truths or sincerity. Instead, it asks how and why historical actors mobilized their feelings in specific ways and cultivated particular skilled performances. It also considers the practical use of generating and deploying emotions in specific social settings. This approach was crucial for understanding why emotions were expressed and mobilized differently in various situations.⁸

Katie Barclay argued that while couples experience other emotions as part of their relationships, including joy, pain, and anger, ‘love was the framework that gave their romantic relationship meaning and context.’⁹ Love served as the lens through which other emotional experiences and expectations were interpreted. Emotions are essentially subjective responses to the personal meanings that people attribute to events, occurrences, interactions, and fluctuations in relationships.

Critical questions revolving around love have been extensively explored in Holocaust research literature. This article will not delve into love between parents and children but will instead focus specifically on romantic relationships between couples, which have not received similar attention.¹⁰ Furthermore, previous studies did not employ the methodologies provided by the history of emotions. How did individuals perceive their roles as partners? How did the victims manage the challenges posed to love? These inquiries explore the reactions and perceptions of relationships within the Jewish public of Warsaw, examining how extreme conditions in the ghetto shaped romantic relationships. Therefore, this article focuses on how Jewish women and men understood, experienced, and practiced love in the Warsaw Ghetto.

Before proceeding to the body of the article, I will make two more preliminary remarks. First, the focus on the Warsaw Ghetto as a research subject is due to the abundance of accessible documentation, including archival materials such as diaries, letters, survivor testimonies, and later recollections. The chosen period, the first 34 months of the German occupation, was selected because the onset of the great deportation fundamentally altered the nature of the ghetto. Concluding the examination at this point allows for a focused exploration of romantic love during this period. Additionally, the Jewish community in Warsaw was diverse and heterogeneous. The majority of documents I will be using in the following pages involve middle or upper-class Jews, mostly secular, who were either married or single, reflecting a segment of Warsaw’s population.

Love under extreme conditions

The tumultuous times under the occupation tested the very essence of relationships, and there were those in the midst of the relentless challenges who discovered, embraced, and clung to love. Individual Jews thought, discussed, bothered and also wrote about love and their wish to find a partner. Fifteen years old girl Janina Bauman¹¹ described in her diary how she would talk with her friend Zula about boys and love. The two wondered if their friend Renata was in love with her boyfriend Tadek, and Janina felt jealous of their love. ‘I envy her not because I fancy Tadek, which I don’t, but because she’s in love and somebody is in love with her.’ She mentioned that she was enchanted by her friend Artek and even kissed him, but she didn’t feel anything for him. ‘He was more a Hamlet than a Romeo for me. And it’s Romeo I’m longing for.’¹²

Others were fortunate not to have to wait for the right person and were lucky to meet their love by chance. Theodore H’talgie recounted that before the ghetto was sealed, something significant happened in his life, and he could remember the date well - 22 April 1940. ‘The apartment door suddenly opened, and a beautiful young woman appeared in the door, whom I was enchanted by from the moment I saw her, and it was love at first sight… If there was a point of light in the darkness of that period, it was that love that connected us.’¹³

Jews who had just begun dating typically met for their first dates in the public spaces of the ghetto. Before the war, it was generally acceptable for middle and upper-class Jews to go on romantic dates and engage in conversation while walking in the streets, parks, or forests outside the city. Survivor Miriam Chwat referred to this practice as ‘strolling,’ noting that many couples frequented the same places at the same times, which provided young people with an opportunity to become acquainted with each other.¹⁴ When thinking about young people’s experiences, one imagines the start of relationships, the initial phase of connecting. At this stage, parents and those nearby may not yet be aware of the new romantic involvement. However, as the courtship progresses, thoughts shift to the potential for a long-term relationship and considering future connections.

Romantic encounters in the ghetto took on a slightly different form, with Jews on a date often strolling through the streets in the evening hours, especially in spring and summer, or gathering in the courtyards of houses during the late hours of the evening, after the imposed daily curfew.¹⁵ Ruben Feldschu (Ben Shem)¹⁶ described in his diary how the main streets in the ghetto were bustling with young men and women, numbering in their thousands, who would ‘flirt with love’ and display their nice attire.¹⁷ However, the streets in the ghetto were overcrowded, where suffering, misery, hunger, and disease were acute. The atmosphere echoed with shouts, vendors’ calls, and the melodies of music, singing, and recitations by beggars. Conversations and arguments between sellers and buyers added to the mix of crowd noise. In such a densely populated environment, privacy and quiet were precious commodities. ‘Wherever we turn, whatever we look at, all is ugliness. So, we run away and hide from it all in the flat. Here at least we are safe from sounds and smells. Not from other people, though,’ wrote Bauman, explaining that there was no privacy in the apartments either. In many cases, overcrowded living conditions meant that couples couldn’t always ensure they were alone.¹⁸

These living conditions profoundly affected how couples could express their desires and sexuality. Survivor Rosa Ozdoba described how she and her husband lived with his parents in the same small room. ‘Being physically close to my husband meant there were moments of intimacy – kissing, hugging, expressing love – that were often restricted or stripped away. The lack of privacy severely limited our options for intimacy.’¹⁹

For twenty-year-old Halina Szwambaum,²⁰ being in love posed challenges, primarily due to the absence of privacy. With her demanding work, she had little time to see her boyfriend. Their meetings were rushed, sometimes reduced to brief five-minute visits just to bid ‘good night.’ In a series of four letters, she maintained steady correspondence with her friend and former teacher, Stefania Liliental, who was living with her son on the Aryan side of the city under a false identity. In a letter penned in late June 1942, shortly before mass deportations commenced, she confided, ‘Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately, we will see), as I’ve mentioned before, I’m in love… I hardly have time to see him, and worse, nowhere to meet.’ She described how inside the buildings there was no privacy, as the noise of crowded streets and the heart-wrenching cries of suffering people on the sidewalks filled the air. Even during the quiet hours of night, her apartment echoed with the sounds of shared living, such as snoring and coughs.²¹

Social relations in the ghetto were central themes in satires and musical comedies reflecting daily frustrations. Among these was ‘Love Looks for an Apartment’ [Miłość szuka mieszkania] by Jerzy Jurandot²² which premiered at the Femina theater,²³ depicting two couples sharing an apartment in the overcrowded ghetto. Due to the lack of lodging, they were forced to move into one room. After a lot of comical complications, the couples swap partners. The characters ate ‘stuffed trout made of horse meat’ and ‘apple sauce from real beetroot.’ Though the only honeymoon trip that they could have was on the ghetto tram and they suffered the confiscation of their fur coats, they still went from time to time to a café on Leszno street.²⁴ Despite cramped conditions, they maintained a lighthearted outlook and concluded: ‘When there is nothing more you can do … you can still love each other.’ The play ended with a poignant love song, eliciting both tears and laughter from the audience simultaneously.²⁵

While attending plays depicting romantic love served as a coping strategy, there were various other responses to the situations portrayed in them. Some couples sought respite and found solace in the atmosphere of the ghetto cafés, where individuals could escape the bleakness of everyday life and enjoy music, poetry, humorous performances, fine cuisine, and beverages.²⁶ This form of entertainment was a luxury afforded by very few Jews, including the ghetto intelligentsia, members of the Jewish Order Police, smugglers, Jewish Council workers, and other elite members of the ghetto. Some of the cafés were ordinary establishments, while others served as meeting places for more dubious elements. While this group represented a minority, their presence deeply resonated within the Jewish public.²⁷ Some couples with financial means found romantic solace within this social circle. Stanisław Różycki, who visited such a café, vividly portrayed the scene, noting, ‘Lovers come to have their rendezvous.’²⁸

