Jewish Culture and Urban Form: A Case Study of Central Poland before the Holocaust 2022015103, 2022015104, 9781032069357, 9781032069364, 9781003204633

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Routledge Histories of Central and Eastern Europe

JEWISH CULTURE AND URBAN FORM A CASE STUDY OF CENTRAL POLAND BEFORE THE HOLOCAUST Małgorzata Hanzl

Jewish Culture and Urban Form

Across a range of disciplines, urban morphology has offered lenses through which we can read the city. Reading the urban form, when conflated with ethnographic studies, enables us to return to past situations and recreate the long-gone everyday life. Urbanscapes – the artefacts of urban life – have left us the story portrayed in the pages of this book. The notions of time and space contribute to depicting the Jewish-Polish culture in central Poland before the Holocaust. The research proves that Jewish society in pre-Holocaust Poland was an example of self-organising complexity. Through bottom-up activities, it had a significant impact on the unique character of the spaces left behind. Several features confirm this influence. Not only do the edifices, both public and private, convey meanings related to the Jewish culture, but public and semi-private space also tell the story of long-gone social situations. The specific atmosphere that still lingers there recalls the long-gone Jewish culture, with the unique settlement patterns indicating a separate spatial order. The Author reveals to the international cast of practitioners and theorists of urban and Jewish studies a vivid and comprehensive account. This book will appeal to researchers and students alike studying Jewish communities in Poland and Jewish-Polish society and urbanisation, as well as all those interested in Jewish-Polish Culture. Małgorzata Hanzl is Architect and urban planner, PhD with habilitation. Associate Professor at the Lodz University of Technology and a lecturer at Warsaw University of Technology. Member of the Urban Morphology Editorial Board. Fulbright Fellow in SENSEable CityLab, MIT (2014). Vice President of ISOCARP (2017–2020).

Routledge Histories of Central and Eastern Europe

The nations of Central and Eastern Europe experienced a time of momentous change in the period following the Second World War. The vast majority were subject to Communism and central planning while events such as the Hungarian uprising and Prague Spring stood out as key watershed moments against a distinct social, cultural and political backcloth. With the fall of the Berlin Wall, German reunification and the break-up of the Soviet Union, changes from the 1990s onwards have also been momentous with countries adjusting to various capitalist realities. The volumes in this series will help shine a light on the experiences of this key geopolitical zone with many lessons to be learned for the future. Romania, 1916–1941 A Political History Dennis Deletant Picturing the Workers’ Olympics and the Spartakiads Modernist and Avant-Garde Engagement with Sport in Central Europe and the USSR, 1920‒1932 Przemysław Strożek Jewish Culture and Urban Form A Case Study of Central Poland before the Holocaust Małgorzata Hanzl The Mentality of Partisans of the Polish Anti-Communist Underground 1944–1956 Mariusz Mazur Biopolitics in Central and Eastern Europe in the 20th Century Fearing for the Nation Edited by Barbara Klich-Kluczewska, Joachim von Puttkamer, and Immo Rebitschek For more information about this series, please visit: https://www.routledge. com/Routledge-Histories-of-Central-and-Eastern-Europe/book-series/CEE

Jewish Culture and Urban Form A Case Study of Central Poland before the Holocaust Małgorzata Hanzl

First published 2023 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2023 Małgorzata Hanzl The right of Małgorzata Hanzl to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Hanzl, Małgorzata, author. Title: Jewish culture and urban form: case study of central Poland before the Holocaust / Małgorzata Hanzl. Description: Abingdon, Oxon; New York, NY : Routledge, 2023. | Series: Routledge histories of Central and Eastern Europe | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Identifiers: LCCN 2022015103 (print) | LCCN 2022015104 (ebook) | ISBN 9781032069357 (hardback) | ISBN 9781032069364 (paperback) | ISBN 9781003204633 (ebook) Classification: LCC DS134.55 .H36 2023 (print) | LCC DS134.55 (ebook) | DDC 943.8/004924--dc23/eng/20220623 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022015103 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022015104 ISBN: 978-1-032-06935-7 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-032-06936-4 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-003-20463-3 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003204633 Typeset in Bembo by KnowledgeWorks Global Ltd.

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Contents

List of figuresviii List of tablesxii Acknowledgementsxiv 1 Introduction: Culture-specific urban structures analyses

1

2 Methodology

6

Epistemological perspective – complexity  6 Space, place and body  9 Situation and habitus  14 Culture as an everyday experience, culture and the built environment 15 2.5 Meaning 17 2.5.1 Pragmatics 20 2.6 Spatial order  23 2.7 Perception – aesthetics  27 2.8 Cues 28 2.8.1 Artefacts 28 2.8.2 Urban morphology and outdoor space  29 2.8.3 Role of enclosure  34 2.9 Rhythms 37 2.9.1 Theory of seeing – the index keys concept  38 2.10 Geometrical description – urban design perspective  39 2.10.1 Central angle  41 2.10.2 Corrugation 42 2.10.3 Regularity 43 2.10.4 Variations 44 2.10.5 Concluding remarks – rhythms as a key feature  44 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4

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vi  Contents 3 Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements in central Poland 3.1 3.2

3.3

3.4

3.5

Presentation of the sources  48 Thesis and ontological framework  51 3.2.1 Thesis – shift of focus  51 3.2.2 The ontological framework  54 Everyday Jewish culture in pre-war central Poland and its transformations – research background  57 3.3.1 Demographic issues  58 3.3.2 Professional structure and social status  61 3.3.3 Community organisation and religious life in traditional Judaism  66 3.3.4 Jewish Enlightenment and acculturation processes  70 3.3.5 Secularisation, politicisation, migrations  74 Diachronic facets of complexity – bottom-up practices versus formal planning of Jewish settlements  76 3.4.1 From the eleventh century – to the end of the fifteenth century  76 3.4.2 Sixteenth century – until the Partitions of Poland  85 3.4.3 The interwar period  139 Neighbourhoods inhabited by Jews in pre-war central Poland – three typological levels  143 3.5.1 Method of analysis  144 3.5.2 The regional level  147 3.5.3 The town level  153 3.5.4 The neighbourhood level  156

4 Case studies 4.1

4.2

47

171

Łódź (Lodz)  171 4.1.1 History of Łódź Jewry  172 4.1.2 Physical structures  180 4.1.3 Community institutions – religion and education  209 4.1.4 Healthcare and charity institutions  215 4.1.5 Jewish business and housing typology and distribution  220 4.1.6 Characteristics of the urban structure  231 4.1.7 Qualitative analysis – the case study  240 Brzeziny 244 4.2.1 Jewish settlement in Brzeziny  246 4.2.2 Chronological stratification and characteristics of built structures  249 4.2.3 Religious edifices. Other activities  253

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Contents vii

4.3

4.4

4.2.4 Analysis of the sociometric layout, proxemics  254 4.2.5 A case study – index key analysis  255 Góra Kalwaria (Ger)  258 4.3.1 Góra Kalwaria – a Baroque town  258 4.3.2 Jewish presence in Góra Kalwaria  263 4.3.3 Sociometric network and spatial layout  271 Otwock 273 4.4.1 The beginnings of a town  273 4.4.2 Jewish life in Otwock  278 4.4.3 Physical development  282

5 Conclusions 5.1 5.2

5.3

5.4 5.5

5.6 5.7

295

Complexity 298 Neighbourhoods – main features  300 5.2.1 Types of culture: high context versus low context cultures  301 5.2.2 Character of urban settings  303 Spatial order and meaning  305 5.3.1 Sociometric layout  309 5.3.2 Meaning – pragmatics  311 Proxemics 313 Enclosure, geometrical analyses  315 5.5.1 Aesthetics 316 5.5.2 Analyses – summary  316 Transformations 318 Final remarks  319

Bibliography Index

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321 341

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Figures

2.1

2.2 3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4 3.5

3.6

3.7 3.8 3.9 3.10 3.11

a. Convex space, definition of central angle. Definition of index points and profiles. I – geometrical central point, II – index key points, αn – central angles for each cross-section, w n – widths of each unique part of wall. b. Corrugation of the wall, an – set back or behind a part of a wall, d – the distance of the wall from the central point of the cross-section. 41 Regularity of the wall – method of description. 43 The hypothetical route of the main commercial roads at the 62 beginning of the sixteenth century. Jewish communities at the end of the sixteenth century (Wijaczka 2010, pp.66–67). 89 Jewish communities in 1765 (Wijaczka 2010a, p.132).  91 Plan of Przysucha, redrawn after Trzebiński (1955, Ryc.2). 95 Plan of Miasto Żydowskie ( Jewish Town) in Rawa Mazowiecka in 1817: ‘“Plan miasta Rawy podług oryginału z roku 1817 __”, Oryg. w zbiorach Zakładu Architektury Polskiej Pol. Warsz.’, redrawn after Kalinowski and Trawkowski 1955, p.191. 98 Plan of Nowy Dwór Mazowiecki of 1797, after Szafer (1955, p.55): East from the former market square a new town was laid out, with a great rectangular market with landmark 98 buildings on its shorter facades. The share of Jewish population in Nowy Dwór Mazowiecki. 98 Jewish population dynamics in Siedlce. 99 Plan of Stryków of 1809, redrawn after Szafer (1955, p.61): Plan of the town’s reconstruction after fire by J. Sadkowski.  102 Jewish population dynamics in Stryków, based on census data (1827 and 1921) and Kirshenboim and Dombrowska (2007).103 Jewish population dynamics in Maków Mazowiecki, based on census data (1827 and 1921) and https://www. makowmazowiecki.pl/261,historia, accessed 7.12.2021. 104

Figures ix

3.12 The distribution of the Jewish population in 1827, Komisja Rządowa Spraw Wewnętrznych i Policji, 1827. 105 3.13 The share of the Jewish population in 1827, Komisja Rządowa Spraw Wewnętrznych i Policji, 1827. 106 3.14 Jewish population dynamics in Radom. 109 3.15 Plan of Radom 1846, reconstruction after Kalinowski (1955, p.173).110 3.16 Jewish population dynamics in Aleksandrów Łódzki. 114 3.17 Population dynamics in Tomaszów Mazowiecki. 115 3.18 The distribution of towns discussed or mentioned in the text. 119 3.19 The share of Jewish population in Łęczyca.120 3.20 Jewish population dynamics in Konstantynów Łódzki. 122 3.21 Jewish population dynamics in Zgierz. 124 3.22 Jewish population dynamics in Zduńska Wola. 124 3.23 A special design for eruv pole, recommended in 1935 by the Government Commission of Internal Affairs, circa 5.18 m height (9 ells, 17 feet, after Bergman 2002, p.89). 127 3.24 Jewish population dynamics in Łask. 132 3.25 Jewish population dynamics in Żyrardów.133 3.26 Jewish population dynamics in Ozorków, based on census data (1827 and 1921). 134 3.27 Settlements with over 50 Jews where they provided for 30 and more percent of the total population (GUSRP 1925). 148 3.28 Distribution of manors with Jewish dwellers (GUSRP 1925). 149 3.29 Types of settlement patterns in the regional scale 150 (GUSRP 1925). 3.30 Types of settlement patterns in the regional scale 151 (GUSRP 1925). 3.31 The impact of individual courts, measured with the 155 numbers of networks of shtiblekh (Wodziński 2016).  4.1 The extent of the Jewish zone in Łódź, after: ‘Plan rozszerzenia rewiru zẏ dowskiego w r. 1841 (ze zbiorów Archiwum Akt Dawnych Miasta Łodzi)’ Map 2 in Friedman (1935) and after ‘Projekt rozprzestrzenienia rewiru na mieszkania dla Starozakonnych w mieście Łodzi w gruntach przez Mieszczan staromiejskich na ten cel przeznaczonych sporządzony w 1859 roku’ Map 3 in Friedman (1935). 174 4.2 Demographic dynamics of the Jewish population in Łódź, up to the 1850s, and after 3. 177 4.3 Sociotopography of Łódź at the beginning of the twentiety century, data source: Grabowski (1922).  179 4.4 Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Łódź.182 4.5a Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Łódź. Section 1a. 183

x  Figures

4.5b Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Łódź. Section 1b. 184 4.5c Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Łódź. Section 1c. 185 4.5d Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Łódź. Section 1d. 186 4.5e Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Łódź. Section 1e. 187 4.5f Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Łódź. Section 1f. 188 4.5g Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war 189 Łódź. Section 1g. 4.6 Central part of Bałuty district – an analysis of the form of 227 the public realm. Section 2a. 4.7 Old Town – an analysis of the form of the public realm. 234 Section 2b. 4.8 The appearance of one of the passages joining the Old Market and Nad Łódką Street. Sketch based on a historical photograph courtesy of Adam Brajter, a member of the 235 Society for Heritage Protection, Łódź Division. 4.9 Courtyard. Sketch based on a photograph by Włodzimierz Pfeiffer courtesy of the State Archives in Łódź241 4.10 The Old Market in Łódź – a reconstruction of its state 243 before World War II. 4.11 Development of Brzeziny since the thirteenth century. Maps 245 have been redrawn after Bergman (1983). 4.12 Jewish demographic dynamics in Brzeziny (after Arnekker 246 1924, p.17). 4.13 Chronological stratification of the heritage buildings in Brzeziny, the period of construction displayed in the Z axis of the drawing. Dates of construction of individual buildings after Bergman (1983, board number 7). 249 4.14 Heritage buildings in Brzeziny – period of construction. Dates of construction of individual buildings after Bergman (1983, board number 7). 250 4.15 Sketch of the synagogue in Brzeziny based on a historical photograph courtesy of the regional museum in Brzeziny. 253 4.16 Reconstruction of the form of the pre-war market in Brzeziny based on historical photographs. 256 4.17 Comparison of variation and regularity parameters for pre-war markets in Brzeziny and in Łódź.256 4.18 The main pilgrimage routes in Góra Kalwaria (Liczbiński 1957). 260 4.19 Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Góra Kalwaria (redrawn after Bergman 1991). 265

Figures xi

4.20 Jewish population dynamics in Góra Kalwaria. 4.21 Sociometric layout within the main Jewish quarters in Góra Kalwaria. 4.22 Jewish population dynamics in Otwock. 4.23 Sketch based on the photograph ‘Two unidentified boys working the wheel of the town pump’, courtesy of YIVO Institute for Jewish Research. The commercial part of Otwock, demolished by Nazis during World War II. 4.24 Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Otwock – division into sections. The map includes confirmed and documented institutions and properties (Ajdacki 2014, Trybowski 2012). 4.25a Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Otwock. Central part of the town. Section I. 4.25b Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in prewar Otwock. Section II. 4.25c Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Otwock. Section III. Symbols repeated from Figure 4.25b. 4.25d Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Otwock. Section IV. Symbols repeated from Figure 4.25b. 4.25e Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Otwock. Section V. Symbols repeated from Figure 4.25b.

271 272 281

282

285 286 287 288 289 290

Tables

2.1 Identifiable environmental cues possible to qualify as culture-specific, after Rapoport (1990, pp.106–107) 33 3.1 The growth of the Jewish population in Congress Poland between 1800 and 1897, after the study of Botticini, Eckstein and Vaturi (2016, p.793) 61 3.2 The educational possibilities in interwar Poland (Dobroszycki and Kirshenblatt-Gimblett 1977, pp.200–203; Ury 1983, p.51; Maza 1989, p.38) 73 3.3 Towns in Mazovia which had acquired city rights by the end of the fifteenth century (Pazyra 1959, pp.111–115), data on Jewish settlement – sztetl.org.pl 80 3.4 Industrial settlements started as a private foundation at the beginning of the nineteenth century in the region of Łódź113 3.5 Industrial settlements started as a government foundation at the beginning of the nineteenth century in the region of Łódź, after Dumała (1988, pp.110–119), census data referring to the Jewish population after shtetl.org.pl, completed with 116 the results of the 1827 census 3.6 Means of textile production in leading centres in 1828 121 3.7 Chosen features included in the database set of attributes 147 3.8 Jewish settlements larger than 50 people and providing for more than 50% of the total population (GUSRP 1925) 148 3.9 Basic range of communities’ profiles 154 4.1 Buildings and facilities in pre-war Łódź which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life 190 4.2 The analysis of regularity: τ – the regularity parameter, r – a single shift, w – width of a single wall, n – the number of index points for a given wall 242 4.3 The analyses values for the reconstruction of the Old Market in Łódź: corrugation, central angle, regularity 243

Tables xiii

4.4 Statistics on the share of professional groups in the general number of tailors in Brzeziny in 1921 (Arnekker 1924, p.21) 4.5 Sizes of dwellings dependent on the trade of people working in the tailoring industry in 1921, after Arnekker (1924, p.64) 4.6 Working conditions in four examples of tailors’ workshops in Brzeziny, minimum breathing volumes for numbers of working people versus actual rooms’ volumes (Arnekker 1924, p.66) 4.7 Results of regularity analysis for Brzeziny Market Square (Plac Jana Pawła II) 4.8 Results of variations analysis for Brzeziny Market Square (Plac Jana Pawła II) 4.9 Results of corrugation analysis for Brzeziny Market Square (Plac Jana Pawła II) 4.10 Results of the central angle analysis for Brzeziny Market Square (Plac Jana Pawła II) 4.11 Composition of the population of Góra Kalwaria (Bergman 1991, GUSRP 1925, sztetl.org.pl) 4.12 Buildings and facilities in pre-war Otwock which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life

248 252

253 257 257 257 258 270 291

Acknowledgements

The current study is a part of the research project financed by The National Science Centre of Poland UMO-2011/03/D/HS3/01630, entitled: ‘Morphological analysis of urban structures – the cultural approach. Case studies of Jewish communities in the chosen settlements of Lodz and Masovian voivodeships’. A large part of the methodological research was performed in SENSEable City Laboratory, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, within the framework of a Fulbright Senior Research Award. In the course of my research and while writing this book, I have met many people whose openness and goodwill helped me greatly. My first words of gratitude go to Professor Stefan Wrona, the former supervisor of my PhD. I am most obliged for his proposal to involve me in tutoring activities for the Architecture of Society of Knowledge Master of Architecture Programme in the Faculty of Architecture, Warsaw University of Technology, where I had the opportunity to develop and test some of the methods applied in the current study. I would also like to thank him for his constant support and confidence that I would complete this work. Additionally, my thanks go to the authorities of the Faculty of Civil Engineering, Architecture and Environmental Engineering, especially to Professor Dariusz Gawin, the former dean of the faculty, for encouraging my scientific development and helping me prepare the current research project and funding my participation in conferences prior to its submission. I am deeply grateful to my colleagues from the Institute of Architecture and Town Planning of Lodz University of Technology, and primarily to its director Professor Marek Pabich, for the friendly atmosphere and continuous encouragement in the course of this work. Conversations with many friends and colleagues have enriched my understanding of this subject. I would especially like to express my gratitude to Professor Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, for her time and help in systematising my unpolished thoughts on the complexity of Jewish culture in pre-war Poland. I am indebted to Professor Ivor Samuels for his generosity in sharing his knowledge regarding the methodological workshop of urban morphology. Moreover, I want to express my thanks to Professor Thomas Hubka for his valuable advice on the necessity to follow the development of Jewish

Acknowledgements xv

settlements against the backdrop of Polish planning of the time. Besides this, I am very grateful to Profesor Antony Polonsky for graciously verifying the chronology applied in the current volume and for his kind words about this work. I also wish to thank Professor Carlo Ratti, the Director of SENSEable City Laboratory, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, for inviting me and enabling the methodological research in the welcoming atmosphere at MIT, Urban Studies and Planning Department. I am deeply grateful to Doctor Jayasinhji Jhala for enriching the discussion and introducing me to the basics of the Anthropology of Exploration during his course at Harvard Extension School. I would like to thank Marek Web and other employees of Yivo for their warm welcome and helping me in my research with invaluable suggestions. I am grateful to the reviewers and my colleagues who participated in conferences where I presented the partial results of the current research – for the in-depth criticism of my work, which helped me eliminate some potential flaws and improve the overall quality of the outcomes. I would also like to thank the team involved in the making of the model of the lost Jewish quarter in Łódź for their help and discussion. My gratitude also goes to Derrick Cook for his invaluable help and patience in proofreading my English writing and making it acceptable. I would also like to thank my Israeli friends, in this number Yoav Arbel of Israel Antiquities Authority, for their invaluable introduction to Jewish culture now and in the past. To all who discussed this topic with me, encouraged and inspired me – thank you for your motivation and precious remarks. Finally, I would like to thank my family for their support and patience in the face of my constant lack of time.

