I’m looking into applying for Polish citizenship. No, I haven’t lost my mind, though my grandparents, if they could know my mind, would think so. Not only would consider me meshuga (crazy), but they would also recoil at the notion of identifying myself as part of an anti-Semitic nation. For to them, as for many other Jews, Poland was nearly as responsible for the murder of their relatives as were the Germans. Even my father, who was born in the U.S., told me to do him a favor when I got to Poland. “Please spit on the ground for me,” he said. 

Poland was once a relatively hospitable place for Jews, which explains why more than three million Jews once lived there. But following its independence after the First World War, it became increasingly anti-Semitic. There were movements to boycott Jewish businesses, to ban shchita (the ritual slaughter of animals), to brand Jews as disloyal to the Polish nation as well as acts of violence against Jews, to name just a few trends during the 1930s. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_the_Jews_in_Poland#Tensions_and_antisemitism)

My grandfather, who left Poland in 1920, was in touch with his family throughout the 1920s and 1930s, and was well aware of the growing anti-semitism in Poland and danger Polish Jews felt during these decades, not only from neighboring Nazi Germany, but also from their own countrymen. He did everything he could to get his family out. And I’m sure he believed, probably correctly, that his Christian neighbors did nothing to help the Jews of his hometown of Zambrow as they were ghettoized, massacred and then deported to their deaths. Righteous Polish Gentiles existed, but I have not heard of any stories of heroic gentiles from Zambrow.

Nor did Poland particularly distinguish itself during the war years. As Jan Gross recently detailed in his powerful book, Neighbors: The Destruction of the Jewish Community in Jedwabne, Poland, the Jews of Jedwabne, a town located just 30 miles (48 kilometers) north of Zambrow, were killed not by the Nazis, but by their Polish neighbors who, in 1941, locked them in a barn and set it on fire, killing hundreds of people. (see https://www.scribd.com/book/232955712/Neighbors-The-Destruction-of-the-Jewish-Community-in-Jedwabne-Poland) 

Following the war, on July 4, 1946, there was the Kielce Pogrom, when 42 of the Polish Jews who somehow survived the Holocaust returned to their home town only to be murdered by their Polish neighbors. (https://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/the-kielce-pogrom) And even after the murder of 90% of Polish Jewry, anti-Semitism did not end.  In 1968, there was the persecution of the remaining Jews of Poland, many of them Holocaust survivors, during which Jews were purged from the ruling Communist Party , stripped of their careers and property, and forced to flee the country. (https://www.timesofisrael.com/polish-president-apologizes-to-jews-for-1968-persecution/) 

All of which led former Israel Prime Minister Yitzchak Shamir to famously suggest that “[Poles] suck [anti-Semitism] with their mothers’ milk. This is something that is deeply imbued in their tradition, their mentality.” (https://polishforums.com/archives/2005-2009/news/yitzhak-shamir-prime-minister-israel-6475/)

Even today, Poland is drifting toward authoritarianism as the recent passage of the law, which makes criminal any statement that blames Poland for crimes committed during the Holocaust, attests.

So why, after all this, would I even think about wanting to be a citizen of this country? Two reasons. First, after my first trip to Poland in 2015, when I first began to wonder whether I was eligible for Polish citizenship,  I began to think that doing so would right, in some small way, a historical wrong. Maybe it could be some small measure of revenge, of getting something that belongs to me. Maybe I am rightfully a Polish citizen, and the only issue is proving it. And maybe, as a Polish citizen, by voting in Polish elections, I could in some small way contribute to the preservation of the democracy that emerged from the end of the Cold War. 

Admittedly, I’m not longing to identify myself as a Pole. But there are real benefits to becoming a Polish citizen. And what, you might ask, could I, as an American citizen, gain from Polish citizenship? In 2004, Poland became part of the European Union (better known as the EU). Thus, Polish citizenship confers not only the citizenship in that country, but also the benefits of EU citizenship, meaning “the right to free movement, settlement and employment across the EU.” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Citizenship_of_the_European_Union)  And these benefits would apply not only to me, but to my children and their children as well. 