In April 1942, Irena Śmigielski frequented Café Sztuka for dates with Romek, whom she had encountered in the ghetto after her husband passed away. They watched a performance that captivated them, reluctantly leaving the café once it ended. Outside, they were abruptly reminded of the harsh reality of the streets. As a Jewish Council worker, Romek earned a modest salary that allowed him to occasionally take Irena out. Reflecting on these moments, Irena recalled, ‘You feel like you’re back in the good old times before the war.’²⁹

Different locations shaped emotional experiences, with unfamiliar settings often evoking pleasure and excitement. The theorist Henry Lefebvre emphasized that emotion and space were critically connected. Emotion is a resource that humans use to interpret their environment. Humans ‘feel’ in particular places and use that feeling to help assess meaning. These felt meanings, shaped by cultural ideals, physical environments, and human bodies, become part of how a particular space is understood and experienced.³⁰ In contrast, within the ghetto, overpopulation led to constant boundary violations both inside and outside of the houses.³¹ Another important aspect is that alternative spaces in the ghetto, like cafés, reflected how relationships served as more than personal connections; they also functioned as social statements reflecting one’s position in the intricate social hierarchy of the time. Those in positions of authority or with economic stability had access to resources and thus more opportunities to frequent cafés for dates. The social status of individuals significantly influenced how they experienced and expressed love.

Amidst this threatening situation, there were Jews who chose to leave the confines of the ghetto for romantic pursuits on the Aryan side and pretending to be non-Jewish. Crossing the boundaries of the guarded Ghetto without permission was illegal and required Jews not only to sneak out or bribe the guards but also to be aware of the risk of being caught while on the Aryan side. Measures of punishment were established sometime after the sealing of the ghetto, as the Germans tried to fight against smuggling. The punishment was a fine of 1,000 złotys, three months in prison, or both. The severity of the restrictions was evident when the Germans began imposing the death penalty for Jews caught on the Aryan side in November 1941.³²

Theodore H’talgie recounted how he and his girlfriend would often do daring things, such as taking off their armbands³³ and walking in the streets and parks of Warsaw, even venturing into forests outside the city. For them it was ‘as if nothing were happening, as if there were no occupation, death, suffering. We were young, and I believe we saw our world, and love, as a kind of shield that allowed us to face any danger.’³⁴ Smuggling outside of the ghetto for a date was a departure from its constraints, providing couples a chance to experience romantic moments in a different light. In this setting, they found a sense of normalcy and emotional connection. Beyond mere escapism, their goal was the deliberate pursuit of romantic encounters in a pleasant atmosphere, seeking intimacy and anonymity not easily found within the ghetto’s confines. These emotional spaces shaped their quality of life and happiness and therefore can be understood as forms of emotional refuge.

The dating scene among single Jews demonstrates their eagerness to find and acknowledge love in the ghetto, even though it seems like an illogical time and place. Blake Schiff, who went on dates with a girl he loved, sarcastically claimed that the two ‘were very much in love, as one would call it at the time.’³⁵ The question of whether there was room and reason to engage in it arises in other descriptions as well. Marcel Reich-Ranicki,³⁶ who survived the war and later became a highly prominent literary critic in the Federal Republic of Germany, described how love persisted under extreme conditions:

The Jews in the Warsaw ghetto were tormented; they experienced terrible things. But from time to time they also experienced fine and wonderful things. They suffered. But they also loved. Except that love then was of a particular kind … Love inside the ghetto was clouded, every day and every hour, by the question of whether one would still be alive the following day. It was restless and quick, impatient and hasty. It was love at a time of starvation and typhus, at a time of terrible fear and deep humiliation. People, especially the young, got together seeking protection and shelter from one another, and also help. They were grateful for a few hours or even just five minutes of happiness… However, it was not the transience of love that worried lovers in the ghetto but the constant, ceaseless German threat: at any moment, even the most sublime, soldiers might suddenly come battering at the door with their rifle butts or even breaking it down. One was always afraid that they might brutally burst into the room. If all went well, we had an hour or two together … ³⁷

Reich-Ranicki and his companion, Tosia, found themselves in a fortunate circumstance. Tosia occupied a furnished room with her mother, who habitually spent afternoons outside their residence, allowing them moments of solitude. Conversations about their lives unfolded, and despite being scarcely 20, they shared ample experiences. Immersed in the works of poets such as Mickiewicz, Tuwim, Goethe, and Heine, Tosia aimed to acquaint him with Polish poetry, while he endeavored to enchant her with German verses. Their shared literary pursuits became a means to win each other’s hearts. Unacquainted with Freud’s formulation, they navigated the intricacies of love and mortality, the intertwining of joy and sorrow. As he put it, ‘Love was the narcotic with which we numb our fear – our fear of the Germans.’³⁸

After Reich-Ranicki left Tosia and hurried home before the curfew, he could, amidst the hardships, feel his thoughts consumed by the recent experiences. Later, lying in bed surrounded by the sounds of German firing, his reflections turned to Tosia and the poems they had shared, verses that momentarily granted respite from the daily threats and the looming specter of an uncertain fate in the midst of the surrounding barbarism.³⁹

Love poems and reading stories to each other were methods of conveying emotions, serving as a way to maintain human connections and relationships in a time of isolation. Expressing and sharing feelings of love and affection through literature allowed individuals to hold onto their romantic senses. Falling in love might have offered a way to fulfill these desires. Lovers sought solace through poems and stories, using words as vessels for their deepest emotions. Reading became a profound means of maintaining human connections. Shared narratives and verses provided a refuge for romantic sensibilities, offering an expression of love. The exchange of literary affections bore witness to love’s enduring power in times of isolation.

While thoughts of survival, obtaining food, and daily life struggles dominated in the ghetto, love endured. Despite extreme circumstances, there was a glimmer of hope for experiencing the joy of falling in love, reminiscent of pre-war days. Although love may not have fully blossomed, the potential for new love to emerge lingered. Falling in love was not a conscious decision; it is an emotion beyond one’s control. The fact that someone could still embrace love amid difficult conditions underscored their humanity and resilience. Within this capacity to love, significant strength and power were apparent.

The fracture of the war’s outset

During the initial months of the German occupation of Warsaw in September and October 1939, discernible demographic shifts were observed within the Jewish populace. This was a consequence of the fact that during this period, thousands of Jews from Warsaw were conscripted into the Polish army, many of whom were captured or fell in battles. While families believed that women and children would be protected from mistreatment, men feared they would become targets of physical harm by the Germans and would be sent for forced labor. Consequently, many of them fled before the start of the occupation to the territories in Eastern Poland annexed by the Soviet authorities in mid-September 1939. Additionally, a Polish decree called on young men to head eastward. In the initial months following the end of the battles, local Jewish leadership widely retreated to the East due to fears of revenge and persecution by Germans.⁴⁰ This reality left women with a numerical advantage in the population composition, compelling them to bear the burden of family existence and take charge of the household, even though many had not worked and had only marginally supported their husbands’ businesses before the war. This led to stark gender inequality and changes in the numerical balance between Jewish men and women.⁴¹

Women experienced profound and painful losses as husbands, fathers, brothers, and other men they loved and lived with were forced to flee, were captured, became victims of abuse, or were murdered. Women also suffered the loss of their rights and property, but in addition, they were deprived of the traditional emotional support they expected to receive from men.⁴²

During the battles over Warsaw in September 1939, there were longings and hopes to reunite with many spouses who had been forcibly separated and endured uncertainty. The limited means of communication and the necessity to wander toward enemy lines affected the ability of couples to maintain their connections. While many Jews who were not among the conscripts remained in the city of Warsaw, others chose to flee to save their lives from heavy bombings.⁴³ Ben Shem fled together with his family to the East, but the battles caught up with them, and they were forced to return along their path. Along with them were additional escapees, including a young Jewish doctor named Dr. Peck, who had been conscripted into the army. He was injured during the battles and later attempted to return to the city and reunite with his partner, Rachelle. When they arrived in the town of Otwock, about 20 kilometers from Warsaw, the doctor shared his yearnings for her:

There is no cruelty like fate. How many steps away from my place of happiness, from my beloved abode, I am attached to my bed and cannot go there to see her, to embrace her to my chest, and gaze into her pure and radiant eyes. I would want to run, to run and drag the dust of the kilometers that bring me closer to her, and here I am bound … and who knows what she is thinking at this moment. She should know that I am so close to her, and day and night, I only carry myself over the surface of my love for and toward her, to her. Only to her.⁴⁴

Ben Shem described the doctor as ‘burning with love,’ primarily because he explained to the women among the escapees that he was not concerned that his beloved did not reciprocate what he felt toward her. ‘Our love is woven from the most delicate silk threads, no force in the world can sever them. Forever,’ he explained.⁴⁵

Roma Nutkiewicz recounted that during the initial months of the occupation, her close family relative Lina suffered heartbreak when her partner of four years announced he was leaving Warsaw to join his parents in Eastern Galicia. Lina ‘couldn’t bear the thought of his departure and gave him a loving farewell blessing.’ However, their separation was short-lived. The next day, he returned to Lina, explaining that he couldn’t leave her behind and travel so far without knowing when they would see each other again.⁴⁶

Avraham Michrowski detailed his mother’s experiences, describing how, after escaping with him from Łódź to Warsaw, she continued her correspondence with her spouse, Shlomo Oberbaum.⁴⁷ Despite significant personal risk, she undertook the task of collecting debts for Shlomo in the Warsaw area. This perilous endeavor involved traveling in a decrepit cart with a horse to the countryside, enduring exposure to harsh weather conditions and the threat of police patrols. Her determination saw her returning home freezing and drenched, yet having successfully completed her mission. After several months, Shlomo, overwhelmed by longing, proposed marriage and presented her with a choice: either he would come to Warsaw, or she would travel to Łódź. Given the heightened security and the fatal consequences for men caught crossing the border, she believed that, as a woman, she had a better chance of safely navigating the journey. She decided to travel to Łódź, where the two were married. Subsequently, her son Avraham was also smuggled into Łódź.⁴⁸

The first meeting after a long period of separation was aroused by Edward Reicher, who managed to leave Łódź and enter the Warsaw ghetto to reunite with his wife, Pola. When they finally met, he found his wife very thin, aged, looking out of sorts, and depressed. He wondered what had happened to one of the most beautiful, elegant women he knew. She noticed his searching gaze. ‘All this will pass,’ she said. ‘I feel like a caged bird. The bird grows sad in its cage, its feathers lose their sheen, and one day it dies. The same thing is happening to me. I’m worn out, I’m exhausted, but that’s because you were not with me.’ He pulled her close and said, ‘We must be inseparable, Pola. But if we have to, we must have the strength to separate again.’⁴⁹

Communication between distant spouses was maintained through various methods, with letters⁵⁰ sent via postal services being a primary means.⁵¹ There were Jewish individuals who wrote letters, some of which were intended for their spouses, reflecting how love was formulated and communicated in words and how intentionality lies at the heart of the emotion of love – the intention that she or he ‘loves’ must be expressed in words. After the German occupation began, Irena Śmigielski, who was in Warsaw, used to exchange letters with her husband, Adek, who had been hospitalized in Łódź due to injuries sustained during the battles in September 1939. During this time, she wrote him a letter every day, and he responded as often as his strength allowed.⁵² According to Historian Emma Carson, historically, letters were an important means of bridging the distance between those who were separated. During wartime in particular, letter-writing achieved a heightened sense of emotional importance due to its role in maintaining contact between large swathes of the population, and enabling them to exchange news, share dreams, create intimacy and evoke emotions, such as happiness and hope. As such, these items are ‘emotional objects’ and ‘were embedded within networks of affective exchange and thus came to capture or signify that emotional relationship for the owner’.⁵³

Perla (Paulina) Tytelman sent letters to her husband Joseph and her daughter Rachel, who were in Białystok under Soviet territory.⁵⁴ In one of these letters from 1941, she asked her daughter questions about herself, but then she shifted her focus to requesting her daughter to take care of her father: ‘How is little tatele (father) with his heart? … My beloved Rachel, I entrust you with the care of Dad. I am sure you are worthy of this, as you have already matured over this past year and gained experience that will greatly benefit you in life.’⁵⁵ Marta Rudnicka, who resided in the Łódź ghetto, corresponded through postcards and letters with her beloved, Bronek Hamburger, who was in Lwów (L’viv) under Soviet territory. In her memoirs, she reflected, ‘Our love was profound. We were young, and the world smiled upon us. Then the war began.’ Their final meeting occurred in early September 1939, a brief encounter where they exchanged words about the war. Three days later, like many other men, Bronek fled Łódź. It wasn’t until 1940 that Marta received a postcard from him confirming his survival in Lwów. Later, she received another postcard from him outlining his intent to return from the eastern territories to the Warsaw Ghetto, where his mother insisted he join her. He wrote about the risks, addressing her, ‘Be healthy, darling, I send you thousands of kisses, I kiss you strongly.’ Marta pleaded with him to reconsider, but her efforts were in vain. From Warsaw, she received his desperate postcards, to which she responded with words of encouragement.⁵⁶

The exchange of letters was a vital emotional practice in building intimacy that was shattered due to the war. By sharing the difficulties of their lives, the distant spouses sought to provide mutual comfort and overcome loneliness and fear. But letters had other meanings as well. Couples’ connections were evident with men in the East sending parcels and letters to the ghetto. The vast majority of these letters came from Polish territory seized by Russia when the war began. Jews who had fled to these areas, once they gained an economic toehold in these new locales, began to send packages of food. The senders of these packages would always alert the recipient with a letter stating that goods were on the way, usually arriving some time before the package itself. Peretz Opoczyński,⁵⁷ a poet and writer who served as a ghetto postman courier, noted how women sensed their husbands’ care based on parcel contents. Families survived by using these packages, often selling them.⁵⁸ When packages stopped, economic strain and worry arose. The cessation also meant no news from spouses, intensifying concerns. This was particularly felt during the German invasion to the Soviet Union⁵⁹ in summer 1941, as Emanuel Ringelblum,⁶⁰ a diarist and the founder of the underground archive ‘Oneg Shabbat,’⁶¹ wrote, ‘Packages from Russia stopped, a tragedy for women with husbands there.’⁶²

Opoczyński wrote that people kept a special eye out for letters and treated a letter from Russia as something much more than writing on a scrap of paper: it was greeted as if it were a living messenger of good news still to come. According to him, ‘by reading between the lines of these letters and by the kinds of foodstuffs they promised, wives could tell, with that special sixth sense that women have, whether their husbands had been faithful while away.’⁶³ This remark emphasizes how reading letters in their historical context reveals the influence of culture and society on emotions, particularly in romantic relationships. Letters from Russia carried significant emotional weight, illustrating how societal conditions shaped personal feelings. This interplay underscores that emotions in relationships were deeply intertwined with broader social and economic factors, reflecting the interconnectedness of personal feelings and societal contexts.