1

Introduction Culture-specific urban structures analyses

In his book in which he undertakes the challenging task of looking for the origins of good literature in its basic component – the sentence, Fish (2011) starts with a motto from the poem ‘Permanently’ by Kenneth Koch: One day the Nouns were clustered in the street. An Adjective walked by, with her dark beauty. The Nouns were struck, moved, changed. The next day a Verb drove up, and created the Sentence. This popular metaphor, which invokes a picture of a city to illustrate the process of writing, may be used to show the common belief that urban structure may be read. As, like writing, the built form conveys information and meaning. This book attempts to explain this phenomenon. Its intention is to show how to read the urban structure and also, in a more normative sense, to provide a set of tools enabling the conscious creation of the built environment that conveys meaning and represents a certain spatial order. In other words, the main objective of the current study is to provide the assumptions to the ontology of urban space with regard to its cultural background. The built form is often said to be an artefact of the cultures and societies that created it (Rossi 1984, Lefebvre 1991). Those who seek to explain how spatial practices are embodied in urban forms, a subject which philosophers have pondered since Aristotle, must venture into research from several disciplines. Anthropologists, environmental psychologists, urban morphologists and urban designers have all tried to define how various cultural conditions influence the shaping of the built environment. In order to understand human impact on an environment, we need to grasp the variety of cultural patterns and examine their relations with the built environment at a given time. Until now, many scientists, in disciplines as varied as philosophy (Lefebvre 2003), architecture (Rapoport 2003) and even sociobiology (Wilson 1998), have called for the creation of a single field of urban studies that could clear up the current misunderstandings and help in resolving how it is that cultural factors influence the creation of urban environments and, additionally, how the evolving environments affect human behaviour. However, to date, an explanation is DOI: 10.4324/9781003204633-1

2  Introduction

still lacking. The fragmentation and specialisation of science, as well as historically established divisions, result in huge discrepancies in terminology and the language used by researchers from various backgrounds. What is more, because of the piecemeal structure of ongoing discoveries within specialised disciplines, scholars often do not realise the requirements of such studies. What makes the situation even more challenging is the contemporary process of globalisation. Before the current era, when most people who lived in a city were part of the culture of that city and place, the task of the urban designer was to work with the ‘genius loci’, the specific set of features of urban structures which convey the atmosphere of the place. Now, as globalisation displaces large numbers of people and brings them together in rapidly changing urban spaces, there is an urgent need to discover how an urban environment works in relation to the former, current and also future culture of usage of space. The context that has so far served as the primary source of knowledge about the culture of usage of space no longer suffices in the period of rapidly progressing urbanisation and migrations of large groups of people who bring their own habits and behaviours. The need to design places that answer actual human needs is becoming progressively more urgent. This new requirement, to adjust the form of physical structures to the needs of their future users, results in a call for a more explicit normative theory which could support creators in their efforts to make places more human. In recent years, a new field of research, complexity science, has come forth with new insights that may provide a milieu for the desired consilience. Thanks to this emerging field, new light has been shed on some of the problems which exist, especially on the margins of social and technical fields (Portugali 2006), namely the relations between everyday life and usage of space. The cultural background, the way people representing various groups perform activities specific to them on a daily basis, yields an understanding of the settings they tend to create, the overall schema inscribing into the more general framework of the cultural structures, as defined much earlier in the field of anthropology by Lévi-Strauss (1963). Eco (1997) presents a solution to this problem, explaining the architecture and the wider built environment as a semiological system through the meaning attributed to physical structures. His theory, while giving some initial insights into the mechanisms of how culture influences the shapes of built forms, still leaves room for further speculation. With the multitude of dispersed theoretical work in anthropology, a more comprehensive and explicit conceptual apparatus is called for to evaluate the existing structures properly. Furthermore, along with the rapidly growing body of research in the discipline of urban morphology, the methods of analyses become far more sophisticated and, thanks to their heterogeneity, much better adjusted to the actual cultural milieu perused. As part of urban morphology studies, the ontology of urban spaces should be defined based on the careful examination of elements that contribute to a larger picture of the culture of the usage of space. Among these factors, there are the sets of norms and habits of a given group

Introduction 3

of people, everyday practices and ways how space is used, what meaning it conveys, and what physical elements reflect those activities and rules. This focus has recently become increasingly present in architectural and urban design and morphology research, and the current study, referring to the cultural meaning of physical urban space, may enrich the already defined ontologies, the one proposed by Lopes et al. (2015) and Beirão (2012), for example. The culture of the usage of space, which is understood here as a set of norms, practices and meanings in a given culture, is inherently related to a concept of situation, defined by Perinbanayagam (1974) as a theatre of human activities. Situation ‘becomes placed’ when physical settings are adjusted to users’ behaviour, and when space is converted into a used place or, in other words, becomes acknowledged by a group of people. To understand the mechanisms that govern the establishment of a culturally recognised situation, we need to look at human behaviour in urban space. An ontology of public spaces based on a methodologically correct approach to observing and understanding the meaning of people’s movements among structures and spaces, and the cultural meanings conveyed by these structures and spaces themselves, now needs to come into being. The currently evolving studies of human behaviour are conducted at various scales, including research in kinesics and proxemics, video analyses and more contemporary methods of tracing human behaviour. They should be drawn together and contribute to the larger picture of human behaviour analysis. When analysing the patterns of people’s distribution, the spatial relation manifests itself at all scales, starting with the regional one, through the town level, in which various subgroups choose places following their preferences related to lifestyle and resulting from their social status, up to the neighbourhood level. In the latter, the way people use space influences the sociometric layout of urban structure and also its physical form while acquiring meaning connected to a given cultural group. Although researchers in the currently emerging field of outdoor space studies are contributing valuable insights, to both the studies of human behaviour and physical structures, their works are dispersed and concentrated on various and specific, unrelated topics. One of the objectives of this book is first to review and summarise the available methods and research in the fields mentioned above, to the extent possible in a single work, while also paying attention to some of the potential problems that may arise when looking for their overlap. While drawing upon elements from this disparate research, this book proposes a larger theory that addresses the idea of an order of space as a cultural issue. I believe that embedding the notion of spatial order, which remains a well-known and accepted term in urban design, into the considerations of the culture-related meaning of urban space is key to understanding the impact of culture on the built environment. While many of the specific parts of this dissertation have been examined and proofed, and some bridges between the disciplines have been created, the current study tries to provide a more general picture by explaining the culture-related background of the form of urban outdoor spaces.

4  Introduction

This book is structured around an empirical case study and theoretical considerations of the analytical methodology. The case study explores the urban environment formerly inhabited, and largely constructed, by Jews in two central Polish districts: Mazovia and Lodz, before the tragedy of the Holocaust. While the Jewish presence lasted from the 11th century until the outbreak of World War II, the most intensive development took place in the 19th century, together with the civilisation changes introduced by industrialisation. Seeing as the urban structures built then still persist, the period became the main focus of the current study. Earlier development is discussed briefly in order to provide the background and awareness of the build-up of urban structures of different features through the ages. In addition, some attention has been paid to the most recent, pre-war, development, especially the summer resorts and newly built health care centres, as the Jewish intelligentsia played a major role in their creation. The analysis of the complex Jewish culture once present there gives us the opportunity to verify its impact on the physical structures and to look for a typology which could allow us to grasp its richness and provide understanding, both in terms of the social structure and the places where various people lived. Moreover, the examination of the norms of this group and the exploration of the acculturation processes in the diachronic aspects led to detailed analyses of their impact on the shape of urban forms. The careful study of their everyday practices and habits on the backdrop of the underlying norms allowed me to consider more concrete rather than abstract features, both with regard to urban structures and specific spatial practices and behaviours. Inspiration for this study came after conducting multiple analyses of past urban structures during urban design classes at the Institute of Architecture and Town Planning, Lodz University of Technology, which covered districts of Łódź formerly inhabited by Jews as well as places located in a range of towns, both large and small, in Lodz and Mazovian voivoideships. These places still possess a specific atmosphere, which is absent or less present in other parts of the city and other locations. The various spatial threads present there overlap with new elements overlaying previous structures as well as those built afterwards; the intensity of certain features changes when moving from one neighbourhood to another. This does not, however, prevent us from perceiving the atmosphere and reading the former meaning if we are aware of the earlier events and situations which habitually took place in a given spot. The conclusion is that the past episodes, happenings and encounters must be disclosed in urban structures. The objective of this book is twofold: to analyse how heritage structures convey atmosphere and meaning using a given example while searching for methods for the analogical analysis of other sites and cultures, and to explain how the Jewish population of pre-war central Poland lived and how their everyday practices moulded the structures they inhabited. The current book reveals a picture of Jewish urban structures and urban life at a particular moment before the outbreak of World War II. It provides a commentary on

Introduction 5

the spatial arrangements and the actual effect of the reconfiguration of urban space through bottom-up activities, independent from formal planning and thus not so obvious to grasp from historical documentaries and methods. The research results presented in the current volume, both on the methodological issues and on the typology of built structures and the culture of Polish Jews in pre-war central Poland, are a result of the work of the last few years. These were published and presented in front of several audiences during architectural, urban planning and design, and urban morphology conferences and events, each time raising considerable interest. The current text gathers these thoughts and writing into one thoroughly rearranged and transformed single volume. They are completed with a study of built structures attributed to Jewish culture against the backdrop of the development of Polish urban planning.

2

Methodology

2.1  Epistemological perspective – complexity Cities arise out of man’s social needs and are often described as an embodiment of collective art and techniques (Mumford 1970). Culture-related aspects of city living are reflected first of all by the internal organisation and arrangement of urban settings, their character and the meaning which they convey. The understanding of the complexity of interactions between life which unfolds in public space and its form requires collecting systemic knowledge on the types of activities and the people who perform them (Gehl and Svarre 2013, p.11). The issue of a theoretical exploration of the analysis of urban outdoor space should be addressed from a dual perspective: morphological and anthropological. Although for several years during the Modernism period, urban morphology went through a period of regress, for the last thirty years, we have seen its revival, and now, as a discipline attempting to establish itself, it is looking for new tools and connections with other fields. While urban morphology provides a long-validated and commonly recognised and approved methodology for the analyses of urban structures, anthropological and social issues have gone beyond what has been up until now the main focus. Despite being the subject of interest of several disciplines: historical geography, urban design and planning and architecture, to cite only the most obvious, the cultural aspects of transformations of the material heritage remained on the fringes of the main current of research in urban morphology. Additionally, architectural training does not pay much attention to the issues of culture and cultural norms underlying design. Studies on a culture-related system of meaning are only slowly entering academia, yet there are several seminal oeuvres which announce changes in this regard (Norberg-Schulz 1963, Venturi et al. 1977, Unwin 2003, and others). The classification of research in urban morphology (Gauthier and Gilliland 2006 places the oeuvre of the few morphologists and theoreticians of urban design who incline towards the anthropological method (Lynch 1960, 1994; Rykwert 1989; Rapoport 1990, 2003) on the border between the cognitive and normative approach. Additionally, in anthropology, new fields have recently been developed, starting with visual anthropology, through the analyses of architecture and DOI: 10.4324/9781003204633-2

Methodology 7

built environment and ending with the anthropology of a city. Despite this, as Humphrey (1988 after Pellow 1996, p.216) admits, ‘architecture and spatial organization have been peculiarly neglected by academic anthropology as subjects in their own right’. Rodman (1993, pp.124–125) blames disciplinary separation along with the nineteenth-century views of culture for this delay, stemming from its long-term neglect as a culture-related concept. For Richardson (1989, p.142), the nineteenth-century definitions of culture lacked interest towards place and location. In ethnographic elaborations, even as late as the 1940s and 1950s, habits, customs and norms were only rarely described together with the settings in which they took place (Rodman 1993, p.125). Exceptions could be noticed, however, e.g., Hillier’s seminal research, done in cooperation with the ethnographer Jean Cuisenier (Depaule 1995, p.30), addressing the relation between urban arrangements and the ‘social logic of space’. Relevant indications on how physical settings may be ‘read’ and understood may come from the field of archaeology, where anthropological theory and practice serves to reveal the hidden meaning of material heritage (Hodder and Hutson 2010). Moreover, archaeology approaches space as an abstraction, subject to the language of geometry. Hence, particular attention is given to the meaning of objects of material culture: ‘the idea of meaning is making sense of the situation’ (p.157). As Hodder (2012) asserts, all objects of material culture, physical settings included, are entangled in certain activities and should not be considered separately. Furthermore, while discussing the phenomenological experience of space, Tilley (1994, p.11) speaks about ‘the irrational abstracted idealism of a geometrical universal spac’, which is grounded in ‘the differential structuring of human experience and action in the world’. Thus, when dealing with elements which define the character of public spaces, urban morphology should be able to find those features of physical structures which represent particular semantic values. While looking to follow the site’s genius loci and local tradition, designers carry out analyses of the existing and former structures. Dubos (1972), among others, emphasises the value of such analyses, since, next to the continuation of the traditional values, they enable the creation of structures that comply with the inherent cultural patterns of their users, as Hall (1966, 2009) asserts. Nevertheless, the current speed of urbanisation and the development of design technology that enables easy and efficient shaping of urban structures based on rigorously defined parameters has created a need for a more precise definition of the core rules underpinning the form of urban settings. The context that has served so far as the main source of knowledge about the culture of the usage of space no longer suffices in this period of rapidly progressing urbanisation and migrations of large groups of people. Instead, the necessity to design places that answer actual human needs, including culture-related ones, becomes progressively more urgent. One of the most serious problems of the lack of relevance of the technological solutions results from deficiencies of proper interdisciplinary communication and fragmentation of science. Engineers, for instance, who work on new solutions do not

8  Methodology

understand the theoretical presumptions of social science, and, vice versa, urban theorists, are not up-to-date with the newest concepts which generate debate in the most progressive part of computer science theory. The specialisation and narrowness of the scientific approach do not help in creating human-oriented design solutions. To complete the picture, the development of brand new methods and tools makes the necessity of employing accurate and effective means to analyse urban structures and their relation to human behaviour even more urgent and compelling. These methods are brought about by complexity science, and new design tools have been made available thanks to the parametric shift in urban and architectural design. Lefebvre’s call for a single discipline of urban science (2003) requires a more heuristic approach and more efficient use of the knowledge from the various disciplines involved in urban design, even though the study of the way space is used and shaped raises methodological issues for researchers. The main disciplines involved represent many culture-related fields including anthropology, sociology, cultural studies, philosophy, and strictly engineering ones dealing with physical features: architecture, urban design, morphology. The fragmentation and specialisation of science, as well as historically established divisions, result in huge discrepancies in the terminology and language used by researchers from various backgrounds. The overlap of scientific apparatus coming from different background causes terminological and methodological concerns. While some paths and connections have already been defined on the borderline between two or more disciplines, the methodological clarity must be carefully maintained. By the same token, Rodman (1993, p.124) calls for the conceptual separation of physical form and culture to enable precise definition of the relationship between the two concepts. Based on philosophy, certain answers and inspirations may be found in the thoughts of Guattari (1998, p.433, quoted after McGrath 2008, p.201), who defines the analytical aim of schizoanalysis as a shift away from prescribed ways of thinking within disciplinary structures of representation. Instead, what he proposes is ‘ fashioning new coordinates for reading and for “bringing to life” hitherto unknown representations and propositions’. Further, we read: ‘Each stratum, or articulation, consists of coded milieus and form substances. Forms and substance, codes and milieus are not really distinct. They are the abstract components of every articulation’ (Deleuze and Guattari 1987, p.502). Schizoanalysis serves to ‘meta-model’ the everyday world around us, where ‘meta’ means the inclusion of different perspectives (Guattari 1989). The application of schizoanalysis in digital modelling enables the description of processes occurring in urban settings (McGrath 2008, p.198). In the current dissertation, people’s behaviour and the form of buildings are being studied simultaneously, using research methods from anthropology and urban morphology as well as insights from complexity studies. The latter, already dealing with multiple scientific fields, make the heuristic approach used in the current study far more appropriate. Particular problems, especially those which exist on the margins of social and technical fields, have already been addressed in this newly emerging field (Portugali 2006).

Methodology 9

The term complex systems refers to systems which are both open, so related to the surrounding environment, and complex, which equals the inability to describe the causal relations between parts of a system on the one hand, and the emerging nature of the phenomena associated with their functioning on the other (Portugali 2006). Self-organisation, understood as the ability of a system to self-organise its internal structure (Portugali 2000, p.49), is one of the core features of complex systems. Self-organisation is explained by means of such theories as synergetics (Haken, Portugali 1995, Haken 1983), which deals with the mutual relations of parts of a system and its functioning as a whole, and dissipative structures theory (Prigogine and Stengers 1984). The latter, applied to socioeconomic and, particularly, urban themes, focuses on fluctuations of people, values and information in cities (Portugali 2006). As Read (2012, Kl. 2512–2514) puts it, ‘complexity challenges the divides we set between physical, biological, ecological and organisational ideas and concepts, as well as those (…) between human and natural sciences’. Further, he (Read 2012, Kl. 2787–2793) discusses complexity as ‘a science of surprise’, which generates new questions and raises new expectations. It’s uncertain and exploratory nature remains prone to the problems which arise during research. Read (2012, Kl. 2787–2793) characterises the tools of complexity science as ‘“epistemological machines”, machines, some of them transportable, for the production of a local “seeing” and knowing’.

2.2  Space, place and body When trying to conceptualise the notion of the order which is conveyed by the spatial forms of urban structures, we need first to look at the processes of the social production of space as defined by Lefebvre (2003). Only in the larger context of society’s institutions and history, which is the layer that provides the basic background and which should be carefully studied at the outset, is the understanding of built forms possible. In the approach of philosophy and social science, space, similarly to time, is often used in the metaphorical sense either in philosophy, social science and architecture. For the sake of this elaboration, however, in order to achieve common ground for these studies, it is necessary to adopt certain devices that may further enable crossdisciplinary communication. First of all, current considerations should deal with space understood as a concept derived from Euclidean geometry, a concrete not an abstract one, ‘in the sense of topos or place, as both concrete (cultural) object and concrete (social) process’ (Amerlinck 2001, p.2). Two steps: the distinction of natural and human-made phenomena and the divisions ‘earth-sky’ (horizontal-vertical) and outside-inside offer an excellent point of departure for such considerations. The use of the above categorisation implies talking about space both in its geometrical, physical and existential dimensions. The history of deliberations on the notions of space and place and their nature dates back to early times. The relationship between body and space has always been a subject of interest to philosophers, as Casey (1997) reveals

10  Methodology

in his comprehensive review, which covers the observations of thinkers from Aristotle through Kant, Whitehead, Husserl and Merleau-Ponty. Following Classical and Enlightenment philosophers, Casey (1997) contrasts the notion of the infinite and absolute space with the one of a place. As early as in the writings of Philoponus (sixth century A.D.) through 14th-century theology and even further into the seventeenth century, physical place was integrated into space (Casey 1997, p.X). ‘A sustained and perspicacious account of place’ (Casey 1997, p.IX) we owe to Aristotle, who in his Physics ‘illuminates the role of place in the concreta of everyday life’ (Casey 1997, p.75). Since philosophical modernity agendas subordinate sensual phenomena to mind, Casey’s (1997, p.203) proposal to rediscover the place ‘by the means of the body’ may seem surprising. It was Aristotle again who observed that in order to distinguish the right side from the left, the body’s position must be considered (Casey 1997, p.204 after Physics 208b14-18, transl. by Hussey). Kant, who paid attention to ‘the first data of our experience’, discerned a special bond which exists between body and place, which is relative to the perception of physical space by the senses. The orientation, the sense of direction, the physical appearance, are only some of the notions incorporated by a sensing body into a construct of a place. The body appears in philosophical writing as an object of dwelling; it was Heidegger who defined dwelling as: ‘The way in which you are and I am, the way in which we humans are on the earth, is dwelling …’ (quotation after Norberg-Schulz 2000, p.230). Heidegger’s ‘being-in-theworld’ is synonymous to being in a place. As a full account of philosophical writing on the relation between space and habitable place goes beyond the current study, the phenomenological considerations by Merleau-Ponty (1962) seem extremely relevant. As Turner (1984, p. 58) explains, the problematic role of a body stems from its position at the juncture of natural and cultural processes. Not only is the body born and dies in the physical sense, which stems from it being part of the world, but the same processes of birth and decay contribute largely to the sphere of culture. His sentence ‘I both have and am a body’ emphasises the role of a body experienced at the same time as a physical constraint and embodiment of one’s consciousness (Turner 1984, p.58). This is a human body which gives measure to a place, performing diverse sensory activities, but also contributing ‘its legwork, its history there’ (Casey 1997, p.78). Furthermore, what needs to be considered is the concept of walking, elaborated in anthropology by de Certeau (1988, p.98). In his approach, any place is perceived as a space of enunciation, and his comparison of the usage of space and urban structures to speaking in a given language provides a valuable asset for the analysis of the way urban spaces are created and then read. Further, de Certeau (1988, p.100) speaks on the rhetoric of space, which expresses through walking in urban space. For him the experience of moving through a city – ‘practices of space (…) correspond to manipulations of the basic elements of a constructed order, (…) they are, like the tropes of rhetoric, deviations relative to a sort of “literal meaning” defined by the urbanist system’.

