I begin with a photograph. It’s the first photo I have of my grandfather, Yosef Weirzbowicz (Waxman). It was taken in 1922, in Berlin. Next to him sits his mother, Sheindl. 
Standing alone, a photograph is lifeless, unreal, imprisoned, as Susan Sontag wrote in On Photography. To bring it to life, a story needs to be told, a story about the past and one’s connection to that past. That story can liberate the image from its imprisoned reality and bring it into the present. This post is the story of the events that led up to, and immediately followed, this photograph.
The story begins in 1919 when my Zaide was drafted into the Polish army during the Poland-Soviet war. About a year later, he escaped from his unit and made his way to Germany. He spent about two years in Germany before immigrating to Palestine in 1922. He faced many challenges during these two years, challenges which, my aunt recounts in her family history, scarred him for the rest of his life.
The first obstacle he faced was actually sneaking into Germany without getting caught. He absconded from the Polish army somewhere near the German border. Even though the border between Poland and Germany was officially closed, he somehow he managed to cross undetected into Germany. (see my previous post From Poland to Germany)
This economic frustration helped spur a rise on anti-Semitism with the Ostjuden, Jews from Eastern Europe, being the main targets. Furthermore, the reaction to the Versailles Treaty had spawned the nascent fascist movement. “The rightwing press and fascist agitators constantly attacked Jewish migrants and refugees from the East, in some cases triggering violent assaults” (Brinkmann). Between 1919 and 1923, the Ostjuden faced increasing violence, including street riots, muggings and hostage-taking. (Oltmer, p. 330).
Moreover, the seeds of Nazism were in the process of being planted. In 1921, Hitler joined and took control of the Nazi party. Anti-Semitism was at the core of his message, even at this early stage. Only a year after my grandfather left Germany, Hitler would stage the Beer Hall Putsch, his attempt to violently overthrow the Weimar government. (https://www.history.com/topics/world-war-ii/nazi-party) My grandfather must have read about Hitler’s activities and worldview in the local press. He understood the danger Hitler’s ideology posed for himself and his family in Poland and would spend the next two decades in a frantic effort to rescue them.
While it is doubtful my grandfather ever considered staying permanently in Germany, that country’s ambivalent attitude toward refugees and the growing anti-Semitism would have confirmed his view that he had no future there. As with many other refugees in Germany, he viewed Germany as a way station to some other destination. In his case, that destination was Palestine.
Zionism, the national movement to create a Jewish homeland in Palestine, had a strong presence in Zambrow. Numerous Zionist youth groups were active there. (Zambrow Yizkor Book, pp. 297-300.)
He had probably joined one of these groups in his teens before being drafted into the Polish army. His younger sister Chanche, the sibling to whom he was closest, was also a Zionist and had joined the Shomer Ha’tzair youth organization in the nearby town of Kolno.
Palestine had come under British control in November, 1917 and in 1920, the League of Nations gave the British a mandate to govern it. The British placed limits on Jewish immigration to Palestine in order to placate the fears of the local Arab inhabitants. To immigrate to Palestine, Jews needed to obtain a certificate from the Jewish Agency.
Certificates were issued in one of five categories: 1) persons financially independent who had assured income or earning prospects; 2) persons having definite means of employment; 3) dependents or religious functionaries; 4) visas for limited stays; or 5) returning residents of Palestine. (Metzer, Jewish Immigration to Palestine in the Long 1920s: An Exploratory Examination, https://tad.colman.ac.il/paper-all/134050.pdf)
The largest, but also the most restrictive, category was #2, persons having definite means of employment. That category covered manual laborers and craftsman, the only category under which my grandfather could have qualified.