Not only letters were used to express emotions, but also secret meetings. The establishment of the ghetto in November 1940, along with the physical pressure it created, often led to the dissolution of romantic relationships between spouses. Ringelblum wrote that ‘the ghetto has split up families. The wife goes off to the other side [The Aryan] to live with her brother, who is convert … the father remains in the ghetto with two other daughters’.⁶⁴ The walls not only restricted the ability of Jewish couples to maintain their relationships but also affected couples composed of Poles and Jews. Despite the Germans’ efforts to separate the Jewish and Polish populations, some of these relationships persisted. For instance, there were discreet meeting points between the ghetto and the Aryan side that were exploited for this purpose, such as the corridors of the courthouse at 53/55 Leszno Street, which had two entrances – one from the Aryan side and the other from the ghetto. The institution formally served to address bureaucratic matters between Jews and Poles, yet a notable portion of those who came through its gates had social, business, or romantic trysts.⁶⁵ Historian Tim Cole suggested that the courthouse was ‘third space’ between the two worlds where strict spatial segregation became blurred, functioning as a shared space.⁶⁶

In order to enter the compound without a judicial summons, it was necessary to bribe the guards with a sum of five złoty or more. Sometimes, Jews found in the courthouse were arrested and checked to ascertain their reasons for being in the building.⁶⁷ Zygmunt Millet, a lawyer, district commander of the Jewish Police Order Service, and associate of the ‘Oneg Shabat’, described, ‘Many a time I have seen a young couple on the fourth floor in the court. Him – a boy maybe 22 years of age, blond with blue eyes, and her – black hair, slim, with the face of Judith. They were both beautiful with that strange love of theirs, the joy that radiated from their youth, and the strange sadness, which only served to underscore their dire position.’⁶⁸ Abraham Lewin⁶⁹ noted in his diary that a person who was present at the courthouse told him about these meetings. ‘There is in these meetings an overflowing of human tragedy and suffering. A Christian woman arrives and kisses her Jewish husband. She brings him a small parcel of food. They talk for a few minutes, move away to one side, kiss again and separate. He back to the ghetto and she to the Aryan part of Warsaw.’⁷⁰ There were also couples that met at the borders of the ghetto in exchange for bribes to the guards. Ringelblum described in his diary, ‘A scene: he an Aryan, she Jewish; They rendezvous at the border. The watch moves discreetly aside, and they have an intimate conversation.’⁷¹

Love served as a way to escape reality, but mostly it was driven not by strategy but by a fundamental human need. It led individuals to make irrational choices, transcending societal boundaries of wrong and right. People were willing to take risks for the sake of love. These attempts were fraught with tangible danger to the lives of those involved. They required courageous coping from the couples who worried and feared for their loved ones, but also from the loneliness and the possibility of remaining alone, especially given the harsh conditions.

The vulnerability of love

At times, differences of opinion arose between couples regarding childcare and protection. Such disagreements threatened love and the stability of the relationship between partners.⁷² In the face of poverty, couples frequently grappled with conflicts that significantly impacted their relationships, often revolving around issues of food supply and distribution. The scarcity of resources intensified tensions, leading to disputes over access to food and even instances of one partner consuming provisions without informing the other. The struggle for basic necessities heightened the strain on relationships, as individuals navigated the challenging circumstances with limited resources, fostering an environment where survival necessities became a focal point of contention within couples.⁷³

The expression of romantic love changed over time because of the conditions. Sabina Lustig, who was a teenager, recounted a family dinner during one of the holidays: a potato, some carrots, onions, and a loaf of black bread. This loaf, half of a small one, had to be divided among seven people. Her father cut the bread into seven slices. Her older brother and she took theirs first, then the little children. Her father and mother were left with just the tiny end pieces. Seeing that his piece was slightly bigger, her father tried to give it to her mother, but she insisted he keep it. ‘It was such a game. What love there was between this couple. I always told my mother that if I get married, I want a husband like my father. A husband who will love me the way my father loves her.’⁷⁴ In this case, the parents’ expressions of love and care were influenced by the scarcity and hardships they faced. Their playful negotiation of sacrifices shows a unique emotional resilience and mutual support, illustrating how love and commitment can grow stronger amid challenges, highlighting the interaction between historical circumstances and emotional expressions.

Contrasting with the intimate dynamics within Lustig’s family, other situations reveal a different facet of love. Naomi Shatz-Weinkrantz was dedicated to her work as a clerk in the Jewish Council, aiding the community with appeals and assistance. She found the job frustrating, yet she persisted in working to cover personal expenses and assist relatives. She kept her financial aid to others a secret from her husband. During an argument, he accused her of being stubborn and overworking, affecting her health and nerves. Despite this, she chose to keep working:

For my personal expenses, I must earn for myself. I can’t take from anyone. Without hesitation, I review my modest budget […] Jurek presses me: ‘Leave this job, it’s not yielding anything for you.’ ‘Why nothing?’ – ‘Well, nothing. Absolutely nothing, as the income is insignificant compared to your investment.’ Jurek is my husband, cherished above all, but he can’t know everything. He hides from me that he gives money to his mother. Why is he afraid of me?⁷⁵

Shatz also stole four food ration cards during work which were given to workers in the Jewish council.⁷⁶ Jurek was suspecting and asked her if she ‘takes cards with her left hand’ and pondered if stealing was worthwhile. She concealed her actions and described how ‘Jurek knows nothing about the cards, that’s the first secret, the first point of separation between us. If I had told him, he wouldn’t have been pleased.’⁷⁷

In the ghetto’s harsh conditions, couples may resort to deception for safety and survival. Naomi and her husband, in a stable relationship, reassess their love amid challenges. Despite her deep love and respect, Naomi faced conflict between loyalty to her husband and the urgent need for family survival. Choosing to assist discreetly, she prioritizes their well-being, risking trust in their marriage. Aware of the consequences, Naomi grappled with sacrificing honesty for the greater good, navigating complexities where practical decisions sometimes overshadow spousal considerations.

Is love, viewed as a commitment, a profound and enduring pledge to prioritize support, and cherish another person? Does it transcend fleeting emotions, evolving into a steadfast dedication to the well-being and happiness of the loved one? Does commitment in love involve navigating challenges together, standing by each other in times of adversity, and actively working towards the growth and sustenance of the relationship? Does it imply a promise to weather the storms of life as a unified force, fostering a deep sense of security and trust? Can love, when viewed as a commitment, go beyond mere romantic feelings and become a conscious choice to invest time, effort, and energy into building a resilient and enduring connection that withstands the test of time?

The idea that spouses were always together out of romantic love is simplistic. Historical documents show that practical concerns often played a significant role in marital relationships. A spouse’s care might stem not from love, but from a commitment to survival, protection, or providing essential needs like medical care. While romantic love influenced some relationships, many couples were driven by factors such as protecting a spouse from forced labor, fearing wartime solitude, or seeking better living conditions.⁷⁸

Some courtship and marriages were accelerated with a sense of urgency during the war. Weddings became a mass phenomenon, including many that had been postponed due to parental objections. There was a notable increase in marriages during the resettlement in the ghetto.⁷⁹ This survival-driven dynamic became crucial, with women marrying not for elite status but for a better chance at life – a necessity rooted in existential realities. Cultural sociologist Eva Illouz coined the term ‘emotional capitalism’ to describe how emotions like romantic love became commercialized and linked to various objects and goods.⁸⁰

While it’s inaccurate to generalize these actions solely as driven by romantic love across Jewish society, it’s crucial to recognize how practical assistance and emotional bonds interplayed. Individuals had varied experiences where practical help often intertwined with emotional connections, highlighting a complex relationship between love and support. Alexander Donat found himself in a melancholic state due to his lack of employment, which left him feeling isolated as everyone he knew was working and busy. His efforts to find work proved futile, deepening his dissatisfaction. He understood the humiliation of asking his wife for money for cigarettes, recognizing how it strained their domestic harmony. Despite his despondency, he remarked, ‘My wife, however, was very tactful and understanding, never impatient, never addressing a single reproach to me, although she might well have done.’ She empathized deeply with his suffering, doing everything possible to uplift his spirits. Reflecting on the hardships of wartime, she remarked that it often elevated the worst in people, leaving decent individuals to simply endure. Though her words didn’t entirely dispel his concerns, Alexander appreciated her empathy and support.⁸¹ Alongside prevalent feelings of fear and anguish, there were also sacrifices and instances of romantic attachments, each revealing different facets of love in complex circumstances.

