Christmas Under German Occupation – Julian Kulski: Part 1

Continuing our series of blog posts about Christmas under German occupation—

Julian Kulski is the author of The Color of Courage—A Boy At War: The World War II Diary of Julian Kulski, with a Foreword by Lech Wałęsa, Nobel Peace Prize Laureate, and Introduction by Rabbi Michael Schudrich, Chief Rabbi of Poland. Kulski describes Christmas as he experienced the holiday over the war years. Through his changing descriptions, we can see the impact war was having.

When the Germans invaded Poland on September 1, 1939, Kulski, the son of the Deputy Mayor of Warsaw, was a 10-year-old Boy Scout. He had a little girlfriend, Zula, who was Jewish; in November/December 1940, Zula and her family were forced by the Germans to move into the Warsaw Ghetto. Kulski soon began waging his own private war against the Germans with small acts of sabotage. At age 12, Kulski was recruited into the clandestine Underground Army by his Scoutmaster and began training in military tactics and weapons handling. At 13, he accompanied his commander on a secret mission into the Warsaw Ghetto to liaise with leaders of the Jewish Resistance.

Arrested by the Gestapo at age 14, Kulski was incarcerated in the notorious Pawiak Prison, beaten, interrogated at Gestapo headquarters, and sentenced to Auschwitz. After being rescued, he joined the Ninth Commando Company of the Underground Army, and at age 15 fought in the Warsaw Uprising of 1944. Taken prisoner by the Germans, 16-year-old Kulski ended the war in a POW camp, finally risking a dash for freedom onto an American truck instead of waiting for “liberation” by the Soviets.

Excerpts from The Color of Courage—A Boy At War: The World War II Diary of Julian Kulski:

 

CHAPTER 1
AGE 10: 1939 — THE WAR BEGINS

pp. 37–39:
Monday, December 18 — We are getting ready for Christmas Eve. Mother wants it to be traditional, in spite of everything. At first, I felt this was rather silly, but when I thought about it I realized that we had to keep some semblance of normality in order to maintain our morale. My sister, Wanda, and I are making different paper decorations for the Christmas tree, while Mother has bought food on the black market, such as fruit, nuts, and flour. She and the maids, Mary and Olesia, have baked long white Christmas loaves (some plain and some with poppy seeds), gingerbread, and spice cakes, and also my favorite dish, small pierogi (dumplings) with mushrooms. They throw me out of the kitchen frequently, as I help myself to these goodies.

Sunday, December 24 — We usually have twelve people for the Christmas Eve dinner—this year there were ten, including the relatives living in our house, and two close friends of my parents, “Uncle” and “Aunt” Ancyporowicz, who live nearby. The table was covered with a white tablecloth, spread with symbolic hay. In the middle of the table Mother put the bread and a plate with small pieces of wafer. While the women were busy cooking the dinner, Wanda and I decorated the Christmas tree in the living room. The tree is so tall that it reaches the ceiling. When we had finished, the doors to this room were then closed.

On the table there were two candelabra with six candles in each—during Christmas Eve dinner there can be no light other than candles. Everyone was wearing their best clothes, and we waited for the moment when we could begin—not until the first star is showing in the sky. I saw it and ran to the dining room, all excited. Then Mother took the plate with the wafers and, starting with our guests, we broke the wafers with each other, wishing that by the next Christmas Eve dinner the war will be over, and the Germans will be gone. In previous years I had found this ceremony a bit sloppy and embarrassing, but this year I really didn’t mind, as it now made real sense to wish each other well, and it all seemed more sincere this time.

Now we could start the meal. First we had soup and pierogi, then fish, potatoes, sauerkraut salad, and stuffed cabbage with rice and mushrooms. This was followed by a compote made from different dried fruits, and a traditional Christmas Eve supper dish, kutia, made from boiled wheat and poppy seeds and honey.

After dinner we heard a bell ringing from the room where the Christmas tree is. We opened the doors, and there was the tree, lit with small candles of different colors. Under the tree were packages of various shapes and sizes. First we sang the carol “God Is Here,” and then I went over to the tree; I took the packages one by one and handed them out, according to the names on the gift cards. While we were singing carols, Olesia and Mary were having their Christmas Eve dinner and Mother served them. After they finished they came to sing with us, and we had more poppy seed cake, gingerbread, nuts, and wine or honey mead. At eleven the adults went to Saint Stanisław Kostka Church, which is close to our house, for Midnight Mass and a carol service. Even the Germans permitted it this special night, but I noticed that, as always, I had to stay behind with my little sister.

 

 

CHAPTER 2
AGE 11: 1940 — MY OWN PRIVATE WAR AGAINST THE GERMANS

pp. 92–93:
Tuesday, December 24 — Zula’s situation and my friend’s accident have put me in a dark mood for Christmas, and I am taking little part in the family activities. Mother wants to cheer us up and she has scrounged and saved for weeks to have the traditional Wigilia. I notice she is no longer wearing her beautiful diamond ring—she won’t admit it, but I’m sure she has sold it to get money for food.

The tree is more beautiful than ever; the candles reflect the glistening ornaments; gifts are exchanged, and so are greetings and embraces; the wafer is broken to share the spirit of Christ; and the table is decorated with fruits, nuts, and flowers. Mother has even made something special out of the beet marmalade we have been eating lately. But something is lacking.

The traditional empty chair this year is for Uncle Norbert, from whom we have not heard since last summer when the gates of Pawiak Prison closed behind him. I cannot shake my melancholy mood, so I have left them all—Father, Mother, my aunts, my sister, the “guests” who now make their home with us, the maids, and our little dachshund, Szkut—and have come to the quiet of my room to be alone.

 

 

Continued in Christmas Under German Occupation—Julian Kulski: Part 2