Methodology 11

Contrary to the infinite, absolute space, place is a term for a physical, tangible environment. All events take place, and happen in a concrete locality which consists of material features of defined structure and form. As Norberg-Schulz (2000, p.228) puts it, the character, or in other words ‘atmosphere’, determined by such features as ‘material substance, shape, texture and colour’ provides ‘the essence of place’. Trying to model a place with just one of its features, the spatial relationship only, for instance, would mean ‘loosing its concrete nature out of sight’ (Norberg-Schulz 2000, p.228). This is because the very notion of place, as reviewed by Casey in his comprehensive analyses of the initial place of creation in various cosmogonic models, is inherently related to the notion of culture. In the Judeo-Christian tradition, as Casey (1997, p.14) claims, ‘the inaugural creation text’ defines place as ‘both ubiquitous and multifarious - and that its unfolding is even presented in a quasi-progressive (…) manner’. Place is considered basic to the cosmogenic protostructuring, ‘since it is place that introduces spatial order into the world’ (Casey 1997, p.5). Starting from ancient times, people used to settle a new territory by performing various rituals of implacement. Their objective of doing so amounts to a re-enactment of the creation of a new world, e.g., the habit of nomadic Australians of the Achilpa tribe to plant a sacred pole at each new campsite (Casey 1997, p.5). Settling a place entails getting familiar with it, thereby making it no longer ‘other’ or strange. ‘Events, those prototypical temporal occurrents, call for cosmic implacement: no event can happen unplaced, suspended in a placeless aithēr’. (Casey 1997, p.7). The notion of spatial order, introduced as a way to establish place, is embedded in a given cultural code. Each culture sets up a place following its own rules. Thus, the two main features of humanmade places which Norberg-Schulz (2000, p.230) highlights are enclosure and concentration. The notion of being ‘inside’ is directly related to the active role of ‘gathering’ and is further followed by the presence of openings which connect the enclosure with the external environment. Artefacts or ‘things’ serve as internal foci, bringing to the fore the ‘gathering function of the settlement’. As Heidegger (after Norberg-Schulz 2000, p.230) puts it, ‘The thing things world’, where ‘to thing’ means ‘to gather’. The notion of enclosure embeds a need for an explicit delimitation, a physical boundary. ‘To be a boundary (…) is to be exterior to something or, more exactly, to be around it, enclosing it, acting as its surrounder’, as Casey states as a part of an analysis of Aristotle’s logic (1997, p.63), in which place is understood as a container. A similar approach may be found in the writings of other philosophers, for instance in Ortega y Gasset’s (1993, p.152) rendition of the way cities were built in Greek and Roman times: (…) he will mark off a portion of this field by means of walls, which set up an enclosed, finite space over against amorphous, limitless space. Here you have the public square. It is not, like the house, an “interior” shut in from above, as are the caves which exist in the fields, it is purely and simply the negation of the fields. The square, thanks to the walls which

12  Methodology

enclose it, is a portion of the countryside which turns its back on the rest, eliminates the rest and sets up in opposition to it. This lesser, rebellious field, which secedes from the limitless one, and keeps to itself, is a space sui generis, of the most novel kind, in which man frees himself from the community of the plant and the animal, leaves them outside, and creates an enclosure apart which is purely human, a civil space. This enclosed space is a purely cultural phenomenon and as such it must bear traces of specific culture-related features. For this reason, examination of forms of the public realm may deliver information on the lifestyles which influenced their creation and transformations. However, as Norberg-Schulz (2000, p.228) claims, places do not easily undergo analytical description due to their complex nature. A missing element, which is hard to grasp in scientific description, is every-day life, which, at the same time, remains of key interest for urban design. For Norberg-Schulz (2000, p.228), phenomenology, with its attempts to avoid abstract mental constructions and focus on ‘things’, may become a solution to this problem. Contemporary research in anthropology (Holston 2005) clearly proves that the lack of street or square boundary in modernist cities and districts is one of reasons for the absence of traditional urban life. The form of physical enclosure should be the subject of research to enable it to convey emotions and culture-related meaning in a more conscious sense. Norberg-Schulz (2000, p.231) considers the concept of ‘character’ as the key step that completes the phenomenology of place: Character is determined by how things are, and gives our investigation a basis in the concrete phenomena of our everyday life-world. Only in this way we may fully grasp the genius loci; the ‘spirit of place’ which the ancients recognised as that ‘opposite’ man has to come to terms with, to be able to dwell. The concept of genius loci denotes the essence of place. Casey’s (1997, p.203) statement that the place should be rediscovered ‘by means of a body’ expresses the need to consider the human physical presence in the urban space, both in terms of movement and communication situations. The human presence in social spaces may be divided into flows and concentrations: flows are connected with movement and traffic and are related to space, following the definition by Tuan (1977). Concentrations enable contact and communication processes. They are static rather than dynamic, thus place related. Both types are closely interrelated, they inseparably interpenetrate each other. Whenever the human flow stops for a moment, concentration occurs, although interrelations require more comfortable conditions to take place, among others: time and spatial arrangement. The development of a methodology which may allow for an understanding of how urban spaces are formed through interaction of various forces and flows, acting at different

Methodology 13

intensities and speeds, requires the incorporation of research from several specific disciplines. In terms of the theory formulated by Lynch (1960), flows may be treated as paths, and concentrations as nodes. Concentrations tend to be of a static form, while flows serve mainly as a means of getting to a destination. Taking into consideration their mostly static behaviour, the distribution of people in public spaces reflects social order. The rules of group behaviour, including spatial distribution and the established network of paths that result from the hierarchy of group members and from their recognised habits, are visible both in static situations and during the coordinated movements of the group. The same set of behavioural patterns, relatively stable in a given culture, serves as a set of rules for construction, thus they become reflected in the distribution of sites and structures and in their sociometric layout. The theory supporting this thesis may be found both in architectural and anthropological writing. Marshall (2009), in his recent study, explains the arrangement of pieces of urban structure as the backdrop of the social structure of a given community. Hillier and Hanson (1984, pp.223–224), in their seminal research, approach encounters and interactions of people as a system which acquires distinctive properties with different manifestations in space, and should be understood as an evident spatial component of culture. Hillier and Hanson (1984, p.27) refer to the usage of space and the patterns of behaviour appropriate for different communities and ethnic groups. They approach these phenomena as the determinants of the final shape of urban structures, including the discussion concerning the control of space. The mentioned theory provided the rules for simulations which found their application in the well-recognised Space Syntax software developed by scientists from all around the world. Space Syntax research refers first of all to flows and patterns of human movements. The sociometric layout, as they prove, reflects the culture of usage of space appropriate for a given community, which Hillier (2009) attributes to cultural idiosyncrasy generated by conservative use of space. He opposes the ‘conservative’ usage, aiming ‘to reinforce existing features of society’, to the generative one – intended to generate co-presence and make new things happen. Hillier (2009) regards a city as a system of visual distances, strongly influenced by both perception and personal distances. The interpersonal distances between crowd members are related to the cultural conditions of a given community and are the subject of proxemics, which, constituting a part of the anthropological approach, relates the human environment to the behavioural patterns seen for distinct cultures. Differences in personal distances influence both the perception of space and its production. Hall (1966, 2009) and his successors identify direct relationships between interpersonal distances and other characteristics of individuals and communities and the way they shape their physical environment. The differences between morphological structures representing various cultures are especially evident in cities that, like Łódź, and many other locations in pre-war central Poland, had become a melting pot of many cultures.

14  Methodology

2.3  Situation and habitus Anthropologists have developed an elaborate theory on the ways how inscribing human activities into the surroundings converts a site into a meaningful ‘place’. The explanation involves a concept of situation, which, comprising both human behaviour and the environment where it takes place, challenges the form of urban settings, performing the role of a theatre of human activities (Perinbanayagam 1974). The idea of situation, identified first in the 1920s by Thomas (1937, p.8) as ‘a constellation of the factors determining the behaviour’, enables an understanding of how human agency shapes and reshapes space. Goffman (1963, p.18) refers to a situation as to ‘the full spatial environment anywhere within which an entering person becomes a member of the gathering that is (or does then become) present’. The frame of the situation is defined as ‘the smallest viable unit of a culture that can be analyzed, taught, transmitted, and handed down as a complete entity. Frames contain linguistic, kinesics, proxemic, temporal, social, material, personality, and other components’ (Hall 1989, p.129). The relationship between people and sites encompasses both: attaching meaning to space and ‘recognition and cultural elaboration of perceived properties of environments in mutually constituting ways through narrative and praxis’ (Lawrence and Low 2009, p.14). Schumacher (2011, p.414) states that the role of architecture is to frame social communication and ‘to continuously adapt and re-order society via contributing to the continuous provision and innovation of the built environment as a framing system of organised and articulated spatial relations’. The physical structures and cultural conventions regulate and thus constrain flocking behaviour in urban space. Specifically, the built form partially replaces a set of norms that impose behaviour on groups of people and conveys culture-related meaning. Besides, the urban contexts may enhance human encounters with their semantics, thus providing a replacement for a part of communication (Hall 1989). Group behaviour depends on the relations among the people entering the situation as well as on the situation itself. In the case of high context cultures, the settings’ contribution to the information processes confirms the validity of the assumed norm. The distribution and exchange of nonverbal cues serve a communication purpose and may be attributed certain semantics, similarly to the behaviour of a human group which reflects its internal organisation (Goffman 1959). Adapted into the morphological approach (Panerai et al. 2009), the anthropological concept of habitus was first introduced by Bourdieu as a system of dispositions (Bourdieu 1977, p.214). Urban structures, matching the repetitions of social practices of everyday life, with time, become a form of record of these practices; the embedded layout, by turn, may become a contribution to the further continuation of the former way of use of space (Panerai et al. 2009). Moreover, a desirable harmony of urbanscapes requires congruency of the form of structures and of human behaviour. Certeau (1988, ix) explains this phenomenon, on the ground of anthropology, through a concept of singularity – the scientific study of relationship – that links everyday pursuits to

Methodology 15

particular circumstances. In urban design studies, this necessity of congruence of human activities and the form of urban structures became one of the key concepts of Lynch (1960, p.132 and further).

2.4 Culture as an everyday experience, culture and the built environment These are features of ordinary life which enable any society to develop their own goals, forms and meanings. Institutions, arts and learning unfold along directions held in common, and transform, adjusting to experience and through ‘active debate’. At the same time, they ‘write themselves into the land’. Culture encompasses group behaviours, but it is also revealed through individual minds, which acquire forms, goals and meanings in order to enable communication. Once learnt, these forms, goals and meanings become everyday practice and undergo changes, adjusting to the changing societal needs. These are, more or less, the reasons why Williams (2002, p.93) claims culture to be ‘ordinary’. Kroeber and Kluckhohn (1952) meticulously collected a number of definitions of culture, all of them falling into three main complementary categories (Rapoport 1980, p.9): • • •

culture as a way of life proper to a given group of people; culture as a set of meanings, symbols, ‘cognitive schemata transmitted through symbolic codes’; culture as ‘a set of adaptive strategies for survival related to ecology and resources’.

Culture, understood in the sense of patterns of behaviour, is established by the consensus of doing things in the most efficient way, which is further retained by behavioural norms. The established practices may also require certain spatial arrangements which, by turn, preserve their settled form, influencing people’s behaviour. The meaning conveyed by spatial settings is one which was attributed to them in the process of their creation. The changes of patterns of growth, and of the reasons which underlie them, imply changes in location patterns and, as a consequence, also morphological transformations of urban structures (Allen 2012). The basic codes of culture are ‘those governing its language, its schemes of perception, its exchanges, its techniques, its values, the hierarchy of its practices’ (Foucault 2005, p.XXII). Culture understood in this sense does not have to be linked with ethnicity; however, ethnicity is intrinsically a vital part of the discourse (Marshall 2009, p.112). Most anthropological studies of architecture refer to indigenous cultures and vernacular architecture; they address both the public realm and the indoors, primarily domestic spaces. Reviewed exhaustively by Waterson (2011), the studies of house forms regarding social organisation and kinship structure were started by Morgan (1881). Afterwards, they remained rather

16  Methodology

neglected until the rise of structuralism in the 1960s and 1970s. Durkheim (1965) and Durkheim and Mauss (1963, after Lawrence and Low 1990) both analysed the built environment as an integral part of social life. The analyses of settlement patterns by Lévi-Strauss (1963, ch.VII, VIII pp.120–164) gave way to a gradual increase of interest in the spatial organisation of human structures in anthropological writings (Cunningham 1964, Schulte Nordholt 1971, Griaule 1965, Ortiz 1969, Douglas 1972, Bourdieu 1972, 1973 and Humphrey 1974, reviewed after: Waterson 2011, p.80 and Lawrence and Low, 1990). Extending beyond structuralism, Bourdieu’s previously mentioned fundamental concept of habitus, seen as a system of dispositions, embraces both ‘a way of being - a predisposition or inclination’ and the ‘result of organising action’ (Bourdieu 1977, p.214). Furthermore, Moore (1986) added to this approach a notion that space may be read in a similar way to text. At present, numerous studies reflect the growing interest in the anthropology of architecture, a comprehensive review of which goes beyond the current framework. Waterson (2011), discussing vernacular architecture, delineates it as ‘a complex cascade of rhythm patterns and details’. While he and other anthropologists refer first of all to vernacular structures as those that ‘show greater cultural congruence than others’ (Amerlinck 2001, p.21), it seems that every place where the situation becomes materially embedded may provide enough cues to elaborate upon the rhythm patterns and details among them. As Asquith and Vellinga (2006, p.10) put it, the subjects of interest are ‘all those buildings that are “distinctive cultural expressions of people who live in or feel attached to a particular place or locality”’. Recent anthropological writing takes on a more diachronic and processual approach to understanding the built environment, which has replaced the former static and synchronic emphasis on structural analysis of the spatial layout (Waterson 2011). Social space arises from residents’ pursuits of everyday life (Lefebvre 1979); the routine uses of space constitute the most important part of activities analysed. Lawrence and Low (1990, p.455) pose essential questions which address the relations between built form and culture, core for the current dissertation: 1 In what ways do built forms accommodate human behaviour and adapt to human needs? How does the social group “fit” the form it occupies? 2 What is the meaning of the form? How do built forms express and represent aspects of culture? 3 How is the built form an extension of the individual? How is the spatial dimension of human behaviour related to mental processes and conceptions of the self? 4 How does society produce forms and the forms reproduce society? What roles do history and social institutions play in generating the built environment? What is the relationship between space and power? The more contemporary theories of urbanism, namely complexity studies, extend the sphere of influence of bottom-up, self-regulatory processes which

Methodology 17

shape urban structures beyond what used to be understood as vernacular architecture. Allen (2012, p.68), explains the creation of built forms as ‘driven by the decisions and choices of the multiple agents that are involved in decision making’. Acting according to individual perspectives, understandings and aims which affect their decisions, agents may operate on their own or represent a higher level of governance or business organisation. With agents’ preferences and goals changing over time, such complex systems inherently link an individual level with that of the emergent urban structure. They also contain a feedback loop, which is the result of the effect the structures have upon individuals. The shift of approach towards the issue of agency which happens within the complexity studies theory gave bottom up, individual activities and formal planning the same standing, as both strongly affect cities’ actual form and dynamics (Portugali 2012).

2.5 Meaning Experiencing of culture may be performed via examination of its influence on the physical form of the city. The subject of investigations are the tangible results of social and economic forces, the outcomes of ideas and intentions expressed in actions, which are themselves governed by cultural traditions (Vernez-Moudon 1997, p.3). As Hugo (1993, p.198) writes: (…) until the coming of Gutenberg, architecture was the main, the universal form of writing. This book of granite was begun in the Orient, carried on by Greek and Roman antiquity, and the last page was written in the Middle Ages. Moreover, this phenomenon of a popular architecture succeeding a caste’s architecture, which we have just observed in the Middle Ages, is repeated with every analogous movement of human intelligence in the other great periods of history. As Barthes (1988, p.195) asserts ‘The city is a discourse, and this discourse is actually a language: the city speaks to its inhabitants, we speak our city, the city where we are, simply by inhabiting it, by traversing it, by looking at it.’ This ‘language of a city’ should go beyond the stage of a metaphor only, as Barthes suggests, it needs to be explained in more scientific terms. The modernist approach to urban design, which resulted in urban settings devoid of their former cultural meaning, has been strongly criticised by scientists of various background. Postmodernist design played with historical forms, looking for the return of meaning, and by this learnt from the past. More contemporary design, however, eschews this doctrine, nurturing ideas which do not necessarily follow the genius loci. Although the globalisation and internationalisation of urban design are widely criticised, the increasing mobility of people cannot be neglected. The usage of space by succeeding cultures follows people’s migrations. In a globalising world, man must find out how ‘basic cultural systems such as time and space are used to organise behaviour’ (Hall 1989, p.55) – this conclusion starts to influence contemporary urban design theory, as numerous

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studies show (e.g., Jones, 2007; Schumacher, 2011). Specific elements of the urban environment serve to provide meaning unique and understandable for members of a given community. In her essay which reviews some considerations on urban settings of various periods as a nonverbal system of signifying elements, Choay (1972) gives an account of the gradual reduction of meaning of contemporary urbanscapes as a result of the predominance of economic factors over social ones and those related to everyday lives. An urban environment devoid of culture-related meaning may seem hostile and constrain the adaptation and integration of newcomers. The scarcity of research on the role of the cultural framework in urban design leads to misunderstandings in the evaluation of the urban fabric. In societies which maintained an unchanged form of customs and habits for a longer period, the context layer of situations could evolve successfully. Contemporary society, with its constant change, cannot easily establish sets of stable cultural practices; thus human behaviour often lacks its former context support. Along with the destruction of traditional, high context societies, the order of space, which according to Alexander et al. (1977) and Hanzl (2016) expresses the cultural framework which structures both human behaviour and the physical settings, has been changing in tandem. Long established sets of norms, practices and meanings for a given community transformed, and new ones emerged. The relations between physical settings and the communities living there waned. Although during this process of transformation from traditional, high context societies to low context ones the architectural and urban environment loses some of its former meaning, it still enables the screening and filtering of sensory data, which is the way information is conveyed (Hall 1966, p.2). A precise understanding of the concept of the meaning of urban settings (Hanzl 2013a) is essential here because, as Haken (2000, after Portugali 2006) states, the key feature in how complex systems `self-organise’, is that they `interpret’, the information that comes from the environment. Some light may be shed on the above issues thanks to the analysis of environments where contemporary complex societies started. While the theories of self-organisation of cities were elaborated in the second half of the twentieth century, the phenomena which they describe started even earlier. Complexity, as Portugali (2000, p.315) asserts, defines the phenomena which emerged along with the dissolution of high context, traditional cultures. The structures left behind, when juxtaposed with their cultural background, let us read the past activities and social relations. The forms of urban environments, approached through culture-related lenses, may lead to an understanding of the processes which enabled the emergence of contemporary multicultural societies. The comprehension of the way multicultural communities developed and lived together through long spans of time may help when creating new, more open environments which cater to the actual needs of citizens with regard to their culture-related requirements. The relationship between people and places comprises an ongoing process of assigning meaning to urban settings and acknowledgement of the

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environment (Lawrence and Low 2009, p.14). As already mentioned, in his seminal work on the communicative role of architecture, Eco (1997) reveals this process. Approaching architecture and, to a greater extent, the built environment as a semiological system, he addresses the meaning attributed to physical structures. At the outset, he gives an interpretation of the conscious portion of the message delivered by built structures. Semiology defines a sign through the codified message that a cultural context assigns to a given marker. Architectural signs contain a marker, the detonator of which is the function that an object may perform. Depending on its cultural context, a single object may carry many markers and, with time, be assigned varied meanings (Eco 1997). Further in the same essay, Eco (1997) considers the reference to a more general anthropological system, the one discussed by Lévi-Strauss (1963), which rules all human behaviour. He puts forward the proxemics theory by Hall, and also mentions kinetics and proxemics as if extending communication with behavioural components. Rapoport (1990, p.38) distinguishes pragmatics as one of the three principal elements of the semiotics of urban space, along with semantics and syntactics. Semantics deals with ‘the relation of signs to things signified, that is, how signs carry meanings, the property of the elements’; and syntactics refers to ‘the relationship of sign to sign within a system of signs, that is the study of structure of the system’. Whereas the studies of these two components are often considered at too high a level of abstraction to find their application in the analyses of environmental meaning (Rapoport 1990, p.36), pragmatics appears useful. Rapoport (1990) explains pragmatics as an examination of the ways different elements function in defined situations, of the emotions they evoke, the attitudes and preferences associated with them and the kind of behaviour required in their presence. He relates this aspect of urbanscapes directly to the culture of space usage, whereas the settlement patterns he identifies with the core values of the culture. Different settlement patterns, when contrasted, make explicit the various features of the background cultures (Rapoport 1990, p.88). The meaning of spatial organisation is subject to coding and decoding, and reflects such features as: ‘sacred schemata, social structure, and hierarchy’ (Rapoport 1990, p.92). Situation is classified as one of the components of meaning, along with verbal communication itself and ‘the background and preprogrammed responses of the recipient’. Environmental contexting is believed to involve two distinctive processes, internal and external (Hall 1989, p.95). The first type engages the brain and results of past experience (internalised or programmed contexting) or the innate features of the nervous system (innate contexting). The second one consists of settings and the situation of the event (situational or environmental context). Situation provides an external context whereas other features belong to internal contexting. The use of contextualising allows us to deal with the overload of information and makes communication much easier. One of the communication channels in cities is the form of urbanscapes. It may prove easy to grasp information about the kinds of behaviour

20  Methodology

and situations one may expect in given settings. It may well give hints about the required rules of conduct – ‘(…) the environment is seen to consist of highly structured, improbable arrangements of objects and events which coerce behavior in accordance with their own dynamic patterning.’ (Barker 1968 after Hall 1989, p.99). In the field of anthropological theory, these phenomena are explained with the concept of screening and filtering of sensory data. The architectural and urban environments that people create are expressions of this ‘filteringscreening process’ (Hall 1966, p.2), which admits some things and rejects others. As a result, the experience is affected by a given ‘set of culturally patterned sensory screens’. The meaning of space is explained by contextualisation provided by the built environment as one of the parts of cultural settings which should help citizens to deal with the overload of information. Hall (1989, p.85) refers to contextualisation of meaning when saying ‘One of the functions of culture is to provide a highly selective screen between man and the outside world’. Further, Hall (1989, p.87) lists five categories of events: (1) subject or activity, (2) situation, (3) status in a social system, (4) former experience, (5) culture. He asserts that at least this catalogue of events should be regarded when discussing the rules behind individual perception or omission. Also, Humphrey (1988 after Pellow 1996, p.216) confirms the role which culture plays in the interaction between architecture and the way space is organised, as both are cultural constructions. The relationship between people and sites includes both attaching meaning to space and ‘recognition and cultural elaboration of perceived properties of environments in mutually constituting ways through narrative and praxis’ (Lawrence and Low 2009, p.14). Cultures may be classified according to the role of context in communication situations. Hall (1989, p.92) emphasises the importance of the level of context, pointing at its determining role versus the nature of communication and all subsequent behaviour. In high context (HC) communication, most of the message is in the physical environment or is internalised in the person (Hall 1989, p.91). It requires pre-programming, in which preparing relevant settings is one of the necessary elements. In this kind of communication art forms are often used (Hall 1989, p.101). According to Hall (1989, p.102) ‘Extensions that now make up most of man’s world are for the most part low-context’ and could be replaced by other inventions along with the development of technology. 2.5.1 Pragmatics Rapoport (1990, p.38) talks about the concept of pragmatics referring to activities which take place on a given site. Actions performed in public spaces may be classified into two general categories: (1) movement and transportation and (2) interpersonal communication and social activities (Carmona et al. 2009). The mutual relations between the two components of use of public spaces is extensively explained in the classic study by Appleyard (1981), above all concerning traffic. In parallel, the social cues discussed hereto as