As one company that helps people gain Polish citizenship advertises on its homepage:

Would you like to work, live or study in any European country? Do you want your children or grandchildren to go to a world-class university for free? Would you like your kids to be able to work in Europe easily? Would you like to never wait in a European passport line again? Would you like to never wait in a European passport line again? (https://www.polandpassport.com/)

Indeed, my children were thrilled when I told them that perhaps my efforts could result in them getting an EU passport.

It turns out that I’m not the only descendent of a European Jew who has thought about obtaining citizenship in the country of his or her ancestor. There are a “growing number of North American descendants—children and grandchildren of Jewish Holocaust victims—who have recently obtained European citizenship through programs that undo wartime and postwar denaturalizations. Germany receives many of the North American applications (717 in 2012, up from 128 a decade ago), along with its Eastern European neighbors.” A “veritable cottage industry of citizenship consultants has popped up, ready to guide would-be Europeans along the sometimes lengthy paperwork trail.” (https://www.macleans.ca/news/world/the-old-country/) At the conference of the International Association of Jewish Genealogical Organizations that I attended last summer in Warsaw, there were not one, but two booths dedicated to helping people obtain Polish citizenship:

Even the number Israeli children and grandchildren of European Jews obtaining dual citizenship is growing. “Experts say it runs into the thousands every year, and it has given rise to a cottage industry of lawyers, translators and brokers who specialize in the various application processes.” (http://www.hadassahmagazine.org/2007/02/12/letter-jerusalem-second-passport/) Polaron, an Australian company, claims to be the “largest and oldest Polish citizenship company in the world. Staffed by researchers, project managers, historians, translators and archivists, our team  provides full support and services needed to confirm people’s Polish citizenship.” (https://urbanjewishheritageconference.wordpress.com/2018/06/11/reclaiming-polish-citizenship/) A Polish lawyer with whom I spoke at the genealogy conference devotes her entire practice to working on Polish citizenship cases.

Two questions follow: 1) am I eligible for Polish citizenship?, and 2), do I have the evidence to prove my eligibility? 

The answer to the first question is, apparently, yes. Citizenship in Poland, as with many other countries, is determined through one’s blood line (ius sanguinis). (http://www.jhi.pl/en/blog/2014-05-27-confirmation-of-polish-citizenship) A Polish citizen is someone who directly descends from a Polish citizen. Of course, my ancestors lived in Poland for hundreds of years, but such proof is not sufficient, because Poland was not an independent country until 1920, when it came into being after World War I. Before then, Poland was occupied by Prussia (later Germany) Russia and the Austrian-Hungarian Empire. 

Under the Polish citizenship law, I need to prove that one my ancestors was “born in Poland (or one of the former Polish territories) and resided there after 1920” or, in other words, “that [my] ancestor was a Polish citizen after 1920 and also at the time of [my] birth.” (https://www.polandpassport.com/faq/)

My grandfather was born and lived in Zambrow until sometime in 1920, when he was drafted into the Polish army. He didn’t stay in the army long, fleeing into Germany sometime later that year. I’m not sure if he left Poland before or after the citizenship law came into being, and there is no way to prove it one way or the other as Polish military records are either nonexistent or practically impossible to access. However, my great grandfather lived in Zambrow until late 1938 when he left for America and my great grandmother lived there until she was murdered. If my great grandparents were Polish citizens, which they surely were, then my grandfather was one too, and so to my mother, and thus me as well. 

The problem is whether I have the documents to prove my connection to them.  “Whilst the Polish authorities may assist with some research, the burden of proof lies with the applicants themselves and without proper documentation, cases can drag on for years.” (http://www.australiantimes.co.uk/are-your-ancestors-polish-you-too-could-benefit-from-polands-generous-laws-on-eu-citizenship/) And at this point, I don’t have the documents. I can’t find my grandfather’s birth document. Nor have I been able to find any Polish documents related to him. Without that, I won’t be able to prove his connection to my great grandfather. 

And so, it seems, if I am serious about becoming a citizen of Poland, I will have to work for it. It will require a deeper dig to locate the relevant documents to prove my grandfather’s, and then my own, Polish citizenship. I will, I should add, also have to pay for it: the companies that help people with their Polish citizenship applications, and the lawyers who work for them, are not free. A few thousand dollars as well as hours of genealogical research, will be the price of obtaining Polish citizenship. Is it worth it?