In certain survivors’ testimonies, as recounted in retrospective accounts, one can see how survivors intertwine love with their determination to survive. For instance, Guta Gordon recounted in her testimony that she and her spouse ‘loved each other, and I survived because of him.’⁸² Another illustration involves Adam and Pela Starkopf, a young married couple, encountered a significant challenge when Adam was apprehended outside the ghetto without the mandated armband, attempting to procure food. Subsequently, he was taken to the ghetto prison. En route, Adam appealed to the Jewish policeman accompanying him, requesting permission to bid farewell to his family before being incarcerated. Remarkably, the policeman acquiesced, allowing Adam a poignant moment to share a goodbye kiss with his wife. Pela’s resourcefulness and bravery were instrumental in securing Adam’s release, as she negotiated with and bribed a policeman. According to Adam, ‘During the war, I think we proved to each other that one for the other would be… spare and save the other one. She would give her life to save me. I would give my life to save her… we were fighting for it very, very strong.’⁸³

In the extreme conditions of the Warsaw Ghetto, couples recognized that staying together could improve their chances of survival. Men and women wanted to confront the challenges of that time as a team. Separation from a partner could be emotionally destructive, especially during crises, and people understood the importance of offering emotional support to their partners, not wanting them to face uncertainty alone. In that context, survivor Rachel Auerbach⁸⁴ wrote, ‘Two things only thrive in the closed ghetto, two very important things: love and death.’⁸⁵ She suggested that love and death were part of everyday life in the ghetto. Despite their seeming disparity, these two concepts collided, becoming equally present, enduring, and perhaps even thriving in some sense.

Coping with the loss of a partner reflected love, emotions, and care for a spouse. Couples had planned futures together, envisioning enduring marriages and lives. The absence of their spouses remained vivid for those who were left alone. In early 1940, Irena Śmigielski traveled from Warsaw to Łódź to visit her wounded husband, Adek, who had been drafted into the Polish army at the beginning of the war and was hospitalized after several surgeries. She recounted how they ‘fell into each other’s arms and kissed for the first time since he had been gone.’ After Adek was sent to a hospital in Warsaw, it turned out he suffered from inflammation. In order to be next to him, she went to her workplace to request time off. ‘Only then, as I described the events of the night to my boss and colleagues, did I realize that I was going to lose my husband. Tears ran down my face.’

Later, a nurse at the hospital instructed Irena to fetch ice from another building. ‘As I walked back with the ice, the snow cracking under my feet, I suddenly felt an inexplicable happiness and lightness. I couldn’t understand what had happened. I rushed to the building where Adek lay.’ Her mother-in-law later told her that while she was out, Adek had stopped breathing momentarily but had awoken and asked for her. The nurse told Irena to take Adek into her arms and hold him for a moment while she straightened his pillow. She did so, and in that moment, he shivered and died. They had been married for 11 months, and she became a 21-year-old widow. Perhaps in a mystical way, she recounted, ‘He seemed to be waiting for me, as if he did not want to die before I returned.’⁸⁶

These emotions of love were reflected in another account of grief, where a heartfelt tribute expressed deep sorrow, recalling cherished memories and celebrating their life. In emotional contexts, such tributes conveyed intense longing, often with poetic descriptions of their qualities, shared experiences, and the void left by their absence. In an essay penned by a man named Wojdysławski, who mourned his partner Rachel lost to violence, he illustrated his longing with these words:

The pine forest I know so well, with so many memories, suddenly appears before my eyes in the darkness. I see the shapely figure and delicate features of my summer queen - Rachela. Her face looks just as I saw it last time. I remember that glowing night not so long ago and the beauty of the forest’s terrifying majesty. That last night. The night of love. The night when we knew only love and thought about nothing else. I could swear the creature next to me is not human. This petite figure in a white dress is not Rachela, but a Nymph. She walked out of the river and lured me back. The clothes on the bank melted and disappeared in the faint glow … Rachela throws her arms around my neck. Her petite shapely body embraces me tightly … We hear the rhythm of our hearts beating as one. We stand pressed against each other, embraced. Her lips are so close, so tempting … It happened. Our first and last kiss. Blushing, Rachela grabbed her dress and ran into the forest … I called out — Come back! And her voice answered from the forest (or maybe I imagined it). — Remember!… Yes, Rachela. I remember what we promised to each other and I shall fight for this idea until I die…⁸⁷

Wojdysławski sought to preserve the memory of his spouse by reminiscing about their first encounter. With vivid detail, he described Racela’s physical presence and gestures. Even after her passing, his love endured, evolving into an enduring form of romance. This highlights that love is more powerful than death, for we do not stop loving somebody simply because they are gone. Such sentiments resonate deeply for partners facing permanent separation where reunion is impossible. The surviving partner continued to cherish and long for their loved one, grappling with the profound challenge of overcoming such a loss.

Conclusions

The exploration of romantic love among Jews in the ghetto reveals profound insights into their emotional experiences. Using the history of emotions as a lens, different perspectives on love emerge, reflecting how familial structures and the relentless pursuit of survival shaped relationships. Amidst the harsh realities of ghetto life, couples often found their bonds strengthened by shared histories, mutual responsibilities, and a longing for companionship and affection. However, the study also reveals that relationships required deliberate analysis and effort. Shifts in emotional expression and questions of identity influenced how individuals viewed their connections with others. This nuanced understanding is crucial in interpreting letters, diaries, and memories that document love and relationships during this period. While my research has focused on the experiences of a segment of Warsaw’s population, it is important to note the limited documentation and perspectives, particularly from religious, secular, and elderly Jews. Future studies could benefit from comparative research across different ghettos to broaden our understanding of love during the Holocaust. Such comparative analyses would enrich our knowledge of the diverse and intricate stories that define this historical period. Holocaust survivor and novelist Aharon Appelfeld captured the enduring human spirit amidst adversity: ‘People in the ghettos remained human despite hunger. The Holocaust exposed life, bringing things into sharp clarity that I might not have otherwise recognized. For example, love. Only someone who experienced the Holocaust understands that love is not what we think.’ ⁸⁸

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Eyal Ginsberg

Eyal Ginsberg is a doctoral student at the Department of Jewish History, Tel Aviv University. His dissertation focuses on the economic conduct and management of Jewish inhabitants of the Warsaw and Łódź Ghettos.

Notes

1. Testimony of Aviva Unger, Massuah Archive 58,230.

2. 14 Glenn Dynner and François Guesnet, “Introduction,” in Warsaw: The Jewish Metropolis: Essays in Honor of the 75th Birthday of Professor Antony Polonsky, ed. Dynner and Guesnet (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 2–4.

3. Lea Preiss, Displaced Persons at Home: Refugees in the Fabric of Jewish Life in Warsaw September 1939- July 1942, (Jerusalem: Yad Vashem, 2015), 54–64; Roger Moorhouse, Poland 1939: the outbreak of World War II (New York: Basic Books, Hachette Book Group, 2020), 187–189.

4. During October 1939, a Judenrat (Jewish council) was set up in Warsaw; bank account, deposits, and saving accounts of Jews frozen, with a weekly limit of 250 złoty for withdrawals and a ban on possession of more than 2,000 złoty in cash; decree banning ritual slaughter of animals; compulsory labor for Jews aged 14 to 60. Barbara Engelking and Jacek Leociak, The Warsaw Ghetto: A Guide to the Perished City, Trans. E. Harris (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009), 37.

