Góra Kalwaria: Deluge and Holocaust

I've had an interest in illusionists for many years. Their sleight of hand, ability to misdirect and understanding of human psychology captivates me. Their ability to challenge our sense perception and force us to ask “how do we know this?” is quite remarkable. Recently, on Netflix, a well-known British illusionist, Derren Brown, has debuted with two new shows: The Push and Miracle. I recommend both to show you the powerful kind of work that they can do. Brown's shows end up being very, very thought-provoking in a scary-sort-of-way.

Illusionists, of course, have gone by different names over the centuries: psychics, mind-readers, spiritualists to name a few. I don't actually know if psychics (mind-readers, spiritualists, etc.) are illusionists or actually have some "sixth sense ability", but I do know that I've seen enough illusionists to convince me that what psychics claim to do, illusionist can do, too, without resorting to unknown, unseen forces. Watch Derren Brown!

Wolf Messing. Source.

That being said, the most famous Polish person to earn the moniker of psychic probably has been Wolf Messing (1899-1974). Messing was born in Góra Kalwaria, 25 km (~16 miles) southeast of Warsaw. He led a somewhat mysterious life and the stories about him (perhaps apocryphal) have him in touch with both Hitler and Stalin, making prophecies about their futures. He was sometimes referred to as “Stalin’s Magician”. Possible magic aside, Messing's unusual life was enough of a stimulus to cycle to Góra Kalwaria and at least ride through his birthplace.

It has become even hotter in Warsaw and now, on my appointed day to visit Góra Kalwaria, rain is threatening via a quickly moving front coming in from the West. Neither Kościuszko nor I have rain gear, and so the prospect of being "caught out" in the rain was stressful, but we got out early enough to avoid the issue (and the heat). While the winds aloft may have been from the West, however, the winds on the ground were out of the South and Southeast. This immediately slowed our southward journey, but thoughts of flying home with a tailwind provided a pleasant thought to ponder.

Góra means mountain in Polish and so it came as no surprise—in fact I was greatly pleased—that I had to climb (a tiny, tiny, tiny, really tiny bit) to get to the town. Not a lot, but enough to remind what I’ve been missing! I confess some undeserved pride in the process when I overtook and passed three much younger road cyclists on that ‘climb’, decked out in their finest gear, huffing and puffing. My legs still remember climbing (quite well for now) and Kościuszko is a climbing machine, to be sure! And yes, they did power past me once we hit the flats.

Góra Kalwaria has been around since before the 12th century and has had a number of different names over the years.  Unfortunately, it was completely destroyed in the mid 1600s by a series of devastating wars conducted against the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth by the Empire of Sweden. So much of the region was destroyed during this period that there is a special name for this period: The Deluge (Swedish: Svenska syndafloden, Polish: Potop szwedzki). The Bishop of Poznan, Stefan Wierzbowski, had the town rebuilt using the street plan from Old Jerusalem and it became a hotbed of Catholic activity.

Quiet street in Góra Kalwaria.

After The Bishop’s death, the town began a gradual decline in economic importance. By the time of the early 19th century, the town had become a voluntary and involuntary destination for Jews (a shtetl) in the Russian Empire's Pale of Settlement. The Jews that settled here were Hasidic Jews of the Ger dynasty, previously one of the ten largest Hasidic dynasties. During the Holocaust, the town's entire population was sent first to the Warsaw Ghetto and then on to the Treblinka extermination camp. The few survivors of this genocide settled in Jerusalem after the war.

Arriving at the top of the Góra, I cruised into the town, now a small place consisting of some 10,000 souls. The streets were narrow and rather unpredictable as to layout. I suppose I could have studied a city map of Old Jerusalem to give me an idea of how to get from one point to another, but we enjoyed the stopping, checking the map, and starting up again, only to be confounded by roads that didn’t match the map and directions that really made no sense whatsoever. This is exploration at its best!

The Rock at Cieciszew.

Eventually we found what appeared to be an arterial (Lipkowska Street) leading back north (towards home) and descended the Góra. As it turns out, the arterial ended quickly and we had found a very pleasant but narrow country road. We continued to explore this road along the Vistula river, passing tiny Polish villages all along the way: Wólka Dworska, Podłęcze, Dębówka and finally arriving back at a familiar point, the village of Cieciszew. Cieciszew had a grocery store with a large paved area in front with a stone monument with the town’s name inscribed, some descriptive plaques, and, of course, the Polish flag. I did not stop to exam the monument, but it must be there for a good reason that will merit a return. As Kościuszko and I rounded the only corner in that village and headed down a gentle slope, the “Beacon of Siekierki” (the power plant near our home) loomed north in the distance, and I knew I could make it back.

As the sights and sounds of Góra Kalwaria receded in my mind, and we caught a nice tailwind, I could only think of the immense suffering that had swept over this town, and all others here in Poland. I'm no illusionist or psychic, but I can hear that suffering whispering to me even now.