Methodology 21

part of the explanation of the situation may be twofold. Firstly, they are related to some prescribed rituals unique to a given community and thus belong to conscious activities. Secondly, the nonverbal communication cues associated with group behaviours and proxemics issues, including interpersonal distances and distribution of people in communication situations, also affect the form of physical settings (Hall 2009). Our focus is on the relations between the way space is used in its variations and the forms of public spaces themselves. We will try to analyse and review the previous research with regard to these mutual relations. The first category connected with established activities, including transportation and movement, is reflected at its core level by street layout, mostly the elements of street profile: traffic lanes of various parameters, tram lines, pavements, cycling paths, street vegetation of multiple types, and the like. The presence of these elements of outdoor spaces means that defined modes of transportation are available. Their absence or underdevelopment, likewise an abundance or overdevelopment, may effectively influence users’ preferences. Looking from the perspective of social psychology, the enumeration of social factors may be further extended. Feldman (1968), who examined social behaviour in three cities: Paris, Boston and Athens, divided them into two main categories: mobility and the ‘manner in which pedestrians stand at busy intersections (…)’. Into mobility, he counts the following components: tempo, pace and proportions of all modes of transportation and adjustment of physical settings to transportation patterns, and numbers of collisions for each mode of transportation separately. In the same study Feldman (1968) gives also a list of sources of atmosphere in streets: ‘(1) factors of density, large numbers, heterogeneity; (2) the source from which the population is drawn; (3) general national culture; (4) specific historical conditions under which adaptations to urban overload occurred - system of values; (5) continuation of manners, norms and facilities’. His observations match the results of seminal studies by Whyte (2009a), who became famous for examining human behaviour in public spaces, as well as more contemporary research by Gehl and Svarre (2013). The human presence in social spaces may be divided into two classes: flows and concentrations. Tuan (1977) defines flows as connected with movement/traffic and relates them to space. The intensity of traffic flows and movements is a feature which was extensively described by Hillier and Hanson (1984). In his later work, Hillier (2009) discusses a ‘human system made up of movement, interaction and activity’ and its relations with the urban physical structure, which is a reflection of the most prevalent modes of transportation in its physical arrangement. Components containing the meaning of public spaces may ‘speak’ in different ways. Some features are evident and result from functional conditions of a given development and these may be classified as direct communication. This group includes the ways streets are furnished, such as: traffic lanes of various widths and surfaces, cycling paths, pavements, greenery, bollards, and the like. It is a

22  Methodology

platitude to say that there are streets which are designed for driving fast and others inviting for a walk in the shade of trees. Even an elementary analysis of street profiles allows one to distinguish a commercial street from a residential one. Manuals on the history of urbanism address the general character of the public realm and its development through the ages. Among other physical features, they showcase the relation of size to human scale, which may vary from cosy to monumental, against the history and succeeding culture of a given place (e.g., Rasmussen 1969). The components of social and communication activities require a more elaborate classification with regard to relations with physical settings. This refers to another part of communication, which may be classified as indirect, in comparison to nonverbal cues. According to Hall (1989, p.82), ‘Nonverbal systems are closely tied to ethnicity (…) they are of the essence of ethnicity.’ The consistency of urban patterns as experienced in public spaces is a consequence of the rules of crowd behaviour, constituting part of a given culture. Interrelations require more comfortable conditions to take place, among others: time and spatial arrangements. This indirect and non-verbal portion of communication affects the phenomenology of perception, as has already been said. The meaning of public spaces remains in close relation with the kinesics patterns of groups of users. Kinesics is a way a person moves and handles their body (Birdwhistell 1970, after Hall 1989, p.75). People have become specialised in the language of the body, making it integrated and congruent with everything they do, it is culturally determined and should be read against the given cultural background (Hall 1989, p.76). ‘Each culture has its own characteristic manner of locomotion, sitting, standing, reclining, and gesturing.’ (Hall 1989, p.75). Hall (1989, pp.76–77) describes a phenomenon of group movement, synchronisation. He underlines the way people belonging to disparate cultures move, pointing at the presence of local rhythms and the necessity ‘to conform to the local beat’ to fit in (1989, p.79). He also stresses the role of synchronisation between people belonging to the same culture. Furthermore, according to Condon, who performed a comprehensive study on the way groups of people move, the ‘bond’ between humans should be seen as ‘the result of participation within shared organizational forms’. Hence, he explains that ‘(…) humans are tied to each other by hierarchies of rhythms that are culture specific and expressed through language and body movement’ (Hall 1989, p.74). In addition, the presence of a synchronisation with settings is claimed, which takes place when the urbanscape belongs to the same culture as the visitor. If this is the case, a sense of belonging may be present, and a place is perceived as more attractive than when the synchronisation is lacking. Settings which are out of phase are more likely to seem alien, unordered. Synchronisation is particularly noticeable in high context cultures, where it ‘functions on a high level of awareness, and is consciously valued’ (Hall 1989, p.79). Handling synchrony is innate, its specificity acquired as a result of the learning process and influenced by culture (Hall 1989, p.79). When referring this

Methodology 23

theory to urbanscapes, the settings where a child is raised affect his or her perception and kinesics behaviour. When older, he or she would perceive similar spatial order as familiar, homelike. By the same token, Hillier and Hanson ponder how societies vary ‘in the type of physical configuration [and] in the degree in which the ordering of space appears as a conspicuous dimension of culture’ (1984, p.4). They conclude that the aim is to establish how encounter systems get differential properties and that their unique features have different manifestations in space. In my own interpretation of the meaning of urban environment (Hanzl 2013a), I hypothesised on the parallel of communication by urban environment and interpersonal communication. First, both types of communication consist of the articulated message, which, referring to architecture, should be understood, as Eco explains, through function and its explicit manifestations in space. Direct communication defined this way conveys meaning as part of certain rituals or culturally established activities. Next to the articulated message, there is also an unconscious part, provided via the forms of urban structures which triggers our senses in a more direct, nonverbal way. Understanding of the ‘meaning of urban spaces’ in this approach requires looking at relations between the urban structures and the culture of usage of space. There are three main issues which should be considered with regard to this: physical features, including distribution, shape and size of forms defining the space, distribution and behaviour of users, which reflect social order and flows of human movement and which find their reflection in the sociometric layout of a given place. Messages in this group are carried by such parameters of urban spaces as their scale, rhythm, wall corrugation, and the like; all of which are behind the creation of a certain atmosphere or sensation, which may also be approached through a more general notion of aesthetics. I believe that embedding the concept of spatial order, which remains a well-known and accepted term in urban design, into the considerations on the culture-related meaning of urban space is key to understanding the impact of culture on the built environment. The rules which govern the nonverbal communication component of human group behaviour, its intrinsic organisation and arrangement, stem from the same structural system as the distribution of cues affecting the communicative features of outdoor spaces. They both represent the same culture of space usage.

2.6  Spatial order The above considerations provide a framework for the description of physical structures in relation to the customary ways they are used and produced. In this respect, an important methodological potential lies in the application of structural models already in use in anthropological research (Hage and Harrary 1984). The concept of similar generic structures underlying different material systems has been debated since ancient times (Batty and Marshall

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2012, p.26) and in diverse fields of science. From a philosophical perspective, Foucault (2005, p.XXIII) addresses an order, which is present ‘in every culture, between the use of what one might call the ordering codes and reflections upon order itself, there is the pure experience of order and of its modes of being.’ The structuralist approach in anthropology is recognised for its contribution to the development of theoretical premises. Its main advocate, Lévi-Strauss (1963), postulates the existence of (a) a structured collective unconscious capable of generating patterned cultural behaviours, including built forms; and (b) unconscious mental structures comprised of binary oppositions that represent universal characteristics of human thought (Lawrence and Low 1990, p.468). Barthes (1988, p.192) recognises Lévi-Strauss’s contribution to the development of the semiology of human settlements, the latter’s analysis of Bororo village (1976) based on structuralist premises. Lévi-Strauss attributes different aspects of social life to the unconscious activity of the mind, which consists of imposing forms upon content (2009, p.30). He discusses ‘(…) interpreting society as a whole in terms of a theory of communication’ (2009, p.89). This endeavour may be undertaken on three levels: the rules of kinship and marriage, economic rules and linguistic rules. (2009, p.89). In his opinion, it is legitimate to search for homologies between these levels, as well as to look for reflections of social structure in the spatial organisation of human settlements – again on various levels (2009, pp.290–291). He distinguishes direct and indirect communication and highlights rules of communication games which constitute an essential element of culture (2009, p.296). Social institutions find their projection in the space around them, which refers not only to primitive societies but also, as Lévi-Strauss emphasises, ‘most modern cities present spatial structures which can be reduced to a few types and which provide certain indexes of the underlying social structure.’ (2009, p.329). Further, he discusses ‘the order of orders’, which ‘is the most abstract expression of the interrelationships between the levels to which structural analysis can be applied.’ (2009, p.332). The question is then raised of which physical features of urban spaces evoke what kind of notions and how these phenomena function. These two approaches: the one of structuralism and that of semantics, are inextricably linked together. A spontaneous order, reflecting the cultural framework of social relations and behaviour should be incorporated into design, as Marshall (2009, p.11) rightly asserts when looking for the principles of cities’ evolution. Lévi-Strauss wrote about the same internal order of urban settlements in his Tristes Tropiques. Cities unfold following the internal cultural order of a given community, adjusting to their needs to function properly. At the level of the conceptual approach, the hypothesis may be formulated that the ‘structured collective unconscious capable of generating patterned cultural behaviours, including built forms’ proposed by Lévi-Strauss (1963) is a system which lays both behind the human group behaviour and spatial arrangement of urban structures. The anthropological order discussed both by Lévi-Strauss and Eco manifests itself in the physical form of any built environment.

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As an inherent part of a given culture, spatial order may be understood and accepted against the backdrop of a core set of assumptions, culture-related practices and ways of thought and judgement. The two distinct epistemological perspectives, respectively, anthropology and social science or urban design, rely on different premises; thus, terminological clarity is necessary. The structure of human behaviour in everyday life provides the framework for the functioning of cities which should be considered the basis for design. Marshall (2009) explicitly presents the physical structure of the city in relation to its social one, starting from the smallest unit of a single room in a flat through a suite of rooms in a flat belonging to a family up to the urban structure of urban units. As he writes, ‘the key to this is to do with social hierarchies, and inclusive and exclusive social groupings that translate into inclusive and exclusive spaces’ (Marshall 2009, p.106). While in the case of spatial behavioural practices the non-verbal communication component may convey the general notion of situational meaning (Hanzl 2013a), for the distribution and form of physical settings the concept of spatial order applies. Certain rules which during the period of modernism were considered universal, in reality, do not apply. Among them the one on a mechanistic approach towards the functioning of a city in which people are ‘assumed to scuttle about from home to workplaces and back as if part of some complicated but predictable mechanism’ (Marshall 2009, p.11). One of the first statements opposing the Modernist understanding of a city as a mono-functional organism was Alexander’s claim that a ‘City is not a tree’ (Alexander et al. 1977). Together with his methodology of design, which embraces culture grounded forms and traditions, this assumption contributes to an acceptance of the variety of culture. Now, the intricate urban order, which ‘has been around for thousands of years, perhaps as long as there have been cities with streets’, and which ‘was to be swept away by the Corbusian revolution’ is being rediscovered again and the social order which was behind it should be made more explicit. At the same time, it should be recognised that as the social order is the product of culture, there are as many orders as there are cultures of usage of space. The contemporary preference for bottom up systems which results from the quest for complexity (Batty and Marshall 2012) looks to embrace the variety of cultures more than before. Observations on the relations between the social structure of user group and the actual design of buildings and urban spaces may be found in several architectural treatises; Alexander et al’s statements being probably the most recognised. For instance: ‘A building is a visible, concrete manifestation of a social group or social institution’ (1977, p.469). Also, the urban fabric may be characterised in the way proposed by Alexander et al (1977), as a hierarchical assemblage of elements created following the rules of a given culture, embodied in a network of connecting relations. On this backdrop, a crucial role belongs to the networks of spatial connections. Therefore, the term ‘spatial emergence’ defines ‘the network of space that links the buildings together into a single system [and which] acquires emergent structure from the ways in which

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objects are placed and shaped within it’ (Hillier 2009). It also needs highlighting that an important part of the internal structure of human settlements results from the layout of pathways, as has been described in the widely recognised theory of Space Syntax by Hillier and Hanson (1984). Marshall (2009, p.105) emphasises the role of system of public streets, which he perceives not only as a ‘void’ between urban units, but more as ‘an urban unit in its own right, part of the social fabric of cities.’ He (Marshall 2009, p.107) argues physical entities, including boundaries and partitions, spatial links and connections and sets or ‘nesting of enclosures’ manifest spatial topological distinctions and connections. In turn, these spatial relations reflect social hierarchies and organisation. The forming of hierarchies within a social context stems from power relations or just asymmetries within social units (Marshall 2009, p.106). The structure of public and private spaces filters the exterior social environment, a screening enhanced with barriers, gates, walls, or other, sometimes invisible, boundaries (Marshall 2009, p.110). This performs the role of allowing some people in and keeping out those who are not familiar with how to move around, or are repelled by the image of interior spaces. Similar observations may be found in the writing of many theoreticians of architecture and urban design. Unwin (2003, p.194) speaks of social geometry as a feature which ‘conditions the sizes and the layout of spaces’. Alexander’s chapter ‘Structure follows social spaces’ refers to much the same issues (Alexander et al. 1977, pp.940–945). For Rapoport (1980, p.11), planning, regardless of its scale and kind, may be perceived as the organisation of space ‘for different purposes and according to different rules which reflect the activities, values, and purposes’. Venturi et al. (1977) developed the concept of a semiology of architecture, which is currently attracting attention along with the interest in the reinforcement of the information layer of urbanscapes (Schumacher 2011). Spatial order has been noticed and discussed by scholars of various background, often as an element of a larger structure of an internal cultural order of a given group of people. The understanding of the notion of spatial order as a cultural issue may provide answers to various questions on the identity of urbanism in the contemporary era of globalisation, such as, for instance, these posed by Zuziak (2008, pp.61–62). As Rapoport (1990, p.89) justly claims ‘the ordering principles of fixed-feature arrangements have meaning, although one group’s order may be another’s disorder’. The notion of spatial order refers to one of the fundamental codes of culture. While specific to a given social group, it answers their expectations in terms both of everyday use and aesthetics as well as meaning and may be the subject of rejection and alteration by another group of users of the space. Rapoport (1990, p.89) rightfully asserts that ‘the ordering schemata are culturally variable and their “reading” in each case draws on cultural schemata. The people in the area see it as positive; the people outside see it as negative, as a stigma and the area as a slum’. Also, Ashihara (1981, 1983, p.34), who compared cultures as distinct as the Japanese and European ones, draws attention to the differences in the appearance of public spaces in various cultural contexts and indicates the presence of different ‘spatial orders’.

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2.7  Perception – aesthetics Direct contact with the environment allows for observation and validation. The cognition of the built form and social gatherings happens by means of perception. This occurs during the process of cognition when both the social order of an assembly and the spatial order of an urban structure find their understanding filtered through the culture influenced screen of perception. Although a detailed analyses of perception, being the subject of consideration of environmental psychology, rests beyond the scope of this study, the realisation of some of its processes is crucial for the understanding of the current topic. The way social spaces are perceived remains an important factor influencing their creation. Arnheim (2011, pp.23–40), a psychologist and a theoretician of arts, emphasises the role of conscious visual thinking in seeing perception. Perception and evaluation of urbanscapes express the spirit of the particular era and remain a subject of the beauty canons (Lothian 1999). Hall suggests that the human relationship to all art forms is ‘more intimate than is commonly supposed (…)’ as it is based on a synchrony in which the ‘(…) audience and artist are part of the same process’ (1989, p.80). This continues his observations on the role of synchrony between a human and environments in relation to culture. By the same token, Adorno (2011, p.5) points out the role of artworks as a medium reflecting the unconscious aspects of culture. He states that: ‘Artworks are afterimages of empirical life insofar as they help the latter to what is denied them outside their own sphere and thereby free it from that to which they are condemned by reified external experience.’ The same refers to urban settings which are perceived by a group of users as answering their needs, including the aesthetic criteria. The perception of images and the beauty canons remain culture specific, which includes urban settings, and directly influences their shape. Therefore, visual awareness implies an unconscious mental process, one which allows the filtering out of what is seen based on the culture-related setting. Strzemiński (1974) explains the adjustments of particular patterns in built environments, e.g., repeating rhythms, patterns ruling group behaviour, with the correlation of visual awareness. The notion of visual awareness, which he defines as the ‘cooperation of seeing and thinking’, emphasises the role of the cognitive absorption of the perceived visual stimuli, which is transformed together with the changes of the socio-cultural settings. The changes of visual awareness followed civilisational development, such as economic and technological factors, as well as the transformations of the social structure of a given group of people in a defined historical context. Strzemiński (1974) identifies two major paths of development of visual awareness. First, in rural cultures, the focus was on the observation of the interior of an object, which found its expression in the popularity of the study of nature of things. The second form is a silhouette vision, which developed from the primitive contour observations in tribes accustomed to vast open spaces in economies based on hunting and breeding animals. The derivative of the silhouette

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vision was the perspective of a simple parallel projection. In further stages, the notion of rhythm developed, including architectural rhythmisation as a consequence of the afterimage phenomena, natural for the perception processes taking place in vast open spaces. Another form of seeing, especially evident in communities whose main occupation was commerce, was seeing concentrated on the attributes of products, with the emphasis on the texture and weight of objects. Due to its limited focus, this form was usually devoid of a larger perspective. Similar observation may be found in the writing of Lévi-Strauss, who spoke of taking possession of objects through depiction, especially in oil paintings, as one of the most specific features of the art of Western civilisations (in Conversations with Charles Charbonnier, Cape Editions, after Berger 1972, p.78). On the turf of urban design, the development of theories referring to urban perception originated with Lynch (1960, 1994) and his wellestablished theory of the elements of city image. Sequential analyses examining direct perception from the pedestrian’s point of view were always present in architectural theory (Panerai et al. 2009), once again becoming popular after Sitte (1996). The approach offered by the British Picturesque School (Cullen 2008), which concentrates on elements of urbanscapes in detailed scale, enriched this methodology. Currently, focus on the human perception of a cityscape has become a common approach along with the development of postmodernism and post-Fordism and is also often connected with psycho-geographical examinations of urban settings (e.g., Debord 1955). Additionally, Lynch and Rodwin (1991, p.355) highlight customs as one of the reasons for ‘choice of form’ in the design process. Cognitive aspects of form, together with notions related to these concepts, precede the creation of physical objects (Caniggia and Maffei 2001, p.50).