5. Israel Gutman, The Jews of Warsaw, 1939–1943: Ghetto, Underground, Revolt (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1982), 62–65; The Yad Vashem Encyclopedia of the Ghettos during the Holocaust, vol. 2, eds. Guy Miron and Shlomit Shulhani (Jerusalem: Yad Vashem, 2009), 902; Anja Nowak, Violent Space: The Jewish Ghetto in Warsaw (Indiana University Press, 2023), 181–188; Jadwiga Biskupska, Survivors: Warsaw Under Nazi Occupation (Cambridge University Press, 2022), 110–115; Tim Cole, “Placing the Ghetto: Warsaw and Budapest, 1939–1945,” Polin Studies in Polish Jewry 31 (2019): 365–380. muse.jhu.edu/article/713508.

6. Maria Ferenc Piotrowska, ‘“Isle of Death”: The Demographic Grounds of Social Changes in the Warsaw Ghetto,’ Annales de Démographie Historique 136, no. 2 (2018): 141–143.

7. Miri Freilich and Martin Dean, “Warsaw,” Encyclopedia of Camps and Ghettos, 1933–1945 (USHMM, Indiana University Press, Bloomington and Indianapolis), Volume II, 456–460. For detailed research about this period see: Havi Dreifuss (Ben Sasson), Geto Varsha Hasof: April 1942-June 1943 [Warsaw ghetto – the end: April 1942-June 1943] (Jerusalem: Yad Vashem, 2017).

8. Monique Scheer, “Are Emotions a Kind of Practice and is that What Makes Them Have a History? A Bourdieuian Approach to Understanding Emotion,” History and Theory 51, no. 2;(2012): 190–220.

9. Katie Barclay, “Doing the Paperwork: The Emotional World of Wedding Certificates,” Cultural and Social History 16 (2019): 5.

10. For researches about Holocaust and emotions see for example: Barbara Engelking, “Tajemnica Hesi. Zapis emocji w świadectwach Zagłady,” Zagłada Żydów. Studia i Materiały 10 (2014): 168–184; Jonathan Friedman, “Togetherness and Isolation: Holocaust Survivor Memories of Intimacy and Sexuality in the Ghettos,” The Oral History Review 28, no. 1 (2001): 1–16. https://doi.org/10.1525/ohr.2001.28.1.1

11. Janina Bauman (1926–2009) lived in the Warsaw ghetto together with members of her family for more than two years, and then for a further two years she lived on what was known as the ‘Aryan side’. She wrote her account, 40 years after the events recorded, on the basis of fragments of a diary and notes made during the period, which she retained. After the war, she studied journalism in Warsaw, worked as a translator, researcher, and script editor. In 1968, prompted by the wave of antisemitism following the March events, she departed Poland alongside her husband, Zygmunt Bauman. Keith Tester, “Introduction to a Special Section: Remembering Janina Bauman,”Thesis Eleven 107, no. 1 (2011): 66–69. https://doi.org/10.1177/0725513611421478

12. Janina Bauman, Winter in the morning: A young girl’s life in the Warsaw ghetto and beyond, 1939–1945 (New York: Free Press, 1986), 49–50. (entry dated 3 August, 1941)

13. Testimony of Theodore H’talgie, YVA, O.3/6546.

14. Maria-Miriam Chwat, Visual History Archive (hereafter VHA), University of Southern California Shoah Foundation, Interview Code 48,599. In interwar Poland, establishing long-term friendships between opposite sexes became acceptable without tarnishing a woman’s reputation or jeopardizing her marriage prospects. Specifically, the younger generation of Polish-Jewish women born shortly before or after World War I adapted their self-development processes to the technological and cultural changes brought by the twentieth century, influenced by the Great War and the modernizing trends of European society. Consequently, young women’s patterns of courtship and perspectives on marriage underwent significant transformations. Jolanta Mickute, “Modern, Jewish, and Female: The Politics of Culture, Ethnicity, and Sexuality in interwar Poland, 1918–1939” (PhD Diss., Indiana University, 2011), 196.

15. Memories of Stanislaw Gombinski, Ghetto Fighters House Archive, 2557; Mark Stok, diary, Żydowski Instytut Historyczny (AŻIH), 302/144.

16. Ruben Ben Shem (1900–1980) was a public figure, revisionist activist, rabbi, educator, journalist and publicist, documenter, researcher, and writer in Poland and Israel. Laurence Weinbaum. “Shaking the Dust Off: The Story of the Warsaw Ghetto’s Forgotten Chronicler, Ruben Feldschu (Ben Shem),” Jewish Political Studies Review (2010): 7–44.

17. Ruben Ben Shem, diary, YVA, P.60/53 (entry dated end of April, 1941).

18. Bauman, Winter in the morning, 63. (entry dated July 21, 1942)

19. Rosa Ozdoba, VHA, USC Shoah Foundation, Interview Code 47,906.

20. Halina Szwambaum, born around 1921 in Warsaw to cultivated, middle-class parents, died in April 1943 while fighting alongside her lover in the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. Halina Szwambaum, “Błagam o listy,” Karta 63 (2010): 34–43.

21. Halina Szwambaum, “4 Letters from the Warsaw Ghetto,” Commentary 31, no. 6 (1961): 486–492.

22. Jerzy Jurandot, born Jerzy Glejgewicht (1911–1979), was a Polish poet of Jewish ancestry, dramatist, satirist, and songwriter. In 1942, he became the literary manager of the theatre Femina in the Warsaw Ghetto. He escaped before the Ghetto’s liquidation and hid with non-Jewish friends. After the war, he managed the satirical theatre and directed the Satirical Theatre in Warsaw. Holmgren, Beth. “Cabaret identity: How best to play a Jew or pass as a Gentile in wartime Poland.” Journal of Jewish Identities 7, no. 2 (2014): 15–33.

23. Femina Theatre, situated in the ghetto at Leszno 35, was led by Jerzy Jurandot and opened on 20 June 1941. Its auditorium could accommodate approximately nine hundred spectators, featuring exceptional Jewish actors, singers, and dancers. The theatre hosted over 10 premieres during its tenure in the ghetto. Katarzyna Person, Assimilated Jews in the Warsaw Ghetto, 1940–1943 (New York: Syracuse University Press, 2014), 116–117.

24. Ibid, 117–118.

25. Jerzy Jurandot and Stefania Grodzieńska, Miasto skazanych; Dwa lata w warszawskim getcie; Dzieci getta, ed. Agnieszka Arnold and Sebastian Matuszewski (Warsaw: Muzeum Historii Żydów Polskich, 2014); Sławomir Buryła and Jerzy Giebułtowski, “Representing the Warsaw Ghetto in Polish Literature,” The Polish Review 68, no. 1 (2023): 59–74. https://doi.org/10.5406/23300841.68.1.04

26. Michel Mazor, The Vanished City: Everyday Life in the Warsaw Ghetto (New York: Marsilio, 1993), 42.

27. Jonasz Turkow, Study entitled “Varshe vaylt zikh…“ [Warsaw Has a Good Time…], YVA, M.10.AR.1/90.

28. Stanisław Różycki, A study of ‘Kawiarnie’ [Cafés], YVA, M.10.AR.1/50.

29. Irena Śmigielski, ‘The Stolen Years,” memories, AŻIH, 302/316. See also on this topic: Stella Penzer, VHA, USC Shoah Foundation, Interview Code 15,346.

30. Katie Barclay, The History of Emotions: A Student Guide to Methods and Sources (Bloomsbury Publishing, 2020), 111–112.; Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space (London: Wiley, 1991).

