Polish hospitals are not much for ice when it comes to post-op recovery, I discover later Tuesday afternoon, lying alone in my bed back in 538. No ice, no water. No nothing, just me, my bed, a couple of roommates.
Listen the history of Auschwitz, the whole history of Auschwitz in one man’s brain.
“While the former ghetto is certainly a geographical place of memory, as Elie Wiesel once said — a memory of overt violence — it is also a place of cultural resistance.”
Gdańsk is, with Kraków, Budapest, Paris, Berlin and Prague, one of Europe’s great old cities.
Gradually one learns the first lesson of Poland: “Spoko, spoko. Easy, easy.” You get there when you get there. If you get there.
Three elements seem to have played a decisive role in this: voluntary servitude, the Polish brand of inferiority complex, and a deep-seated Polish anti-Semitism and more general exclusivism.
Can I imagine a George Bush Fund? A Dan Quayle Fund? Even a Ted Kennedy or a Dan Rostenkowski Fund? How many Americans, old or young, would donate their wedding bands, or even their talents “for the good of the Republic”?