2.8 Cues 2.8.1 Artefacts As has already been said regarding the development of physical structures in relation to culture, the built form constitutes a valuable repository of cultural information, an artefact of the cultures and societies that created them in a given time (Lefebvre 1991, 2003). Lévi-Strauss (1955, pp.137–138) describes the city as ‘the most complex of human inventions, (…) at the confluence of nature and artefact’. The role of artefacts requires clarification because they function both as a part of the material world as well as constituting an element of perceived reality, conveying meaning. As Cole (2003) observes, ‘artifacts are at the same time conceptual and material: they have a modeling function, they are transformative and they orient perception and action according to value’. Cole (2003, p.9) defines an artefact as ‘an aspect of the material world that has been modified over the history of its incorporation in goal directed human action’. The making of an artefact

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consists of changes which affect both its material and conceptual features. Material items acquire form as an outcome of ‘the process of goal directed human actions’ which affect their shape and, simultaneously, material objects influence human behaviour. Cole’s words (2003, p.9) explain the role which artefacts play as part of the interactions they once belonged to and those which they now affect. By the same token, Read (2012, Kl. 2939–2941) talks about ‘the relatedness of material stuff to human use and inhabitation’, about things which, shifted to human purposes, remain part of the practical and political sphere. Moreover, the studies of the relationships between an environment and human behaviour should also approach ‘human thought as the embodied activity of active agents, embedded in environments which are also active, embodied agents’ (Cole 2003, p.15). Such modus operandi attributes physical objects with certain agency. The issue which remains unclear is how this happens, which features of urban settings ‘act’. When referring to an urban environment, the answer to this question is usually ascribed to a concept of meaning; as Waterson (2011, p.75) explains, it is by virtue of the creation of cultural meaning that buildings start playing as points of reference in a human-made landscape. The city – an ensemble of strategic constructs – produces and stabilises ‘the conditions for the appearance of whole material cultures with their own subjects, objects and ways of life’ (Read 2012, Kl. 3003–3004). It, like any other material system, embeds intentions and ‘communicates’ (Read 2012, Kl. 2965–2967). When raising the structure of places, Norberg-Schulz (2000, p.231) firstly introduces the basic distinction into natural and human-made phenomena. The fundamental categories are earth-sky (horizontal-vertical) and outside-inside, followed by the notion of ‘character’. Nevertheless, as Lefebvre (1996, p.28) claims, to ‘provide an analysis of the urban with the aim of ‘the least possible separation of the scientific from the poetic’ we need to call upon all the senses; an examination of tangible physical space is required as a consequence. The shape of urban space, its dimensions, the presence or absence of urban landmarks, as well as the design of the urban floor and furniture, the colours and materials used, all these features contribute to context, perceived and understood through the framework of a given culture. 2.8.2  Urban morphology and outdoor space The studies of urban morphology have flourished recently, after the period of Modernist stagnation (Rykwert 2004; Claessens 2005). As a consequence of the Postmodernist interest in the field of urban design, they attracts the attention of numerous researchers from across the world, as Gauthier and Gilliland (2006) describe in their comprehensive review. For the sake of the current study, an exploratory framework for the epistemology of the public realm should be established at the outset. However, a theory which may convey the understanding of the relations between the way people use open urban spaces and their physical form is lacking. Gauthier and Gilliland (2006, p.44 after

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Levy 1999, p.79) suggest that comprehension of the urban fabric in terms of ‘urban form’ should entail treating elements of the urban structure as linked together and creating a whole, governed by an ‘internal’ logic. This postulate recalls the structuralist position within anthropological research, namely the concept of ‘the order of orders’ discussed by Lévi-Strauss (2009, p.332). The requirement to include culture-related aspects of urban structures into the normative theory of urban design should be recognised. The author tries to fill in this gap, in the quest for common threads enabling the commensurability of the theoretical framework of anthropological research and the epistemological approach of urban design and urban morphology. The current study identifies certain threads in urban design writing which refer directly to urban settings that may be identified as culture-related. The principles of morphological analyses assume a focus on the form of physical elements at different levels of resolution and their diachronic transformations (Vernez Moudon 1997, p.7). The resolution of analysed structures corresponds to the levels of a building/lot, street/urban block, city/region. In the Conzenian school of urban morphology, following the thoughts of M.R.G. Conzen (Whitehand and Larkham 2000; Whitehand 2001), the morphological descriptions of urban structures are based on the analyses of plans. All these studies belong to the domain of historical geography. The Polish tradition of analyses of urban morphology was derived initially from the German and Austrian research in historical geography, as Koter and Kulesza (2010) relate in their comprehensive study. Further enriched by Polish scientists (Dziewoński 1962) it drew from the methodology of M.R.G. Conzen (for instance: Gołachowski 1957, Gołachowski 1969). Studies on the morphology of small towns and villages of medieval provenience, conducted since the early 60s, were aimed at proving the Polish roots of the so-called Regained Territories. This trend is represented, among others, by the works of Pudełko: (1959, 1960, 1962, 1965, 1964, 1967). Koter (1976, 1994) conducted similar studies on different morphological units distinct in the urban structure of Łódź, also based on the Conzenian methodology of parcellation analyses. They involved planimetric analyses of street networks, layout and characteristics of parcels, and the like. These studies successfully and in an entirely justified manner proved the Medieval provenience of the layout of many towns and villages in central Poland. Another spatial thread emphasised in these studies was the development of eighteenth and nineteenth-century Classicism planning of industrial settlements, represented, among others, by the works of Koter (1969, 1979, 1984) and historians of town planning, for instance, Kalinowski (1986, 1998), Kalinowski and Trawkowski (1955) and Dumała (1974, 1988). Concentrated on the analyses of formal plans and regulations, they have not dealt with bottom-up processes, nor have they analysed the architectural, three-dimensional aspects of urban structures and public spaces. Other schools of urban morphology focus on the diachronic characteristics of constructions, i.e., Italian school, continuing Muratori’s tradition

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(Cataldi et al. 2002), and urban structures, i.e., French school, started by Panerai and others (2009). Research of open urban spaces has so far been limited to plot profile analyses by the French school of urban morphology, such as the studies of tenements in Versailles by Castex and Celeste (Panerai et al. 2009). The typologies of public spaces were the subject of investigations by many authors, e.g., Krier (1975) undertook a trial to formulate a typology of squares, based on their shape and Jacobs (1995) provided an elaborate typology of streets, while Portuguese researchers worked on the ontology of public space, e.g., works by Duarte et al. (2011), Beirão (2012), Beirão et al. (2012), Lopes et al. (2015). However noticeable the revival, the research within these three leading schools have so far overlooked detailed analyses of outdoor spaces. The paucity of theories on the morphology of urban open spaces is still pertinent, and the lack of a proper methodology does not allow the analysis of the ambience in their entirety. The level of detail required for the description of culturerelated features is limited to buildings, whereas open spaces are discussed at the more general level of street/block layout analyses (Vernez Moudon 1997, p.7). Parallelly, the actual, practice-based approach which engages the definition of genius loci, notably in rehabilitation projects, often goes into more detail. While I argue that the physical attributes of open public spaces trigger cognitive and behavioural responses associated with deeply-seated cultural meaning, to appreciate such attributes in a more systemic way, current practices of data acquisition need to be reviewed. The basic method of gathering data for projects both in urban planning and urban design is observation ( Jacobs 1985). Not only does direct contact with the environment enable inventory and validation, but it also gives the opportunity to observe social processes. By the same token, Rapoport (1990, p.97) suggests direct observation, analyses of existing studies, and an analysis of descriptions as a method of verification of the thesis on the role of nonverbal communication in the environment. Morphologists recognise that ‘(…) the city or town can be ‘read’ and analysed via the medium of its physical form’, at the same time emphasising the tight and dynamic interrelationship of urban structures shaping and being shaped by social and economic forces (Vernez Moudon 1997, p.7). The lack of a unified methodology for analyses of the physical urban form from the perspective of humanistic and social sciences, as pointed to by Bandini (2000, p.133), does not allow for the examination of the appearance of urbanscapes, with its information layer contributing to the situation-based context. In the same paper, Bandini (2000) presents a review of the main threads in the field of the analysis of urban architecture. Panerai, Depaule and Demorgon (2009) convey a similar review of analytical threads. The oeuvre of morphologists and urban designers who incline towards an anthropological method (Rykwert 1989; Rapoport 1990, 2003; Lynch 1994), is positioned between the cognitive and normative approach, both while describing of existing or historical cityscapes and looking for a normative

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theory (Gauthier and Gilliland 2006). The most elaborate methodology has been given by Rapoport (1990, pp.106–107), who contributed a comprehensive list of cues as a basis for description, including elements of vision, sounds, smells and certain social aspects: characteristics of people, activities, uses and objects present in outdoor spaces. He (Rapoport 1990, p.89, following Hall 1966) classified distinctions or cues which transfer meaning, into three groups: fixed-feature, semifixed-feature and informal (nonfixed-feature). The first group defines for instance: buildings, permanent elements of streets and squares, and the like. His comprehensive set of identifiable cues, possible to qualify as culture-specific, includes features like: ‘quality, size, shape, enclosing elements, paving, barriers, and links, etc.’; Table 2.1 presents the complete list. Additional, more detailed, cues may be derived from an understanding of the process of perception in which a city consists of diverse ‘sensuous experiential orders’. Nevertheless, as Hall claims, people grasp the context as a whole (1989, p.131). In the architectural praxis, a ‘phenomenological survey’ of a cityscape is conducted which enables the distillation of the ‘sensuous quality of space’, and finds further application as input standards for transformations (Andersen 2012). Böhme (2004, after Andersen 2012) has introduced the concept of an atmosphere, defined as ‘a spatial character we experience through our bodily presence’. In Andersen’s (2012) definition, atmosphere belongs to the interstice between an articulating physical object and a sensing human body. Böhme claims the impression is evoked by ‘orientation, suggestions of movement (and) markings’ creating ‘concentrations, directions, configurations in space.’ (2002/2005, after Andersen 2012). People develop a better understanding of the world through experience. The ability to assess ‘gravity, hardness, surface character, thermal conductivity’ together with the geometry of shapes (Rasmussen 1964) is acquired starting from early childhood. The recognition is a result of experience collected by a youngster along with the background culture of usage of space. A phenomenological survey should include a number of properties of a building’s facades, contributing to an overall spatial character: (1) contour, (2) shift (like shift of cornice providing dynamic transition between neighbouring facades), (3) colour palette, (4) profile – (e.g., of the cornice), (5) relief, (6) plasticity – twists of line of construction, corrugation, (7) rhythm – of facades, windows, lamp posts, etc., (8) framing as emphasis of architectural elements, (9) pattern – touchable, increasing tactile qualities (Andersen 2012). The above listed distinctive building elements pertain to form, colour, proportions and texture qualities of an open space, which are the four main factors affecting the way an object is sensed by a human body and the emotional response it elicits. More detailed analyses however allow us to notice the much less obvious distinctions which express themselves in variations of rhythms of facades, heights of buildings, their distribution and distance from streets and the ways street profiles and silhouettes are shaped, etc. In the area of British culture, represented for instance by the works of Watkin (1982) and Hussey (1927, after Bandini 2000, p.139), the continuation

Methodology 33 Table 2.1  I dentifiable environmental cues possible to qualify as culture-specific, after Rapoport (1990, pp.106–107) Physical elements

Vision

Sound

Smells

Social elements

People Activities and uses

Objects Temporal differences of various kinds.

Shape, size, scale, height, colour, materials, textures, details, decorations, graffiti, furniture, furnishings, etc. Spaces: quality, size, shape, enclosing elements, paving, barriers and links, etc. Light and shade, light levels, light quality Greenery, presence of planting, controlled versus natural, type of planting, arrangement Age – new versus old Age – new versus old Type of order – order versus disorder Perceived density Level of maintenance Topography – natural or human-made Location – prominence, centrality versus periphery, hills or valleys, exposed or hidden, etc. Sound quality – dead versus reverberant, noisy versus quiet, human-made sounds (industry, traffic, music, talk, laughter, etc.) versus natural sounds (wind, trees, birds, water, etc.); temporal changes in sound Human-made versus natural, such as industry, traffic, etc. versus plants, flowers, the sea, etc.; ‘pleasant’ versus ‘unpleasant’, foods and the type of foods, etc. Languages spoken, behaviour, their dress, physical type, occupation, age, sex, etc. Intensity, type – such as industry, clubs, restaurants, residential, religious, fairs, markets, shops, recreation, separated and uniform versus mixed; cars, pedestrians, or other travel modes, cooking, eating, sleeping, playing, etc. Signs, advertisements, foods, decor, fences, plants and gardens, possessions, etc.

of the English Picturesque style became one of the threads recalling earlier traditions of the development of urban structures. They indicate the need to pay attention to such features of urban landscapes as diversity, intimacy, composition and contrast, and semantics. The oeuvre of Cullen (2008) continues this tradition, and, hence, it assumes analyses of elements such as the series of views along a path, and the ways of experiencing a site by examination of the associations between the human body and its environment. Furthermore, for example, Kropf (2009) has also made attempts to conceive a conceptual apparatus to describe the relations between the functions fulfilled by specific elements of the system and their physical properties, with a particular emphasis on the concept of habit.

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2.8.3  Role of enclosure The recognition and characteristics of elements of urban structures defined by Lynch (1960), namely: nodes, paths, regions, edges and landmarks, enables analyses of outdoor spaces from the cognitive point of view, and in a more holistic approach. Lynch and Rodwin (1991, p.361) have distinguished two basic classes of urban structures: built up plots and open outdoor spaces. When looking for a description of ‘a system of activity pattern’, they point at the requirement to concentrate on two elementary aspects: flows of people and goods, and spatial patterns of ‘localized activities’, such as exchange, recreation, sleeping and production. When concentrating on physical patterns, they transposition this breakdown to the description of the physical form: ‘(a) the flow system, excluding the flow itself; and (b) the distribution of adapted space, primarily sheltered space.’ (Lynch and Rodwin 1991, p.361). In the first group, there are roads, paths, pipes, wires, canals and rail lines – which are all the elements ‘designed to facilitate the flow of people, goods, waste, or information’. The second class comprises all spaces that ‘have been adapted in some way to be useful for someone or several significant non-circulatory activities.’ (Lynch and Rodwin 1991, pp.361–362). In this group, apart from urban structures understood as volumes, there are also the open spaces of squares, markets, streets, parks, and the like. The spaces of flows and constructions may be further broken down into additional categories, based on the following criteria: element types, quantity, density, grain, focal organisation, and generalised spatial distribution. This initial division raises the notion of the boundary between public and private space, which may be understood in various ways depending on the field of studies. In urban design, the most basic boundary is the one between public and private space, which may be either delimited spatially or not. Even within the scope of this single discipline, a precise definition of boundary requires the assumption of defining criteria, e.g., accessibility or property. For the current considerations, a boundary is understood as the edge of a void which represents: streets, squares, piazzas or markets. In the field of anthropology, and more generally, cultural studies, a boundary means a border which has prescribed meaning and which functions in the public consciousness of a given community and refers to social category placement. According to Prussin (1989 after Pellow 1996, p.215), ‘Boundary making is a cultural process, as in “placemaking” (…), which is organised cognitively.’ As Pellow (1996, p.215) states, in some cultures, the boundaries are physically demarcated with the use of fixed features, while in others it is social activities or institutional understanding that create the division. The void defined in this way is an element commonly perceived as a physical manifestation of a public realm and, thus, may be considered as providing an opportunity to apply a theoretical framework stemming from anthropological studies and urban morphology. Any of the numerous definitions of situation assumes the presence of a void surrounded, to various extents, by physical entities, constituting a boundary. A space, defined in such a way, becomes a place following the rationale of

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Tuan (1977). In Western culture, a clear-cut edge between public and private space has long been present in traditional urban environments. A void, usually surrounded with volumes, is used to provide a notion of a distinctive physical edge, around which certain activities may happen. When discussing outdoor urban places, one of the key issues is the sensation of enclosure of space and form of the edges. The notion of enclosure and its development has been extensively discussed in Hanzl (2013, 2013b). The presence of the exact physical definition of an open space of proper scale has been acknowledged as necessary for human health and well-being by providing an elemental sense of orientation and shelter (Gehl 2010). Moreover, contemporary research in anthropology supports this view, clearly proving that the lack of street or square boundaries in modernists cities and districts is one reason for the absence of traditional urban life (Holston 2005). The required permeability of the edge is emphasised as a condition crucial to achieving the proper functioning of urban places. The enclosure constitutes a physical representation of open, publicly accessible, outdoor space; the term has been present in the language of the description of landscapes since 1235, that is, since the Statute of Merton (Holmes 1910, p.479). It further developed in landscape architecture. In the classic handbook by Hubbard and Kimball-Hubbard (1917, after Böhm 2004, p.12) inclosure or enclosure is defined as a result of plan composition, which gives, thanks to the introduction of proper divisions, an impression of an interior, regardless of the location of an observer. Ashihara (1983, p.34) underlines the importance of walls in western culture. Ramparts of medieval castles created a ‘centripetal order ruled by the wall’. Outdoor spaces are physically delimited by a boundary, consisting of facades of buildings, fences, greenery, and the like. Cullen (2008, p.29) describes enclosure as ‘the most powerful, the most obvious, of all the devices to instill this sense of position, of identity with the surroundings.’ He emphasises the role of the enclosure in defining the idea of Hereness. In this context, the concept of place, which is distinguished from surrounding space by means of meaning and recognition (Tuan 1977, p.73), acquires more physical shape. The singularity of definition is one of the features enhancing the ‘imageability’ of an urban environment, which is strongly emphasised by Lynch (1960), for whom the sharpness of a boundary or presence of an enclosure is one of the possible ways singularity may be achieved. Ashihara (1981) discusses concepts of positive and negative space, in which tensions are directed respectively inward, towards the centre, or outward from the centre. He claims that, from the viewpoint of space theory, planning is an activity which consists of the determination of boundaries and, then, constructing an order inward, towards the centre. Many postmodernist theoreticians point out the same distinction. Krier (2011, pp.169–170) rejects public spaces created without a conscious concept of definition of boundaries (N-type) as accidental and chaotic. Conversely to ‘empty ground in the Gestalt scheme’ of wide spaces between buildings in mass-scale modernist planning, traditional streets, squares,

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piazzas, and the like may demonstrate the qualities of Gestalt figures. In this case, the boundary which separates the interior and exterior space becomes the ‘inside wall’ of the enclosure (Ashihara 1981, pp.141–142). The form of the physical enclosure itself, as an element defining the space, needs to be studied to enable the conveying of emotions and culture-related meaning in a more conscious sense. The two features which are traditionally used to define the elementary form of an enclosure are its profile and silhouette. Profile represents a crucial feature for the Gestalt perception of urbanscapes. In order to become a true form, a void representing a street, or any other outdoor space, must possess a ‘figural character’ (Norberg-Schulz 1963, p.83, after Ashihara 1981, p.142). In other words, following the Gestalt theory, they should be ‘transformed into figures’ (Ashihara 1981, p.142). Further aspects of urban enclosures stem from their proportions; they affect both perception and understanding of urban environments. Ashihara (1981, p.41) has examined changes in the proportions of street profiles in various periods. In his approach, he has been looking at the relation of building height (H) to the street width (D) and further also to the width of the facade (W) (Ashihara 1983 p.141). The D/H factor makes explicit and emphasises Gestalt qualities of exterior composition. The qualities of contextual design, advocated by disciples of Sitte’s oeuvre, re-endow it with proper significance. Wejchert (1984) has developed the analogous theory of urban composition in Polish architectural writings. He has proposed a similar set of elements of urban structure to Lynch, though based on the epistemological ground of urban composition. Widely recognised for his comprehensive theory of urban enclosures, among others, he introduced the notion of central angle. Wejchert (1984) provides general rules for classification of enclosures, basing them on the description of heritage sites which are admired for their excellent proportions. He has divided enclosures into complex and single, elongated and neutral – close to square. He has also considered openings – breaks in a line of facades – which he classifies into narrow, neutral and large, and following their content: architectural, natural or directional – related to traffic. Among other concepts defining the composition of urbanscapes, he has addressed notions of leading and retaining (stopping) lines and planes, rhythms, visual axes, vantage points, landscape openings, and others (Wejchert 1984). Another Polish author Żórawski, in his book on spatial order (1962), has provided further observations on the arrangement of urban settings; his ideas are strongly grounded in the Classical understanding of beauty canons. Space is experienced in a dynamic way; an observer examines urbanscapes from an endless number of viewpoints along with movement through sets of consecutive enclosures. The comeback of sequential analyses, enabling perception from a pedestrian perspective, started with Sitte (1996). It includes changes in observer position, thereby adding a time factor. In parallel, it was Cullen (2008) who continued the British Picturesque tradition, and whose exquisitely illustrated textbook referred to more subtle notions of visual

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perception. He also addressed other parameters of urbanscapes, including multi-sensual perception: tactile, acoustics, smells, and the like. Further contemporary development of the theory in the Anglo-Saxon tradition has been carried out by, e.g., Venturi et al. (1977) with regard to urban strips. Nowadays, concentration on the human perception has become a relatively common approach within the field of urban design. This approach also covers psycho-geographical examinations of a cityscape, (e.g., Debord 1955, Nold 2009). The current shift from the two-dimensional planning of urban areas, towards the focus on perception from the pedestrian’s perspective, is another reason for the increased attention paid to the appearance of ‘spaces between buildings’ (Gehl 2001).

2.9 Rhythms When looking at cities, we see that their dynamics and rhythms distinctly influence perception. As Highmore (2005, p.9) allows, focusing on rhythm and movement entails representation of a city as lively and vibrant. The philosophical account of Lefebvre (1996, p.228) revolves around sensing the diverse rhythms of daily life: multiple circulation speeds, various movements’ ‘paces and flows’ and directions. Lefebvre (1996, p.228) proposes a specific type of examination of rhythms, ‘a rhythmoanalysis’, the subject of which should be everything ‘from particles to galaxies’. In order to grasp the varied movements and rhythms that animate cityscapes, it is necessary to look at such distinctive elements as pedestrians and traffic ‘but also the rhythms of street entertainers, the rhythms of the body, the rhythms of plants, the cyclical rhythms of the seasons and night and day, the rhythms of international finance, laws and so on’ (Highmore 2005, pp.11,12). In order to meet citizens’ needs, their rhythms of life need to become embedded into architecture and urban environment. Every city or neighbourhood, when it becomes inhabited, after having acquired meanings suitable for a given community, starts unfolding ‘that basic rhythm of signification which is opposition, alternation and juxtaposition of marked and non-marked elements’ (Barthes 1988, p.195). Looking for methods to understand the processes which background these phenomena, cultural kinesics may be applied to distil the patterned group behaviour, as Grasseni (2011, pp.23–24) explains after Carpitella (1981). What they underline is ‘a commonality of experience created by the space and rhythm of movement of other people’s body in space’. Kinesics is the way people move and handle their body. Humans have specialised the language of the body, making it integrated and congruent with everything they do. Kinesics, including synchronised group behaviour, is culturally determined and should be read against the given cultural background. Rhythm is a core component of unconscious contexting. As has already been said, components containing the meaning of public spaces may ‘speak’ in different ways. Some features are more explicit and result from the functional conditions of a given development. Thus, they may be classified as

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direct communication; they yield meaning in some rituals or culturally established activities. The remaining part of contextual communication can be categorised as indirect, similarly to nonverbal cues. The consistency of urban patterns, as experienced in public spaces, is a consequence of the rules of crowd behaviour constituting part of a given culture. Moreover, the presence of a synchronisation with settings is claimed, which takes place when the urbanscape belongs to the same culture as the one of a visitor. Then a sense of belonging may develop and visitors perceive a site as more attractive than when the synchronisation is lacking. Settings which are ‘out of phase’ are more likely to seem alien, unordered. As a consequence, rhythms are the notion which may serve as an element connecting indirect communication with physical settings. 2.9.1  Theory of seeing – the index keys concept Bringing forth the already mentioned schizo-analysis, with its ‘meta-modelling’, where ‘meta’ means inclusion of different perspectives (Guattari 1989), this current study aims at its application in the description of processes occurring in urban settings (McGrath 2008, p.198). Therefore, it identifies those features of an urban site’s geometry which yield directly to the culture-related description of urban environments. Moreover, it incorporates culture-related, technical and practical issues into one rationale. This way, it reveals possible pathways for answering the multi-dimensional question on relations between culture and the physical urban environment. The method applied should be heuristic, well recognised within the architecture and urban design praxis. In anthropology, analyses of culture-related activities concentrate on the key points enabling the observation of the chosen phenomena. The moments of human interactions, particularly these attracting a researcher’s attention, represent situations essential for the definition of cultural character (Hall 2009). The clue-yielding activities for specific cultures often remain unnoticeable to foreigners, which is the reason why native observers often become involved in photography and pictures taking. The captured images become key points, enabling observation of socially meaningful activities responsible for cultural specific environment formation. By the same token, ‘seeing’ focused on a few key points, like in the paintings of Van Gogh (Strzemiński 1974), define the way a scene is perceived. Pinpointing the most specific views in the sequence resulting from dynamic observation may be done in the same way. The implementation of the key points’ methodology as an addendum to the analysis of urbanscapes with the use of isovists, proposed by Benedikt (1979), assumes the choice of the most obvious perspectives when observing the environment. For the perception of urban spaces this means choosing those view axes which provide profiles perpendicular to the main axis of a given path. The application of the ‘key points’ methodology to the physical urban settings allows for the mathematical analyses of traditionally defined geometrical features of urban landscapes.