31. Nowak, Violent Space, 58; Dalia Ofer, ‘Narrating Daily Family Life in Ghettos under Nazi Occupation: Concepts and Dilemmas,’ in Jewish and Romani Families in the Holocaust and its Aftermath, ed. Eliyana R. Adler and Katerina Capková (Ithaca, NY: Rutgers University Press, 2021), 72. https://doi.org/10.36019/9781978819542–004. See also: Bauman, Winter in the Morning, 61–63.

32. ‘An announcement signed by Dr. Ludwig Fischer, the German governor of the Warsaw district, that escape from the ghetto is punishable by death,’ Ghetto Fighters House Archives, 11576p. Already at the end of January 1941, a German directive was issued detailing the punishments that would be imposed on a Jew caught without permission on the Aryan side. Samuel D. Kassow, Who Will Write Our History?: Emanuel Ringelblum, the Warsaw Ghetto, and the Oyneg Shabes archive (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007), 107, 276. See also: ‘Third Regulation for Restrictions of Residence in the Government-General, October 15, 1941,’ in: Yitzhak Arad, Gutman and Margaliot, Documents on the Holocaust : Selected Sources on the Destruction of the Jews of Germany and Austria, Poland, and the Soviet Union, (San Diego: Elsevier Science & Technology, 1987), 181.

33. On November 23, 1939, Hans Frank, the governor of the Generalgouvernement, a German zone of occupation in Poland, issued an order stating that all Jews aged 10 and above must wear a white cloth armband, 10 cm wide, marked with a blue Star of David on their right arm. Even after the Jews were confined to the ghetto, physically separating them from the rest of the population, the directive of wearing a distinctive badge was still enforced. Engelking and Leociak, The Warsaw Ghetto, 141–42.

34. Testimony of Theodore H’talgie, YVA, O.3/6546.

35. Blake B. Schiff, VHA, USC Shoah Foundation, Interview Code 45,785.

36. Marcel Reich-Ranicki (1920–2013) was born into a Jewish family in Poland and moved to Berlin as a boy. In 1938, his family was deported back to Poland, where German occupation forced him into the Warsaw Ghetto. He escaped with his wife, whom he had met there, and spent two years hiding in the cellar of Polish peasants. After liberation, he worked as an editor and broadcaster in Poland. Reich-Ranicki fled communist rule in 1958, settling in West Germany. Tom Michael “Marcel Reich-Ranicki,” Encyclopedia Britannica, May 29, 2024. https://www.britannica.com/biography/Marcel-Reich-Ranicki (accessed June 21, 2024).

37. Marcel Reich-Ranick, The Author of Himself (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2020), 151–152.

38. Ibid, 151.

39. Ibid.

40. Biskupska, Survivors, 22–47.

41. Raquel Hodara,” The Polish Jewish Woman from the Beginning of the Occupation to the Deportation to the Ghettos,” Yad Vashem Studies 32 (2004): 397–432; Dalia Ofer, “Gender in Ghetto Diaries and Testimonies,” in eds. Dalia Ofer and Lenore J., Weitzman, Women in the Holocaust (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998), 145.

42. Nechama Tec, Nashim VeGvarim Betzel HaShoah [Men and Women in the Shadow of the Holocaust] (Jerusalem: Yad Vashem and The Ben-Gurion Research Institute for the Study of Israel and Zionism, 2012), 53–54.

43. Hodara, “The Polish Jewish Woman,” 331.

44. Ruben Ben Shem, diary, O.33/10793 (entry dated October 14, 1939).

45. Ibid.

46. Roma Nutkiewicz Ben-Atar, Ma SheHaZman VeHaEtzev Hotiru [What Time and Sorrow Have Left Behind] (Jerusalem: Yad Vashem, 2013), 53–54.

47. The two cities were situated in different German zones of occupation in Poland. Warsaw was situated in the Generalgouvernement, a German zone of occupation in Poland comprising the part of German-occupied Poland that was not directly annexed to Germany, attached to German East Prussia, or incorporated into the German-occupied Soviet Union after June 1941. Łódź was situated in the Reichsgau Wartheland (the Warthegau), a territory of Poland occupied by Nazi Germany in September 1939 and incorporated directly into the Third Reich. Named after the Warta River in what is now western Poland, the province had previously been part of the German state of Prussia. In November 1939, the city of Łódź, renamed Litzmannstadt by the German occupation authorities, was incorporated into the territory. Diemut Majer, ‘Non-Germans’ Under the Third Reich: The Nazi Judicial and Administrative System in Germany and Occupied Eastern Europe with Special Regard to Occupied Poland, 1939–1945 (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2003).

48. Avraham Michrowski, Life as a gift (Yad Vashem: Jerusalem, 2011), 47–48, 59.

49. Edward Reicher, Country of Ash: A Jewish Doctor in Poland, 1939 1945 (Bellevue Literary Press, 2013), 65–66.

50. There is an extensive literature about the history of writing letters, as well as love letters. See, for example: Miriam Dobson Miriam, “Letters,” in: Miriam Dobson and Benjamin Ziemann (eds.), Reading Primary Sources: The Interpretation of Texts from Nineteenth and Twentieth Century History (Abingdon: Routledge, 2009); Martyn Lyons,”Love Letters and Writing Practices: On Écritures Intimes in the Nineteenth Century,” Journal of Family History 24, No. 2 (1999), 232–239. For letters-writing during the Holocaust, see: Eliyana R. Adler, ‘Maintaining Family Networks via Post during the Holocaust,’ in Entanglements of War: Social Networks During the Holocaust, ed. Eliyana R. Adler and Natalia Aleksiun (Jerusalem : Yad Vashem, 2022), 84–85; Leon Saltiel, “Voices from the Ghetto of Thessaloniki: Mother – Son Correspondence as a Source of Jewish Everyday Life under Persecution,” Southeast European and Black Sea Studies 17, no. 2 (2017): 203–222.; Shirli Gilbert, “A Cache of Family Letters and the Historiography of the Holocaust: Interpretive Reflections,” The Journal of Holocaust Research, 36, No. 4 (2022), 281–298, DOI: 10.1080/25785648.2022.2122141

51. For most of the citizens of occupied Poland, postal services were the only way to contact the outside world, including relatives and friends in other towns and countries. Even before the ghetto was established, access to postal services was made difficult for Jews. For a comprehensive review of postal services in the Warsaw ghetto, see: Engelking and Leociak, The Warsaw Ghetto, 367–377.

52. Śmigielski, “The Stolen Years,” memories, AŻIH, 302/316.

53. Carson Emma, ‘Loneliness, the Love Letter and the Performance of Romance During Wartime Separation, 1939–1945,’ in The Routledge History of Loneliness, ed. Katie Barclay, Elaine Chalus and Deborah Simonton (London: Routledge, 2023), 435. See Also: Alison Twells, ‘“Went into raptures”: reading emotion in the ordinary wartime diary, 1941–1946,’ in Angharad Eyre, Jane Mackelworth, Elsa Richardson, eds., Love, Desire and Melancholy (London: Routledge, 2018), 143–160.

54. According to the terms of the German-Soviet Pact of 1939, Białystok, a city in northeastern Poland, was assigned to the Soviet zone of occupation. Soviet forces entered Białystok in September 1939, and held it until the German army occupied the city in June 1941 following the German invasion of the Soviet Union. After the outbreak of the Second World War, large numbers of refugees, many of whom were Jewish, began fleeing eastward from Nazi-occupied western and central Poland. The Jewish refugees arrived in two waves: the first from the outbreak of war until the Red Army’s entry into Poland on September 17, and the second from the Red Army’s entry into Poland until the closing of the German-Soviet border in December 1939. At this time most non-Jewish refugees returned to western Poland, while most Jewish refugees remained in the territories that were annexed to the Soviet Union. Sara Bender, The Jews of Białystok During World War II and the Holocaust (Hanover, NH: University Press of New England, 2008), 49–54.