But demonstrating definite means of employment was difficult. By 1921, the British significantly restricted immigration opportunities for laborers and craftsmen. In 1922, the British determined that the number of immigrants to Palestine would be set according to the local economic conditions. (https://sztetl.org.pl/en/glossary/certificate) That year, only about 9,000 Jews were allowed to immigrate to Palestine, almost half of them young men in their twenties:
To obtain a certificate, the would-be immigrant had to submit an application to the Jewish Agency. Certificates were then issued according to the number as determined by the British authorities. Perhaps my grandfather, who had worked in his father’s flaxseed oil business, acquiring some mechanical skills, could have qualified for a certificate, though it would be a stretch to say he had solid employment prospects in Palestine. Instead, he and his family therefore hatched a different sort of plan: to obtain a falsified certificate.
During his approximate two years in Germany, my Zaide was in touch with his family back in Zambrow. Letters sharing family news and his whereabouts and well-being must have gone back and forth. His parents were respected citizens of Zambrow and may have had connections with persons working for the Jewish Agency. Eventually they planned that his parents would procure a fake certificate and a passport. Since my grandfather could not go home to Zambrow, these would have to be brought to him in Germany.
In February 1922, my grandfather’s mother, Sheindl, journeyed, alone, to Germany. She carried with her the two things my grandfather needed most: a Palestine immigration certificate and money for transit. It must have been a frightful journey for her. She most likely had never been to Germany before. And she was carrying a significant amount of money and a forged document. Yet she was on a mission to help her oldest son out of Europe. He would be the first, but not the last of her children, to leave Europe.
They arranged to meet somewhere in Berlin. While my Zaide wasn’t living in Berlin, he doubtless had contacts there and was familiar with the city. After World War I, Berlin evolved into a center of the Yiddish-speaking Jewish diaspora. Immigrants from Russia turned Berlin into their new home. There were “Russian theatres, bookstores, doctors, lawyers, hairdressers, stenographers, shops, restaurants, employment agencies, newspapers, journals and hundreds of other signs of a flourishing and independent existence” as well as legal, welfare and immigration services. (Williams, p. 116.) Many of the Jews there came involuntarily, as refugees, on their way to America. Often these Jews were stuck in Berlin trying to get the papers they needed to continue on their journey out of Europe. (Brinkmann). My grandfather’s family was determined that he would not be one of those with no way out of Germany.
My grandfather met his mother at a prearranged location. I don’t know how long she spent there, but it was long enough to accomplish her mission. And, probably at his suggestion, they decided to stop in at a photo studio or to arrange for a photographer to come to where he was staying in order to take this photograph. His devotion and love he felt for his mother, as well as the gratitude he must have felt for her bravery in coming to his rescue, is clearly expressed by the way he placed his hands on her shoulder and arm.
They decided to make this photograph into a picture postcard. On the back of the postcard, my Zaide wrote, in Hebrew: “In memory, when I was in Berlin, before I travelled to the Land of Israel, Berlin, the month of Shvat (Febuary), 1922.” (The first day of Sh’vat in 1922 was January 30.) 
This photograph represents a pivot point in his life, between Europe and Palestine and between his family in Poland and his future life as my grandfather.
Soon after the photograph was taken, his mother headed back to Zambrow, and he booked passage to Palestine. He must have known that it would be many years before he would see her, as well as his father and siblings, again. Tears must have flown upon their parting. As she left Germany back to Poland, Sheindl hopefully found comfort in the knowledge that she had come to her son’s rescue in his hour of need and enabled him to realize his dream of living in the Land of Israel. Little could either have realized that this parting would be final. They would never see each other again.
How my grandfather travelled to Palestine, and how long it took him to get there, is uncertain. According to my aunt, he had with him the false certificate and a Spanish passport issued in Jerusalem. My mother recalled him saying that he travelled to Turkey and then overland to the Palestine. He doubtless arrived sometime in 1922. By Passover, 1923, he had connected with his fellow Zembrovers (Jews from Zambrow):
In the span of three years, my grandfather had been drafted unwillingly into the Polish army, experienced the hardships of army service, escaped from the army, infiltrated into Germany, lived as a refugee in Germany, and travelled from Germany to Palestine with falsified papers. The travails of the those years would never leave him. Nor would he ever forget those he had left behind in Poland.