Methodology 39

The congruence of the internal structure behind the social situation and the site arrangement shall also be reflected in the index keys’ patterns. The thesis is made that there is an observable correlation of the pattern of key points in the urban settings and the pattern of everyday users of the given settings. As a consequence, the proxemics distances defined by Hall (1966, 2009) find their reflection in the shape of the walls of streets and squares. According to Strzemiński (1974), artistic creation, including architectural, uses the apparatus of perception, which is developed through watching people’s distribution. He explains the adjustment of distribution of architectural or artistic elements to the perceived distribution of people through acquired images. On the one hand, groups of people forming a crowd are usually depicted as clustered, spaced or scattered (Fridman and Kaminka 2007); the same terminology is often applied to architectural objects. On the other hand, interpersonal distances are related to the cultural conditions of a given community. Therefore, the hypothesis is made that the consistency of urban patterns discussed by Hillier (2009) is a consequence of the rules of crowd behaviour within a given culture.

2.10  Geometrical description – urban design perspective The proposed methodology attempts the geometrical analyses of public spaces, including the examination of street and square profiles and urban silhouettes, drawing upon the writings of Wejchert (1984). His method, enriched with further observations coming both from an individual design practice as well as from observations in extensive research (Norberg-Schulz 1963, Andersen 2012, Lynch 1960, Ashihara 1981, to list but a few), yields initial assumptions for a quantitative apparatus for the description of urban enclosures. First, in order to avoid further ambiguities, a basic spatial unit for analyses descriptive in a geometrical way was defined at the outset. This unit, a ‘fully convex fat space’, is defined as ‘a part of a space which represents the maximum extension of the point in the second dimension, given the first dimension’ (Hillier and Hanson 1984, p.91). In Hillier’s logic of space, however, the implicit assumption is made that all the cells representing spaces are similar units, both in size and in shape. It does not describe the actual form of urban closures, what’s more, the physical boundaries are lacking. The critique concerns the absence of a geometrical description of the buildings which form urban settings, including their size, shape and distribution. Spaces which are not defined by the presence of physical edges but by some other boundaries – like property borders, remain problematic. An exhaustive picture which may serve to describe reality in a reliable way requires the introduction of shape and size parameter(s) and multiplying them by three dimensions. Studies in human perception show a trend to generalise objects into whole units only when the compounds are located close to each other or have similar attributes and may be described with the same contour line. In such cases, their meaning, recognised from former experience, also remains similar.

40  Methodology

Another essential feature is the human scale of urban space, understood as the relation of the human-assessed measurement and the actual physical dimensions of a square or a street. Humans, as Gehl asserts in the interview in the documentary film ‘Urbanized’ by Gary Hustwit, ‘remain a small walking animal’ and require spaces of human scale. Spaces which are too large seem undefined. Gehl (2010) recognises a distance of 100m as the maximum which allows the observer the accurate perception of the environment. The actual dimensions of physical spaces also reflect the requirements defined by proxemics. Differences in personal distances influence both the perception of space and its production, which means that we may assume that the size of a space is perceived and designed differently by people of various cultural backgrounds (Hall 1989). The size and proportions of a street or a square influence its perception as a cultural unit, hence, they inherently contribute to the meaning of this place. The proposed method of analysis assumes the examination of profiles which may change along the path each time, contributing to the street silhouette. The points of change of profiles as well as the points of change of axis direction – as in the axial analyses developed as part of Space Syntax methodology (Hillier and Hanson 1984, Hillier 2007) – give an interesting insight into defining the space. Their distribution along the path axis and the range of changes (e.g., of height), show the variety of streetscapes and allows one to identify the width of frontages, and the like. Each index point refers to one profile; various profiles require association with distinct index points. The starting point for each profile is located on the line, which is parallel to the wall and goes through the geometrical centre of the given convex; see Figure 2.1A. Cross-sections are by definition perpendicular to the convex wall. The regularity of the distribution of index points confirms the presence of rhythms in urban space. Their clusters evidence the presence of nodes. In the case of buildings or other constructions that are set back from the convex edge and not perpendicular to it, the middle point of a building/ construction is the location of an index point. A similar situation occurs in the case of buildings that are hidden behind other buildings but whose height exceeds the height of the front building. The method may also serve as the description of some concavity closures. However, as their perception as one spatial unit is more the result of tradition than of their geometrical attributes, these shapes should be defined manually, i.e., divided into two or more basic convexes and then reconsidered as one whole. An example of a concavity space widely recognised as a single urban interior is the L-shaped Piazza della Signoria in Florence. In the presented method, first introduced in Hanzl (2013) and developed further in Hanzl (2014, 2015), the following parameters have been defined for each wall of enclosure: central angle, corrugation, regularity and height variation. All of them use a definition of ‘index points’, which are points located on a horizontal plane at level 0 in the middle of a facade of each single building belonging to a wall of an enclosure. The method yields an

Methodology 41

Figure 2.1  a . Convex space, definition of central angle. Definition of index points and profiles. I – geometrical central point, II – index key points, αn – central angles for each cross-section, wn – widths of each unique part of wall. b. Corrugation of the wall, a n – set back or behind a part of a wall, d – the distance of the wall from the central point of the cross-section.

analysis of public/social spaces in their key points and may be complementary to the Space Syntax – a method of examination of urban structures provided by Hillier and Hanson (1984) and further developed by Hillier (2007) and researchers all over the world. Its framework is derived from the traditionally used methods of description of urban closures ( Jacobs 1985). The method itself clarifies some points of the critics of the Space Syntax methodology, as provided by Ratti (2004), i.e., tries to answer the question of the geometrical description of buildings forming urban settings, including their size, shape and arrangement. It also remains complementary to the method of space partitioning followed by the recording of the properties of the isovist fields associated with paths as proposed by Batty (2001). The depth of space as defined by Benedikt (1979) may be analysed as an additional resource. Further methodology development should also take into consideration the processes described by the Gestalt psychology, e.g., the shortening of distances in the perception of distant buildings. Other fields of studies define how humans perceive the environment, e.g., perception of meaningful entities (Guberman et al. 2012). 2.10.1  Central angle The central angle is an angle between a horizontal plane parallel to the floor at the height of 1,5m (the medium level of sight for humans) and a line going through the highest point of the building defining the closure in a given index point. The point belongs both to the silhouette line and to the profile, see Figure 2.1A. Wejchert (1984) gives general rules for the classification of closures based on the investigation of heritage sites, widely recognised for their excellent proportions. The central angle values in most of the discussed

42  Methodology

squares range from 25° to 30°, e.g., Piazza Saint Marco in Venice –28° to 30°, Old Market in Warsaw –30°. An angle smaller than 10° refers to enclosures which are difficult to read in space. Either the plan dimensions are too vast, or the vertical dimension is not adequate to provide the proper definition of space. The closures of a central angle parameter higher than 60° rarely serve for public piazzas. An important feature for their evaluation are the lighting conditions appropriate for a given climate. The general attitude towards more densely built spaces has changed recently, their qualities being more widely recognised after the end of Modernism. The former pejorative connotation of terms such as ‘canyon’ or ‘well’ (Wejchert 1984) lost some of their previous significance along with the now common scarcity of defined spaces and dispersion of development. α = α1 ×

w1 w w + α2 × 2 + αn × n = w w w

n

∑α × w i

wi

(1)

i =1

The central angle analysis has been made for each of the profiles created at each of the index-points of the distinguished walls. Then it has been combined for all the walls forming the convexes using the following formula (1), where α1, α 2, α 3, αn are values of the central angles of each of the defined cross-sections, n is the number of index points for each wall, w n is the width of a section of a wall represented by a given index point and w is the length of the whole wall. 2.10.2 Corrugation The definition of space may be either precise or hazy. In the first case, the walls form clear-cut edges, in the second, buildings and other objects are scattered, forming a kind of fuzzy boundary. As Wejchert (1984) argues, sight tends towards forms that are ‘strong’, which means: clearly defined, and towards layouts that are concise. Parts or the whole of the observed constructions may be hidden behind other objects, which occurs both in the vertical as well as in the horizontal plane. In the case of breaks in the structure – i.e., openings in the walls – the closest object closing the perspective visible in the silhouette view is taken into consideration. Similarly, a higher building located in the background should be taken into account as, constituting a part of a silhouette, it influences the actual central angle parameter. The index points, where there are no visible constructions, are described with central angle value 0. In a situation where buildings are set back from the line of frontages, the method enables the description of an angle in a way similar to the other cases. Variations of a buildings’ offset are another parameter relevant for the definition of the space’s character. The line of frontages may be located on the edge of a given convex or set back, and the offset may be regular or irregular, any of these attributes influence the perception of the space (Figure 2.1B).

Methodology 43

Corrugation is defined using the formula (2), where ϕ represents the corrugation value of the wall and γ – the offset of a single part of the wall. The possibilities of comparison of different situations are enabled thanks to the normalisation of offset values, as in formula (3), where an stands for the offset in metric units and d – the distance of the wall from the central point of the cross-section. In the case of certain elements, the offset of the lines of frontages shift should be given as positive numbers.

∑ ϕ=

n

n

γi =

γi

i =1



ai d

(2) (3)

2.10.3 Regularity The next analysis approaches the distribution of index points which reflects the distribution of buildings or their major parts, and which may be described by a parameter of regularity. Such an analysis allows for the easy detection of rhythms, repetitions, symmetries, axial layouts, and the like. Distribution of index points may be expressed as clustered, spaced or scattered. The parameter of regularity is defined, referring to an ideal pattern, which for each case would mean equal distribution of the number of points defined for a given wall (Figure 2.2). Any shift from the point resulting from an equal division

Figure 2.2  Regularity of the wall – method of description.

44  Methodology

should be measured and normalised by the width of the wall represented by each index point. The sum of all shifts divided by the number of index points represents the value of regularity for each wall; the average counted for all walls gives the value of the whole closure. It is defined by the formula (4), where τ is the regularity parameter, r represents a single shift, ϖ – the width of an average part of a wall, w – the width of a piece of a wall represented by a given index point, and n is the number of index points for a given wall (5).

∑ τ=

n

ri

i =1

ϖ

(4)



∑ ϖ=

n

wi

i =1

n

(5)



2.10.4 Variations The final analysis in this group refers to variations in the heights of buildings in urban silhouettes. Combined with the above factors, it may indicate the presence of a predesigned or additive composition of the urban facade. Variations may also describe the whole set of walls of an urban enclosure, indicating, for example, the presence of a distant landmark. The most evident way the above features may be measured is the use of the median absolute deviation, where D – which describes the median absolute deviation of the height of the facades in a single wall of an urban enclosure – should be defined based on the equation (6), where the median value of h – height is defined as in formula (7). The results are provided in metric units.

∑ D=

n

hi − h

i =1

∑ h=

n

n



hi

i =1

n



(6)

(7)

2.10.5  Concluding remarks – rhythms as a key feature The notion of an atmosphere which renders a general character of physical settings, as Andersen (2012) puts it, requires the development of phenomenological research. Although the analytical methodology allowing a numerically based comparison and thus a quantitative evaluation of various settings has not been defined yet, the ability to perform such studies with the assistance of computer technology could enlarge the scope of analyses significantly. This

Methodology 45

seems the only way to import these threads into the ontology for urban design, thus enlarging, e.g., studies conducted by Portuguese researchers represented by, e.g., Beirão (2012), Duarte et al. (2011), Beirão et al. (2012), Lopes et al. (2015). In the contemporary ‘era of parametricism’ (Schumacher 2011), it is necessary to define an ontology for the description of outdoor spaces which could incorporate these issues. The method used to reveal the character of physical space shall cover both quantitative and qualitative features. First, looking for the appropriate modelling method, sample models of various historical spaces were done with different tools (Hanzl 2013b). The requirement to describe the various cultural conditions was a key criterion for evaluation. At the outset, looking at the index key analysis, as explained above, the available apparatus of IT analyses allows one to acquire all the above-defined parameters in an automated or semi-automated way. The algorithmic method, namely the use of Grasshopper scripting for Rhinoceros 3D, has been applied for the automation of the process. First, in the proposed methodology, the simplest way to extract cross-sections and silhouettes is used, based on orthogonal projections. The methods to acquire and analyse more realistic geometrical features, including the perspective projection, would require further elaborations. The analyses of the profiles and of the silhouettes may use, among others, the highly efficient methodology proposed by Gal and Doytsher (2012), which permits the replacement of the Line of Sight (LOS) methodology of extracting silhouettes of groups of buildings. The automation of profiles or silhouettes acquisition is also available using the Light of Sight (LOS) module of ArcScene by ESRI. There are also some preliminary attempts to model a 3D isovist environment, based on the method by Benedict (1979) which referred to 2D plan drawings. These trials, some of them sophisticated, e.g., the one by Morello and Ratti (2009), equally need development of an analytical background. The current research looks for an analytical methodology which may serve to relate the culture of usage of space with the semantics of physical urban structures. The evaluation starts with the most basic criteria of presentation, i.e., efficiency of modelling and purpose. Some of the assessment criteria defined by Thompson (2012) were considered, although the specific purpose of the model required in this case resulted in an alteration to the list. At the same time, the historic character of the modelled structures allows one to renounce evaluation of particular features, e.g., ‘up-to-date ones’. In the case of analyses which deal with: (1) the external appearance of the walls of enclosures, both of streets and squares, (2) the form of floor and (3) the form of ceiling, we may assume that they may be incorporated into anthropological analyses as the appearance of these elements present some semiotics. Hanzl (2013a) assumes the following characteristics: • •

description of flows and traffic which is reflected by street/road profiles; semiotic parameters of urban structures which are explicit and reflected in cultural practices, as in the notion of the situation defined at the beginning of the chapter;

46  Methodology

•

indirect semiotics of urban structure resulting, as has been assumed from kinetics patterns of movement of humans in a given culture.

The geometrical analysis conducted with the method presented focuses on the following features of a boundary: a notion of rhythm of urban space, its general layout – which may be either vertical or horizontal – as well as the quality and presence of enclosure and the character of openings. It is the combination of these features, which is responsible for the Gestalt perception, which preceded more accurate observation. The results confirm the essential role of rhythm as a factor influencing the perceived character of space. The next analytical steps should address details of street and square skylines and profiles and be followed by more in-depth analyses of the details of facades and urban furniture, including the classification of permanent and temporary elements, colours, materials, architectural details, and the like. All the above elements contribute to the general notions defining the character of any place, such as its scale and atmosphere. More specific features to be discussed include the level of adjustment of urban space to the roles currently performed, the permeability of urban blocks and facades, and connectedness of urban blocks.

3

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements in central Poland

Analysing the urban structures and places that remained after their previous Jewish inhabitants, we are still able to read some traces of their long-gone presence. As has already been stated, among the factors that influence the form of urban structures, the principal place belongs to everyday life. Moreover, the framework that defines how citizens use space and their attitudes towards it is strongly related to their systems of values and beliefs. Additionally, the appearance of the settings inhabited by Jews differed; their forms diverged along with the variety of needs and functions they fulfilled. All this finds its reflection in the form of the urban settings. Therefore, the purpose of the research is to define the relations between the appearance and form of the urban setting inhabited by Jews before World War II and the culture specific characteristics of this ethnic group. Furthermore, the reading of an urban landscape has to be preceded by an examination which parts are the original structures coming from pre-war times and which were replaced afterwards. The analyses of places are accompanied by an in-depth study of the varieties of religious and intellectual trends which manifested themselves during the time of the Jewish presence in central Poland. These mosaics revealed themselves over time, changing gradually or abruptly, affecting individuals, families and communities. Modifications in lifestyle resulted from the progressing acculturation processes, migrations, and, to some extent, the movements of people between a range of smaller and larger urban centres. The actual composition of this community, being not unified and changing over time, makes the task complex and challenging. The social mixture of people was not equal; in some places Jews constituted a majority, in others they were not present at all. While in some neighbourhoods the percentage of Jewish citizens was high, there were also places where assimilation and acculturation progressed, and, religion aside, the differences between Jewish, Polish and German citizens were not that significant. In contrast to this, in some highly impoverished communities where Polish and Jews coexisted together, the presence of both Jewish and Polish ethnic groups was marked. In general, while some places were considered Jewish, it never really meant that they were inhabited or ‘owned’ solely by this group. Still, visitors to those places might sense their peculiar atmosphere encoded in the form of urban space. DOI: 10.4324/9781003204633-3

48  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

In the current chapter, I try to analyse and classify various exemplifications of Jewish lifestyles against the backdrop of the physical settings where they are revealed, looking for the meaning that those spaces acquired when constructed and in their initial phase of functioning. After this introduction, a short presentation of the sources and the presentation of the central research thesis follow. Then I set forth the classification scheme, presenting the development of the Jewish culture in Poland through the ages. In the following sections, I review the top-down formal planning practices versus the development of Jewish settlements patterns since the beginning of their presence in Poland. A diachronic approach makes it possible to grasp the complexity of Jewish settlement patterns in the interwar period presented in the following section. The more so that many previous threats continued, either undisturbed or gradually transformed, opening stage to new forms of social life and, as a consequence, urbanscapes.

3.1  Presentation of the sources The variety of disciplines involved in the subject and the multiplicity of sources on the Jewish culture before World War II make makes the task addressed in the current study complicated. This difficulty is further increased by the emotional and personal attitude of many people towards this topic. Similarly, the lively debate which takes place between historians who have dealt with this matter since the end of the World War II influences the understanding of the historical sources. In order to answer the questions defined in this study, two simultaneous approaches were used: 1 the studies of historical sources, to establish a framework defining the culture-related environment and everyday living conditions which influenced the forms of urban fabric; 2 the analyses of urban settings, based on their actual appearance, archive maps and photographic resources, etc. Both studies require an exhaustive literature review, referring to the historical studies and, moreover, other evidence, for example, diaries, archive collections of photographs and footage. These sources are abundant. First, in the field of historical Jewish studies in Central European countries, an extensive development has been observed recently. Along with the opening of the Museum of the History of Polish Jews in Warsaw, several books were published, both monographs, like the works of Aleksander Polonsky and Marcin Wodziński, or joint publications. Some of these works have been written by Polish, some by Jewish or American authors, and differ with regard to their approach and to the sources used. Next to this, there are also multiple works which come from the earlier period; Jewish studies being a well-established discipline with abundant output and plentiful researchers contributing to its

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 49

development since the beginnings of Enlightenment. However, numerous the available publications, the prevailing number discuss Jewish history from a limited range of professional standpoints, i.e., political history, historical geography, history of culture and literature. Ethnographic studies coming from the period and using a scientific methodology which would be crucial for the current considerations remain scarce in number (GoldbergMulkiewicz 1989). On this backdrop, the recent activities by the National Museum of Ethnography and other museum facilities that recently focus intently on Jewish collections stand out. The factual knowledge on Jewish customs and everyday life in pre-war Poland remains, to some degree, fragmentary due to the limited resources and, at the same time, difficult to grasp because of the numerous elaborations and debates. The use of descriptions may, however, illuminate the picture, which refers to both actual accounts, including diaries and memoirs, or fiction – such as novels, short stories, legends, etc. As Wodziński (2016) argues, when referring to the studies of religious tradition, the sources to analyse the Jewish past in pre-war Poland may be derived from a variety of indirect evidence, even if some of them are difficult to peruse due to the specific narrative data. I contend that this statement could be undoubtedly extended to a presentation of the way space was once used. Images of urbanscapes and descriptions of the typical ways of using places of various functions, types and privacy levels: private, semi-private, semi-public and public, may be easily found there and deserve a separate study. One of the most important sources are the memorial books of Jewish communities, which, written after World War II, recall the pre-war world as recollected by surviving Jewish citizens. Many of these books, available online and translated either into Polish or English, became a valuable source of information for this study. Other sources of relevant information are Pinkas hakehilot – a lexicon of Jewish communities in Eastern Europe, also available online, and the crowd sourcing service Virtual Sztetl site, http://www.sztetl.org.pl/ by the Museum of Polish Jews. For many of the towns mentioned in the book I also looked at individual monographs or memoirs, which, to a greater or lesser degree, took into account the Jewish heritage, this also refers to the towns described in the case studies section. Fiction does not pretend to reveal a comprehensive picture of Jewish landscapes, nevertheless it yields a valuable insight into everyday life, for instance, in literary works such as the elaboration on the shtetl culture by Więcławska (2005). Furthermore, a lot may be learnt from the works of famous Yiddish writers, first of all Isaac Bashevis Singer (1983, 2004), or his brother Isaac Joshua Singer (2010), but also: Asch (1967), Rosenfarb (2000), Kaganovsky (2016), Perec (1997), Aleichem (2009), Perle (2021). Many writers also left behind their personal memoirs, for example: Singer (1993, 1966), Słonimski (1987), Singer (1959). Besides, additional data may be found in biographical books, like the one on Korczak by Olczak-Ronikier (2012), or in autobiographical essays, like the results of a series of competitions organised by