55. Letters sent by family members in Warsaw to Josiek Tytelman and his daughter in Siberia 1940–1941, YVA, O.75.2065.

56. Postcards and the last letter received by Marta Rudnicka in Łódź from her beloved, Bronek Hamburger, in Lwów and Warsaw, 1940–1943; Bronek’s story written by Marta in Łódź, YVA, O.75/3928.

57. Peretz Opoczyński (1892–1943) – poet, writer, born in Lutomiersk near Łódź. In 1935 moved to Warsaw. In the interwar period he published in Yiddish and Hebrew. In the Warsaw ghetto he kept a diary, and wrote reports and stories about ghetto life. Samuel D. Kassow, “Introduction,” In Those Nightmarish Days: the Ghetto Reportage of Peretz Opoczyński and Josef Zelkowicz (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2015), vii-li.

58. Ibid, 37.

59. The turning point in the Nazis’ plan to “solve the Jewish problem” began with Operation Barbarossa, the invasion of the Soviet Union on June 22, 1941. Although Germany and the USSR had been allies under the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, this operation aimed to end the war quickly and provide ‘living space’ (Lebensraum) for Germany while destroying Communism. Hitler instructed harsh treatment of Soviet political officers and intellectuals, leading to the murder of Jewish women and children, escalating to all Jews by mid-August. Einsatzgruppen units, composed of SS, police, and local auxiliaries, carried out mass murders of Jews behind the advancing German army. Approximately 1.5 million Jews were killed by the end of 1941, often forced to undress, hand over valuables, and then shot near mass graves. Yitzhak Arad, The Holocaust in the Soviet Union (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2009); David Stahel, Operation Barbarossa and Germany’s Defeat in the East (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009).

60. Emanuel Ringelblum (1900–1944), a historian and social activist, documented the plight of Jews in Nazi-occupied Warsaw. Born in Galicia, he dedicated himself to social justice and scholarly pursuits, advocating for the oppressed. In the Warsaw Ghetto, he founded the “Oneg Shabbat” Archive. Ringelblum perished in the Holocaust, alongside countless others he sought to honor through his work. Kassow, Who Will Write Our History, 14–16; Engelking and Leociak, The Warsaw Ghetto, 839.

61. The “Oneg Shabbat” Archive, led by Emanuel Ringelblum, aimed to document life under Nazi occupation. Recruiting from diverse Jewish society, they captured the German influence on private and communal life in Warsaw and throughout Poland. With the escalating plight of Polish Jewry, efforts intensified to document deportations and extermination. Even after mass deportations to Treblinka in 1942, documentation continued. However, only the initial parts survived the war, now housed in the Jewish Historical Institute in Warsaw. For a detailed description of the archive, see: Kassow, Who Will Write Our History?.

62. Emanuel Ringelblum, Yoman Vereshimot Mitkufat Hamilhama [Diary and Notes] (Jerusalem: Yad Vashem, 1994), 296 (entry dated June, 1941). See also: testimony of John Aberbuch, Massuah Archive, AR-T-00007-003.

63. Kassow, In Those Nightmarish Days, 37–38.

64. Emanuel Ringelblum, Notes from the Warsaw ghetto: the Journal of Emanuel Ringelblum (New York: Mcgraw-Hill, 1958), 117 (entry dated December 31, 1941).

65. Henryk Bryskier, Yehudey Varsha tachat tzalav ha’keres [Żydzi pod swastyką, czyli, Getto w Warszawie w XX wieku] (Jerusalem: Yad Vashem, 2018), 169–170.

66. Cole, “Placing the Ghetto,” 378.

67. Abraham Lewin, A Cup of Tears: A Diary of the Warsaw Ghetto (Oxford: Basil Blackwell in association with the Institute for Polish-Jewish Studies, Oxford, 1988), 115. (entry dated June 3, 1942).

68. Zygmunt Millet [?] “The court,” YVA, M.10.AR.1/480 (after November, 1941).

69. Abraham Lewin (1893–1943) born in Warsaw to an Orthodox Jewish family, was a teacher and active Zionist before World War II. During the war, he remained in Warsaw, assisting with social aid and education, later joining the underground group ’Oneg Shabbat.’ He documented ghetto life until January 1943, contributing interviews and a diary to the archive. Lewin’s fate and the circumstances of his death remain unknown. Kassow, Who Will Write Our History, 171–173.

70. Lewin, A Cup of Tears, 116. (entry dated June 3, 1942).

71. Ringelblum, Notes from the Warsaw ghetto, 113. (entry dated December 20, 1940).

72. Miryam Papish, VHA, USC Shoah Foundation, Interview Code 46,989.

73. See for example: Ben Shem, diary, 33–34; Stanisław Rożycki, “Public Enemy No.1,” YVA, M.10.AR.1/429.

74. Testimony of Sabina Lustig, YVA, O.3/8792.

75. Naomi Shatz-Weinkrantz, Chalaf Im HaEsh: Reshimot Al Geto Varsha [Gone with the Fire: Notes on Warsaw Ghetto] (Jerusalem: Yad Vashem, 2003), 43.

76. Ration cards were distributed by a residence registration officer based on official, regularly updated lists of ghetto residents. Helene J Sinnreich, The Atrocity of Hunger: Starvation in the Warsaw, Łódź, and Krakow Ghettos During World War II (Cambridge University Press, 2023), 65–69.

77. Ibid, 46. On average, officials of the Judenrat consumed 1,665 calories daily, surpassing the intake of any other social group in the ghetto. See table 3.5 in Engelking and Leociak, The Warsaw Ghetto, 417; Charles G. Roland, Courage Under Siege: Starvation, Disease, and Death in the Warsaw Ghetto (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), 104.

78. Friedman, “Togetherness and Isolation,” 4–6.

79. Shimon Huberband, Kiddush Hashem: Jewish Religious and Cultural Life in Poland during the Holocaust, ed. J. Gurock and R. Hirt (New York: Yeshiva University Press, 1987), 202.

80. Eva Illouz, Consuming the Romantic Utopia: Love and the Cultural Contradictions of Capitalism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997).

81. Alexander Donat, The Holocaust Kingdom. A memoir (New York: Holocaust Library, 1978), 21.

82. Guta Gordon Fleising, VHA, USC Shoah Foundation, Interview Code 55,434.

83. Interview with Adam and Pela Starkopf, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum Collection (USHMM), RG-50.030.0221.

84. Rachel Auerbach (1903–1976) was a prominent writer, poet, and Holocaust researcher in Yiddish, Polish, and Hebrew literature. She documented the Holocaust through extensive testimonies and research on the Warsaw Ghetto, preserving the ‘Oneg Shabbat’ Archive. Auerbach also served as director of Yad Vashem’s Testimony Collection Department. Leora Bilsky, “Rachel Auerbach and the Eichmann Trial: A New Conception of Victims’ Testimonies,” The Journal of Holocaust Research 36, No. 4 (2022): 327–328. doi:10.1080/25785648.2022.2132730.

85. Notes from Rachel Auerbach diary, YVA, M.10.AR.1/641 (entry dated September 20,1941).

86. Śmigielski, “The Stolen Years,” memories, AŻIH, 302/316.

87. Wojdysławski, “Recollections, sketches and reflections,” YVA, M.10.AR.1/489 (January 8, 1942).

88. Rika Lichtman, “Only those who were in the Holocaust understand that love is not what we think,” Globes, April 15, 2007. https://www.globes.co.il/news/article.aspx?did=1000201605 (accessed January 28, 2024).