50  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

YIVO Institute in the years preceding World War II (Shandler 2002). The criticisms of literary works completes the above image, for instance, Bartal’s (2007) explanations of the depictions of shtetl by Mendele Moykher Sforim. The multitude of available sources, and the fact that the list of available readings extends far beyond that proposed here, make this list far from comprehensive. Besides, Yiddish literature gives some insights on the ways of seeing urbanscapes which were so different from those described in books by Polish authors from the same period. A great deal of information on Jewish customs and the functioning of local communities may be derived from memorials or monographs coming from other regions than just central Poland, in this group for instance the works of Lehmann (2001) or Hoffman (2007), memories of a Russian Jewish woman (Wengeroff 2000), or the attractively illustrated memories of a boy, showing places crucial for traditional Jewish social life (Kirshenblatt and KirshenblattGimblett 2007). Different perceptions of the exact same places may also be found in interviews with former citizens of Łódź published in Spodenkiewicz (2007), or in interviews conducted by the members of the Topografie Society with former inhabitants of Łódź1. A reading of the history manuals along with the pieces of literature gives quite a comprehensive depiction. Besides this, in many cases, the catalogue of examples referring to archival photographs and video footage shows the previous appearance of squares, streets and backyards, along with their past inhabitants. While there is abundant literature pertaining to the architectural heritage, specifically in the field of religious architecture, including synagogues, prayer houses and Jewish cemeteries (Walicki 2000, Stefański 2009, Stefański and Szrajber 2009, Rykała 2012, Piechotka and Piechotka 2015), little is written on other types of structures. As Goldberg-Mulkiewicz (1989, p.28) justly noticed, ‘It has to be noted, however, that while synagogues, above all the wooden ones, attracted the interest of lovers of old architecture, other buildings remained practically unnoticed’. On this backdrop, the interest in Jewish heritage expressed by several scholars in the field of architectural design remains noticeable, in this group the works of Bergman (1991, 2009), Wesołowski (2009), Piechotka and Piechotka (2004). This is so even though most of these elaborations refer to architectural heritage while neglecting the impact of Jewish culture on the way space was used and on the appearance of urbanscapes. When looking at the development of Jewish settlements through the ages, the very first step was the analysis of distribution, presented in the form of subsequent maps based on already existing historical elaborations. As Eisenbach (1983, p.12) proves, the first reliable data on Jewish statistics come from the census of the Jewish population for tax purposes which took place at the turn of 1764 and 1765. The reason why the statistics were prepared influenced the results and made the actual values lower than reality, for instance, the numbers of children were purposefully lowered by the kahal in order to reduce the fiscal burden. Thus, researchers decided to correct these

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 51

values and estimated the real numbers as higher, giving an approximation of circa 800 000 Jews in the Kingdom of Poland at the end of the eighteenth century (Eisenbach 1983, p.16). Besides the high level of generalisation, until the twentieth century, all the data gathered this way refer to the presence of Jewish religious communities. Additionally, they use information on the property of a town as background data. As the sources are fragmented, showing only pieces of the variety of this culture which vanished abruptly, a more reliable picture may be derived based on more recent statistical data. The current study is based on elaborated results from the first Polish Census of 1921 as the records of the second (1931) were never published in their refined, final form. A model, in ArcGIS, has been created, which juxtaposes the census data with other resources, summarising Jewish ways of life in pre-war Poland. The model contains information on the size of a Jewish community in a given place (in 1921), its share in the whole population and the profile of the community. The levels of town and neighbourhood complete the hierarchy of types; the details of the methodology are explained in the section which directly precedes the presentation of the findings. The integration of multiple sources to achieve a more holistic picture of the Jewish culture which backgrounded the current considerations allowed for a more in-depth understanding of the novelty of solutions and multiplicity of observations. Additionally, it has also provided a backdrop against which an explanation of the form of historical settings becomes available in the way Levi Strauss’s structural analysis suggests. Following the methodology proposed by Rapoport (1990, 2003), the appearance of outdoor urban spaces has been of principal concern and served as an additional source of information on the ways of life.

3.2  Thesis and ontological framework 3.2.1  Thesis – shift of focus The development of the Jewish culture in Poland through the ages needs to be explored and understood in order to be able to analyse the neighbourhoods inhabited by Jews in pre-war Poland against the cultural backdrop. Jews, similarly to other minority groups in pre-war Poland, did not build separate settlements but adjusted to Polish ones. Usually, the Jewish population mixed with the Polish one to a greater or lesser degree; this concerned not only larger cities but also towns – shtetls (Cieśla 2015). A number of respected scholars, e.g., Stanisław Liszewski (1991) for Łódź, conducted the analyses of architectural heritage and its builders, including proprietors – developers, architects and contractors – artisans. As they conclude, usually it is difficult to distinguish the Jewish, Polish or in later times German or Russian elements when looking at individual buildings, except probably these built for religious purposes. Even so, the idiosyncrasy of larger parts

52  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

of urban settings remains legible, despite the time over which the structures endured, and the other ethnic groups and cultures which undoubtedly contributed to their development. Liszewski (1991) believes this latter observation poses a methodological problem, the overlap of several cultural layers and meanings escaping the rigid analysis performed from the standpoints of evidence-based historical records, such as the properties’ register, construction documents, etc. Looking at the authorship of the organisation of space he wonders who decide upon the structure of the urban space and how they do it, and what should this arrangement consist of. Answering this question, Liszewski (1991, p.30) asserts, admitting the certain simplifications, that urban space becomes ‘organised’ when it fulfils the following four criteria: (1) it has been ‘divided accordingly to the needs of the town (parcelled), (2) invested (equipped with infrastructure), (3) used (also in a multifunctional way), and (4) built upon’. He distinguishes the following groups of people involved in the construction process and affecting urban space: (1) decision makers – performing formal governance in the given area, (2) planners, surveyors, urban planners and designers, architects, and others – people who designed the divisions of space, its development, use and objects which were erected, (3) investors, initiating the subsequent changes of pieces of urban space. In the case of Łódź, the last group consisted mainly of industrialists, businessmen, and bankers, those who had the capital necessary to invest, (4) contractors of investments, workers and foremen of various specialities, performing actual construction work. Further, he confirms that the Jewish community actively participated in the organisation of space in Łódź, as investors disposing of their capital, and as planners – a large number of Łódź architects were Jewish. While the share of Jews in the decision-making group was much smaller, their contribution to the activities performed by contractors remains impossible to determine precisely. As an assumption for further considerations, Liszewski limits the group of ‘organisers of urban space’ to those representatives of the Jewish population who were directly involved in the construction process as investors or architects of individual buildings, deliberately eliminating buyers of these buildings and their later users. In the same paper, he (1991, p.31) admits that detailed analyses on who issued decisions, designed, founded and finally built individual objects, is too laborious to be performed on the scale of the whole town. What’s more, the input of each of the mentioned groups differed. For the reasons of factual correctness, he constrains the Jewish influence to the activities of architects and investors of Jewish provenience; albeit the results obtained this way have been limited. This methodological assumption, correct when listing groups who directly affected the construction of urban settings, omits the influence of citizens and actual users of space. Moreover, it contradicts the general methodology on how material heritage is interpreted, e.g., in fields like archaeology or anthropology, where the primary focus is the actual way objects function. In this case, it refers to urban space and buildings. The decisions on how to build resulted not only from the deliberate decisions of all the above-listed groups.

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 53

We must notice that the activities of the constructors, and as a consequence the shape of urban settings, was a result of the way the urban space was used. The urban environments were built for their users, who had defined habits and customs. The current work, not neglecting the influence of all the actual builders, focuses on this last, fifth element of space organisation, which results directly from the everyday culture of space usage, the role of which is to provide meaning to the shape of places once inhabited by the Jewish population. In all, the approach assumed in the current work is based on the presence of Jewish citizens and analyses of urban space and urban objects on the backdrop of Jewish everyday lifestyle. We look at the same phenomena through the lenses of anthropology, with the use of the method defined in chapter II. Firstly, anthropologists explain the ways a locality is converted into a meaningful ‘place’ by inscribing human activities into the surroundings; the relationship between people and sites manifests itself first through the meaning attached to space. Secondly, users perceive, recognise and elaborate the properties of environments through their own culture, both through praxis and narrative (Lawrence and Low 2009, p.14). This account is based on everyday users’ behaviour, and it does not exclude the overlap of various uses of space by different groups of people. Following this approach, we look at the physical settings where numerous situations revealed themselves in a quest for the meaning that those spaces acquired when constructed and in their initial phase of functioning. At first, in order to understand the cultural background, we need to analyse lifestyles, along with elements conveyed into them in the diachronic perspective. Lifestyle plays a key role in the catalogue of features affecting the character of development. Among essential factors of lifestyle, the following seem to influence the nature of development the most: • • • •

material status of citizens; dominant religion or the fraction of the religious movement; the group of professions manifested in the neighbourhood; migrations of inhabitants, their provenience, etc.

In the case of the Jewish population of the beginning of the nineteenth century and thereafter, the cultural background was far from unified. In the situation of civilisation changes, many of the above elements progressively became subject to individual decisions. These questions of human intentionality and socio-spatial emergence remain central to social theory in the approach based on the spatial, social and cultural pluralism which has been adopted in the current considerations (Portugali 2000, p.201). The correlation between individual preferences, values and intentions, and actual behaviour and actions, is subject to Portugali’s theory of self-organisation (2010). Compared to Giddens’ theory of structuration (1984), which focuses on society and groups, the point of departure for Portugali (2000) are individuals and their personal choices.

54  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

Taking the above into account, the current book proposes a thesis that Jewish communities in pre-war Poland represented an example of a selforganising society, one which could be considered a prototype of contemporary postmodern cultural complexity. Understanding the cultural framework of human intentionality and urban environments as artefacts of culture is central to this approach. The above considerations are in line with the empirical studies of the relations between Jews and Poles, especially in larger cities, where more complex sociocultural processes could occur. This is one of the possible paths for the further development of this research. Undoubtedly, lifestyle is not the only element which affects the character of development and has never been deemed the one. Tołwiński (1947, p.17), for instance, lists a whole set of elements which give form to settlements: natural conditions, economic and social conditions, factors of fortifications and transportation, factors of urban composition or urban planning. In the case of the settlements and neighbourhoods inhabited by Jews in central Poland, the set of preconditions which affected the appearance of development may be specified as follows: • • • • •

site characteristics before the arrival of Jews; continuation – the length of the period when Jewish settlers lived in a given place and its moment in time; the character of use – temporary or permanent; the function of development; other, more general features of a location.

3.2.2  The ontological framework The above considerations should be relevant when defining the ontological framework, which on the one hand would take into account the diachronic aspects of Jewish culture in Poland and look for the distribution of this social group. On the other hand, the framework should offer a method analogous to the Charles Booth maps of London of 1884-1903, recognising the variations and complexity of the Jewish culture, which grew with time to achieve its full variety in the period preceding World War II. Not only should we map the presence of Jews, their densities, etc., confirmed with the properties of buildings, recorded language and religion, but in order to fully understand the form of specific settings, the picture requires further information. In order to complete the depiction, a more detailed profile of Jewish citizens is needed with data on which group of Jews lived in which neighbourhood, whether there were Litvaks, an Orthodox or Hasidic religious community, acculturated intelligentsia, etc. Information on social status and the range of possible occupations is also required, and all the remaining factors previously listed at the end of the preceding section.

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 55

Booth’s study of London, organised into three broad sections: ‘poverty, industry and religious influences’, also included some observations on the types of housing, with sketches and descriptions of typical housing and, additionally, average rents in specific streets. Intended as a study necessitated by the need to deal with the overwhelming problem of poverty in London at the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth century, it provided a comprehensive survey covering a whole range of information on all aspects of life of London’s citizens. The Maps of Poverty (from 1889 and 1899) are probably its most recognised part, they show the distribution of groups of various social status and occupation. The aggregation to the level of street – or street section for longer ones – made it most detailed. In order to make explicit the details of the presented neighbourhoods, the author provided notes on the appearance of streets. These descriptions revealed, among others, the temporary elements and activities taking place there, for example, one from the Poverty Series and the chapter on ‘Streets Coloured Light Blue’, a section on Ginger Street: This is a very rough and untidy place. The main employment is fish curing. Dirty barrows stand about and the sidewalks are lumbered up with Billingsgate boxes, empty and full, but all reeking of fish. Men may be seen in the street and in the houses disembowelling haddock. Fishes’ heads, and sometimes their entrails, bestrew the gutters. the houses are ill-cared for and shabby. Broken windows abound, and the people need to be better off than their surroundings would at first sight suggest, to justify the light blue colour under which this street appears on the map. The street, however, has a poorer end, where there is a block of buildings which is described in the next chapter. Those that follow are the upper ten of Ginger Street. The houses are all of two rooms - one up and the other downstairs. (Booth 1967, p.207) When discussing the living conditions of particular families and their social situation, Booth was even more detailed. In order to illustrate the social spectrum of a given place, he presented an incredibly in-depth survey, for instance, an account which comes from the same neighbourhood of Ginger street as above: No. 22 is occupied by Wright, a labourer, in fairly constant work, and, so, better off than the average here; but his wife is very delicate and does not work. They have five children, all at school except the baby, who is sickly. They pay for the doctor. No. 23. Smart lives here, a costermonger and a leader among these people. He is known as a King of the Costers. He has a wife, but no children living, having lost some. They drink heavily, or might be well off. They are quite comfortable. No. 24. Percy, hawker, lives here with wife and two young children. Seem comfortable, but the earnings are not so regular as with their neighbours at No. 26.

56  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

No. 25. This house if occupied by old Mr. Binney and his wife, the parents of the man at No. 26, and they are probably employed in a similar way. No. 26. Binney, the son, lives here. He is a hawker and does fairly well. Has a wife and four young children, three at school, one an infant. (…) (Booth 1967, p.208). Concerning the topic of the current work, during the analysed period a huge influx of Jews – immigrants from Eastern Europe – took place into the EastEnd of London. It shifted the location of some impoverished groups and is visible on two sets of maps representing the distribution of disempowered groups, from 1889 and 1899. Another series of maps ‘The Jew in London’ (Russell and Lewis 1901 after Vaughan 2007) showed the distribution of the Jewish population, with a street, or its segment for longer streets, as an aggregation unit. Each unit was assigned a colour intensity which indicated the density of the Jewish population. The scale showed the percentage of the Jewish inhabitants in a street in six intervals: tints of red for Jewish minority: 0–5%, 5–25%, 25–50%, tints of blue for Jewish majority: 50–75%, 75%–95% and 95–100%. The data acquisition used the same sources as Booth’s maps, and, besides, the maps were drawn by the same cartographer who formerly used to work on Booth’s maps of poverty – George Arkell. Booth’s maps applied the method which, among others, pointed at the relation of the physical features of the urban environment and their inhabitants’ ways of life. What is more, his notes contain remarks referring to the form of urban settings as a source of information on everyday habits, e.g., the location of the sites where children played. Even though achieving a very high level of detail equivalent to the street level aggregation of the original maps by Booth for the current case study a posteriori is no longer possible, we are still able to make explicit some relations between the lifestyle of the Jewish population and the character and quality of the built structures. As cities were built over time, it is impossible to focus on a strictly limited period; hence the framework requires at least a rough attempt at a definition of the lifestyles and their accompanying built structures through the whole period of the Jewish stay in Poland. The situation of the second half of the nineteenth century until the times directly preceding World War II has come into principal focus, since the environments which remained from this period bear traces of the whole process of the development of Jewish culture. The processes of the acculturation of the Jewish population which took place in Poland before the Holocaust deserve attention, and not only from the historical point of view. The particular distribution of various groups and subgroups in this vibrant community assured the long-term stability of coexistence in a multicultural society. The spatial organisation allowed both for the continuation of the previous high context culture, still rooted in the Medieval Ages, and for integration, which was usually followed by moving to lower context environments. The form of the physical settings resulted from the spatial practices occurring

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 57

there. One of the factors affecting the urban environment the most was the level of spatial integration, which mirrored the degree of cohesion inside the community. Everyday practices and activities, embedded in the urban fabric, gave rise to the spatial order which reflected them. Recognition of the culture-related behaviours ruling the way how urban structures were formed requires the in-depth analysis and understanding of everyday Jewish life, which, in its variety, manifested itself in the villages, towns and cities of central Poland.

3.3 Everyday Jewish culture in pre-war central Poland and its transformations – research background Jews lived in Poland as early as in the eleventh century, their first settlements, Kraków, Płock and Kalisz, were centres of royal governance and important commercial towns located on the major trade roads. The chronological framework of the Jewish presence in Poland has been assumed as follows (after Wodziński 2010): • • • • •

• • •

eleventh century–first half of thirteenth century – Jewish concentrations in the Medieval proto-towns, e.g., Płock; second half of the thirteenth century–fifteenth century; sixteenth century–first half of the seventeenth century – the so called golden era of the Polish Jewry, 1580–1764 – Va’ad Arba’ Aratzot, Jewish Parliament; second half of the seventeenth century–eighteenth century – changes after the Chmielnicki pogroms in the Ukraine 1648-1650; Partitions of Poland: 1772, 1793, 1795 – in consequence, differences in the legal status between the three parts, a period of industrialisation and modernisation; for 12 years between the last partition until the creation of the Duchy of Warsaw (1795–1807) the area of concern was divided between three countries: Russia, Prussia and Austria; 1822 – citizen rights, liquidation of kahal; World War I – 1914–1918; 1918–1939 interwar period, independence of Poland.

Starting from the beginning of the eighteenth century, the primary factor affecting the way of life for Jews was their relation to religion and tradition. Other elements, such as demographic issues, professional and social status, also played a role. Jews demonstrated two basic attitudes towards the ongoing modernisation processes: (1) holding onto traditional lifestyles and customarily understood Jewish identity, (2) modernisation and, later on, acculturation processes. This dichotomy finds its reflection in the structure of the current chapter. It starts with a summary of demographic processes, followed by professional structure and social status, and continues with community organisation and religious life in traditional Judaism. The section on Jewish

58  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

Enlightenment and acculturation processes represent the second principal thread; descriptions of any secularisation or politicisation processes all refer, however, to more recent times. A brief review of ongoing migrations processes, which, at the time affected the development or, to a lesser degree, decline of urban areas, completes the picture. 3.3.1  Demographic issues As a lack of sources hinders the proper estimation of the Jewish demography of the medieval ages, various authors provide differing quantities. Moreover, up to the modern period, as Hundert (1994, p.16) claims ‘the determination of the actual numbers of Jews and rates of growth seems almost impossible’. This is because of the fiscal nature of all the available source materials, which, as again Hundert emphasises (ibid.), ‘therefore lack the relative objectivity and reliability of say, baptismal records’. Therefore, the data given below should be considered approximative. According to Samsonowicz (Bogucka and Samsonowicz 1986, pp.699–704), the total Jewish population in Poland in the early Medieval period did not exceed a few hundred, while Horn (1978) claimed Jews lived in eleven towns in Mazovia and paid the coronation tax there. He (Horn 1978) estimated, based on the taxes paid in 1507 in Mazovia, that Jews provided ca. 4.1% of the total quantity of 24 thousand people in the Kingdom of Poland. Other authors give much smaller numbers: Feldman (after Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, p.28) – 10–11 thousand in both the Kingdom of Poland and Lithuania, Samsonowicz (1986) – 4.5 thousand. In a more recent study, Zaremska (2014, p.83) also refers to the so-called Coronation Tax Register of 1507, which lists the Jewish communities that paid this particular tax levied on the occasion of the coronation of Zygmunt the Elder, mentioning that it excluded Mazovian territories incorporated into the Crown only in 1526. She estimates that in 1507, the total number of Jewish settlements in Mazovia reached twenty, of which the tax register listed ten. The population of Jews in Poland between the end of the fifteenth century and the mid-seventeenth century grew dynamically. The numbers, however, vary significantly between authors. For instance, according to Schiper in 1578 circa 75 000 Jews lived in the Crown of the Kingdom of Poland (100 000 in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth together), while according to Samsonowicz there were only 20 000 Jews in the Kingdom of Poland in the mid-sixteenth century (Wijaczka 2010, p.64). Independently of the source, it can be stated that Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth had the largest concentration of Jews in the world in the second half of the sixteenth century (Wijaczka 2010, p.64). The estimations presenting the number of towns where Jews lived are more detailed than available data on population rates. In the Kingdom of Poland (with borders before the Lublin Union of 1569, covering 254 914 km 2) the number of towns between 1500 and 1600 grew from 706 to 932, while the quantity of Jewish concentrations rose from 109 to 297. At the end of the sixteenth century, Jews lived in 355 of 1072

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 59

towns (Wijaczka 2010, p.64). Such a growth resulted from: (1) a birth rate higher than among Christians and (2) a mass influx of refugees from Western Europe. The former ensued from typically Jewish customs and attitudes, including early marriages, households with many children, smaller mortality rates thanks to higher levels of hygiene, healthier eating following the rules of Talmud and aversion to wars. Hundert (1989, 1994) asserts that what can be stated for sure was the higher population growth among Jews than among Christians and this he attributes to the significantly lower mortality rates of Jewish children, in particular among the wealthier stratum of the Jewish society. This had two main reasons, first, the practice of kest, which enabled early marriage because young couples used to be supported at first by the bride’s parents. Second, well-to-do families could afford health care and proper nutrition, and the like. Besides, rulers supported Jewish arrival and settlement in towns and confirmed their former privileges. As a result of a set of favourable circumstances: economic conditions, peaceful settlement, religious freedoms and King’s support at the turn of the seventeenth century, Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth became the location of the largest concentration of Jews in the whole world, with half of all European Jews living here. These quantities illustrate demographic dynamics: the Jewish population in Poland grew from 20–30 000 at the end of the fifteenth century, through 100–150 000 in the mid sixteenth century, to 450–500 000 in the mid seventeenth century (Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, p.40). The most recent growth followed the Thirty Years’ War immigration wave from Western Europe (ibid.). Teller (2014, p.134) quotes the results of the census of PolishLithuanian Jewry in 1764–1765, and concludes that the Jewish population in the Commonwealth had approached ca. 750 000 at that time, two-thirds in the Kingdom of Poland. They made up some 6 to 7 percent of the total population. By that time nearly 1150 Jewish communities in the Polish/ Lithuanian Commonwealth made it the largest Jewish centre in the world. The demographic dynamics of the Jewish population, which resulted in the highest birth rates, is particularly explicit against the backdrop of the huge human losses in the second half of the seventeenth and at the beginning of the eighteenth century. The results of the census of 1764/65, which was performed for fiscal reasons, show the number of Jewish inhabitants to be smaller than it was. Eisenbach (1983, pp.14–16) considers the quantities of circa 3/4 million Jews in the Commonwealth and circa 550 thousand in the Kingdom provided by Mahler (1967) as the most reliable. At the end of the eighteenth century, the Jewish population in the Commonwealth approached 1 million (8–9% of the total population), which also included central regions (Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, p.55). After the partitions, the situation of Jews in all three parts differed significantly, which strongly influenced immigration processes. After the Vienna Congress in 1815, the largest Jewish population lived in the territories belonging to Russian Empire, their presence limited to the Congress

60  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

Kingdom and the so called Pale of Settlement, roughly enclosing the former territory of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, and to some formerly existing concentrations beyond. Our considerations here refer first of all to the so called Kingdom of Poland. In 1816, the quantity of Jews there was as high as 243 000 (8.7% of the total population). Until 1827, the official statistical data lack reliability and raise reservations due to mass migrations of Jews to cities, which often happened without the formal approval and thus escaped documentation. Moreover, Jews often purposefully avoided registration for fear of fiscal repercussions, military service and other restrictions. After this period, which marked the last phase of the establishment of Jewish zones and expulsion of Jews from the countryside, the official statistics reflecting the Jewish demographics deserve more trust (Eisenbach 1983, p.137). Industrial development enhanced urbanisation and gave further impulses for the increase of the Jewish population. In 1862, their number was as high as 640 000 (12.9% of the total population), in 1897, it had grown to 1 320 000 (14.5% of the total population and a 28.3% share in citizens in urban centres). At that time, Jews were also moving to those centres where their presence was formally forbidden. The observed trend since the seventies of the nineteenth century was the migration to bigger centres. The decree of 1862 granted full civic rights to the Jewish population in the Kingdom of Poland. Not only did it abolish all the restrictions on Jewish settlement (zones and border settlement prohibition), but also aligned Jews with the remaining population in taxes and legal issues, giving them access to career opportunities which were formerly restricted to Christians (Wodziński 2010, p.183). Along with the substantial economic growth of the Kingdom of Poland, these newly obtained rights created very favourable conditions for the growth of the Jewish community, which attracted their immigration. Moreover, the formerly observed demographic trends continued; to the list of already mentioned factors which enhanced the growth of Jewish population Botticini, Eckstein and Vaturi (2016, after Condran and Preston 1994) add ‘i) a higher degree of parental devotion to their children and the practice of breastfeeding for longer periods; ii) a higher level of hygiene in food production; and iii) greater access and acceptance of medical knowledge’2. As a result, in 1880, Jews made up 14% of the population of the Kingdom of Poland. Botticini, Eckstein and Vaturi (2016, p.73) see year 1880 as a turning point. After the wave of pogroms which started in 1881, however, the situation began to change, caused by massive emigration following increasing poverty, unemployment and lack of opportunities. Another factor which contributed to this negative situation was so called May Laws enacted in 1882, which significantly constrained Jewish commercial activities in the countryside and their rights to settle there. In the most recent research, Botticini, Eckstein and Vaturi (2016) systematise the former knowledge on the topic of Jewish demographics in Polish lands. The growth of the Jewish population in the Congress Kingdom from 1800 to 1897, according to their research (Botticini, Eckstein and Vaturi 2016), is presented in the Table 3.1.

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 61 Table 3.1  The growth of the Jewish population in Congress Poland between 1800 and 1897, after the study of Botticini, Eckstein and Vaturi (2016, p.793) Year

Number of Jews (in thousands)

Total population (in thousands)

Proportion of Jews (%)

1800 1835 1850 1881 1897

250 477 600 1 010 1 317

2 679 4 344 4 811 7 414 9 402

9.33 10.98 12.47 13.62 14.00

By 1914, nearly one-third of the Jewish population of Eastern Europe (ca. 2 million people) had emigrated, of which about 85% went to the USA (Polonsky 2014, p.210). Even though the growth of the Jewish population diminished after World War I, Poland still remained the second largest, after the USA, host to the Jewish population in the world: 2.8 million people in 1918 and 3.3 million in 1931. Even with circa 700 000 Jews who had come from the former Pale of Settlement, getting Polish citizenship between 1926 and 1931, the census showed the declining share of Jews in the population of the country as a whole. From 10.5% in 1921, it had shrunk to 9.8% in 1931, which resulted from the decreasing birth rate and emigration. In 1939, at the outbreak of World War II, the Jewish population in Poland was estimated at 3.3 million. 3.3.2  Professional structure and social status Since the start of their settlement in Poland, the majority of the Jewish population lived in cities. In the very beginning of their stay in Poland, Jews were considered servi camerae (Grodecki 1969, p.651), and were represented mainly by very wealthy financiers and bankers. At first their presence was limited to the few most prominent urban centres; along with the growing population and the changing range of available professional activities, Jews settled in more and more places, over time starting new communities there (Figure 3.1). Polish governors supported Jewish activities. In 1578 King Stefan Batory banished all the former strictures on Jewish commerce and introduced a rule that Jews may freely exchange goods in all the towns in the Commonwealth. Moreover, King Władysław IV issued several privileges referring to Jewish activities, the most important one from 1633, in which he confirmed a whole range of trade freedoms given by former monarchs. In 1643, he also released Jews from all kind of tolls, including bridge ones (Wijaczka 2010, p.98). As an outcome, in the sixteenth century and the first half of the seventeenth century, during the so-called golden era of the Polish Jewry, apart from their former occupations as financiers and bankers, specialists in the monetary economy, loans and distant trade, Jews started a range of other

62  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

Figure 3.1  T  he hypothetical route of the main commercial roads at the beginning of the sixteenth century. 1. The distribution of Jewish towns in 1507, after Wijaczka (2010, p.62), 2. country borders, 3. province borders, 4. tracing of commercial roads after the description by Pazyra (1959), 5. tracing of roads after Wijaczka (2010, p.62), 6. current administrative divisions, 7. elaboration extent, 8. rivers.

activities. They specialised in commerce, both retail and wholesale, financial operations of all scale, i.e. money-lending, but also manufacturing and the lease of nobles’ properties: large economic complexes and much smaller mills, distilleries, breweries, taverns, orchards, local tolls and customs. These activities also continued after the Chmielnicki pogroms in Ukraine (1648-1650) and the economic crisis which followed. Besides, with the towns no longer able to support all their inhabitants, a number of Jews moved to the countryside permanently. There they became part of the manor-based economy; most often they dealt with commerce, manufactured goods, produced alcoholic beverages, kept taverns and made their livings as leaseholders of distilleries, breweries, flour mills, lumber mills, and the like. Others leased large economic complexes of landed properties along with their inhabitants, covering farms, forests, fields, etc. (Bartal 2005, p.17). The economic crisis which followed the wars led to increased commercial competition between Christian and Jewish merchants and, as a consequence,

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 63

resulted in attempted constraints on Jewish business activities in some locations. The restrictions, introduced by the regulation of 1643, were confirmed by the parliament in 1661, 1667 and 1678, which stated that merchant’s income might be equal to 7% if incola, 5% if advena and 3% if infidelis, were, however, not fully observed (Wijaczka 2010, p.123). Jews who dealt with commerce tried to settle in towns which were located on chief communication and trade routes and in those where they were offered commercial privileges. This happened most often in the eastern part of the Commonwealth, where magnates’ vast latifundia were located. In the seventeenth and eighteenth century, Jews preferred to live on magnates’ properties than, e.g., in the king’s towns, as they could count on greater protection there than anywhere else. In the eighteenth century, the population of Jews who dealt with commerce on magnates’ properties increased significantly. Only there could they make a career in administration, some of them becoming physicians of a nobleman and managers of the properties (Wijaczka 2010, p.125). During the period after the partitions of Poland (1772, 1793, 1795), the range of Jewish activities extended. First, the percentage of Jews living in small villages grew yet further (Wijaczka 2010, pp.126–128). They continued as lessors, mainly of taverns, breweries and distilleries. The end of the taverns’ lease in the Russian sector took place only in 1898 when, along with the Polish nobility losing its monopoly on liquor production, Jews lost the lingering protection afforded to them by the lease holding system (Dynner 2014). Wodziński (2010, p.208) asserts that Jews who lived in the countryside holding leases of various types or keeping taverns – at the end of the eighteenth century this could refer to more than 25% of the population – were urbanised and maintained continuous relations with the kehillah in the nearby town. At first, Jews did not pay much attention to the ongoing partitions, as the new state borders and the following changes to regulations, seemingly, did not influence their lives, due to the ineffectual control system. These first assumptions turned out to be inaccurate, since the changes in the legal system brought about enormous and abrupt social and economic transformations, affecting the place of the Jewish community in the legal system. New general laws, issued in all the three partitioned regions between 1784 and 1804, were aimed at the transformation of the Jewish population and their adjustment to the general social and economic structure of the absolute monarchy. After the first Toleration edict issued by Emperor Joseph II for Galicia in 1789, further legal documents were introduced in the other parts of the former Commonwealth. The law abolished Jewish autonomy, bestowed names on Jews and subordinated them to the same public duties as Christians. Moreover, it introduced secular education, promoting German assimilation and started a campaign against visible distinctness. The Judenreglement issued in 1797 by Frederick William II, and the law of 1804 by Alexander the First introduced similar regulations (Wodziński 2010, p.158). These changes were a double-edged sword. On the one hand, the law de non toleraendis Judaeis was abolished in all towns and cities where it had formerly constrained

64  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

Jewish settlement. Citizenship was conferred upon Jews; the guilds opened to Jewish artisans and the markets to Jewish commerce. However, along with the implementation of legal rights went progressive fiscal exploitation and constriction of Jewish freedom through detailed regulations of all spheres of daily life. While a narrow group of wealthy entrepreneurs, bankers, wholesalers, industrialists, etc., profited from the changes, the less affluent suffered deprivation. One of the severest limitations, affecting many Jews in central Poland, was the ban on producing and selling alcoholic drinks. Other vexing changes of the post-partition period were military service for Jews and the fiscal policy. The basic tax increased from 3 to 10 zloties, several new fees were introduced (e.g., Geleitzoll for Jews crossing the Prussian border, Tagzettel – passes to visit Warsaw, permissions to perform various activities, i.e. crafts and money lending). The liberal Constitution of the Duchy of Warsaw gave Jews full civil rights; however, this was soon limited to a temporary period of 10 years, till Jews achieve an ‘acceptable civilisation level’, which de facto meant greater cultural assimilation. The Constitution of the Kingdom of Poland of 1815 granted civic rights to Christians, this way excluding the 10% Jewish population (Wodziński 2010, p.182). Only wealthy and assimilated Jews could be granted special political rights, based on the individual decisions of the Russian government. With a range of types of restrictions limiting their settlement rights; during the 1860s Jews could settle only in 246 of the total quantity of 453 towns and settlements (Eisenbach 1983, p.142). This state of affairs continued till 1862, when, as has been already mentioned in the section on demographic issues, full civic rights were granted to the Jewish population in the Kingdom of Poland. With no restrictions on settlement, equality in taxes with the rest of the population and open access to career opportunities, the Jewish situation improved significantly. Both immediate and far-reaching were the consequences of Partition for the Jewish situation in the former Commonwealth. Wodziński (2010, p.164) summarises them in the following points: (1) introduction of a centralised, absolute regime, (2) a new legal situation, (3) loss of class privileges, (4) a reduction in the kahal’s autonomy, (5) interference into the ways of personal and family life, (6) abolishment of some feudal restrictions, (7) new economic potential for the elites and (8) division of the Jewish society of the former Commonwealth into three different parts. The development of industry brought about the appearance of a whole range of new occupations in manufacturing and industrial production, mainly in Warsaw and Łódź and their metropolitan areas. A few professional groups may be distinguished based primarily on the criteria of their material status (Wodziński 2010, p.218): • •

a narrow group of affluent bourgeoisie: capitalistic entrepreneurs, bankers, industrialists and merchants; intelligentsia (since the 50s): engineers, physicians, lawyers, scientists, and alumni of the Warsaw Rabbinical School;

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 65

• •

people dealing with commerce and finance of a range of scales: wholesale traders – interregional and international, pawnbrokers, money lenders, retail, peddlers; a huge part of the Jewish population consisted of manufacturers and tradesmen: tanners, fur makers, watchmakers, tailors, Hebrew printers, tinsmiths, carpenters, builders, harness makers, shoemakers, jewellers, etc.

During the time of partitions, Jews rarely worked in huge industrial plants, as this would interfere with their religious customs. Thus, differently than in the case of Christians, the poorest groups consisted mainly of small tradesmen, small-scale commercialists and unqualified workers. The emigration of manufacturers and unqualified workers left merchants behind as the dominant majority of the poorer group. In the interwar period, the professional structure carried on, mirroring the urban character of the Jewish society. While the majority of the population in Poland still made their living in agriculture, Jews were active in commerce, crafts and industry. They also played a significant role as part of the intelligentsia: over half of physicians with a private practice were Jews, ca. 1/3 of advocates, notaries and legal advisors. Full equal right to all the citizens, regardless of their ethnicity and faith, was one of the primary laws of the Constitution approved on 17 March 1921, the implementation of which was, however, much more complicated. The regulations which were still in use in all the partitions before World War I continued unless directly abolished. As a result, there were still many regulations which were contradictory to the new constitution, e.g., Jewish communities were obliged to pay for the upkeep of their poor and Jews could not adopt nor care for Christian children. Some of those still functioning regulations constrained economic activities, e.g., Jews could not buy nor lease rural lots, they could also not own private mines nor act as village heads. Furthermore, progressing secularisation and pauperisation of parts of the Jewish masses, and the development of industry, led to their joining the working proletariat employed in large factories. In conclusion, whereas in the initial phase of the Jewish presence in Poland, with the population limited, their material and social status remained relatively high, along with the increase in numbers and the larger range of performed activities, the social stratification and later on also deprivation of some parts of Jewish society progressed. The diversification of social status which had already begun during the so called Golden Era of Polish Jewry, in the sixteenth and the first half of the seventeenth century, continued and progressed. Stratifications increased substantially during the partition periods, fuelled by national and industrialisation changes, with the rich becoming very affluent, while large groups suffered from the legal limitations introduced by Prussian and then Russian governments, i.e., a ban on the production and sale of alcoholic drinks. Modernisation and emancipation significantly affected the social structure after the end of the eighteenth century, in 1862, full citizens’ rights were granted to the Jewish population. In

66  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

the nineteenth century, brand new social classes emerged as a consequence of urbanisation and industrialisation: the bourgeoisie, intelligentsia (since the fifties), small manufacturers. On the one hand, large groups of assimilated, wealthy Jewish bourgeoisie participated in the economic development of the region. On the other hand, over time, poverty and social stratification were getting stronger due to the closed access to many jobs. However, as Dynner (2014, p.178) argues, pauperisation of the Jewish masses as an effect of urbanisation and industrialisation accelerated only during the very last decades of the nineteenth century. In the interwar period, along with the emergence of a large group of assimilated rich bourgeoisie, important social diversity and widespread poverty and inequalities were reported, as in the autobiographies of young people collected by Yivo (Shandler 2002). The poor material status directly affected the quality of built structures in neighbourhoods inhabited by Jews; and has remained a distinguishable feature up to now, reflected by the lack of details, poor quality of constructions more prone to degradation and decay, and the like. 3.3.3 Community organisation and religious life in traditional Judaism The organisation of the Jewish community in Poland was for centuries inherently associated with the organisation of religious life, with its basic autonomic unit – kehillah (Hebr. ‫)קהלה‬. Its structure, originating from the Talmud regulations, consisted of men who were heads of families formally participating in all the activities with equal rights. Its authorities, embodied by kahal – the executive board of kehillah, with a rabbi as its head, were responsible for the functioning of all Jewish institutions: synagogues and cemeteries, baths, a kosher slaughter house, judicial matters, religious and moral issues, including conduct of all the community members, hazakah laws, and others. The religious and communal life focused around the synagogue, which, next to its religious purposes, such as prayers, studies and discussions of the holy books, also served secular functions: as a place of kahal and the elderly meetings, decision making, court meetings, treasury and communal archives. The independence of kehillah from the town community was guaranteed by the Statute of Kalisz issued in 1264 by Bolesław Pobożny, Prince of Wielkopolska to Jews from Bohemia and further extended to the whole Kingdom of Poland in 1367 by King Kazimierz the Great (Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, p.20). It guaranteed residency rights, freedom of movement and freedom to run a business across the whole country, and lending money on mortgage. Excluded from the towns’ jurisdiction yet allowed to stay in town and carry out commercial activities, Jews held special rights in comparison to other citizens, as incolati, third state; their legal situation resembled that of nobles and the clergy. This privilege, confirmed by subsequent rulers, adjusted and corrected with the further legal acts, was applied until the partitions of Poland at the end of the eighteenth century.

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 67

The most important right which Jews had was the one to manage their own community independently, with three levels of Jewish self-governance: local community, regional council and parliament (Polonsky 2014, p.42) progressively emerging. During the whole period of the late Middle Ages, the self-government organisation of Jews was restricted only to kahal. In the beginning, when their number was limited, there were no difficulties in defining the tolls to be paid by the individual communities to the king. The hardships started when the number of communities increased, leading the king to decide to lease the collection of taxes. As lessors, King Sigismund I the Old appointed four Jewish bankers, who guaranteed the flow of money with their own fortunes. Between 1511 and 1514, there were four tax regions, covering (1) Mazovia and Wielkopolska, (2) Cracovian Voivodeship, (3) parts of Małopolska and Red Ruthenia and (4) Lithuania. Nevertheless, the Jewish communities rejected these initiatives. Instead, the king introduced, between 1518 and 1522, autonomous Jewish regions, the so called ‘ziemstwa’. Jews accepted them in return for the king’s consent on choosing their own authorities and tax collectors. The central organisation grouping the Jews of the whole of Poland was started from the informal gatherings during the fairs in Lublin. In 1540, King Sigismund I the Old confirmed the previously informal role of those meetings and brought into being a permanent court of arbitration. From 1549, Jews living in the king’s towns were obliged to pay ‘pogłówne’ – a non-recurrent tribute to the state. In order to enable efficient collection of due money, King Stefan Batory set up Waad Arba Aracot – the central representation of Jews, which first gathered in 1581 (Wijaczka 2010, p.84). This was the beginning of Jewish self-governance in the Polish and Lithuanian Commonwealth. Waad, as its main mandates: (1) discussed and made decisions on financial issues, (2) investigated the organisation of Jewish communities and judicature matters, (3) solved economic problems, (4) interceded on concerns of Jewish safety and (5) maintained foreign contacts. The kahal’s authority was abolished only after the partitions with the general laws (Galicia 1784, 1797 Prussia, 1804 Russia) which aimed at the transformation of the Jewish population and their adjustment to the general social and economic structure of the absolute monarchy. What were formally kahal’s functions were taken over by so called synagogue supervision, however, in reality, their role was no longer of the former significance. The powerful position of the community organisation and integration level accompanied the traditional religious institutions and kept influencing everyday life also in the following period. At the end of the eighteenth century, two main religious movements: Hasidism and its rival Mitnagdim developed within Polish Judaism. Hasidism, initiated in 1735 by its legendary leader Baal Szem Tow (Beszt), grew as a doctrine which first spread to Ukraine and Lithuania. It propagated anti-ascetic attitudes and interests in kabala and mysticism. One of the most famous Tsadiks in nineteenth century central Poland was Symcha Bunin from Przysucha (1765–1827). The development of Hasidism in the Congress Kingdom, clearly presented by Wodziński4 (2005, 2010, 2019), had started

68  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

as early as in 1772, when tsadik Izaak from Berdyczów settled in Żelechów. Then the movement spread further, up to 1815 the most famous centres were Kozienice, Przysucha, Opatów, Lelów and Lublin. In the Congress Kingdom, the most recognised Hasidism centres were, until 1867: Radoszyce, Kozienice, Kock, Przysucha, Warka, Mogielnica, Radomsko, Stryków, Góra Kalwaria, Kock, Izbica and Ciechanów. After 1867, and up to the outbreak of World World I, the Congress Kingdom witnessed the movement’s development in several more places (Góra Kalwaria, Aleksandrów, Lublin, Szydłowiec, Sochaczew, Biała Podlaska, Ostrów, Ostrowiec Świętokrzyski, Radomsko, Izbica) (Wodziński 2010, maps in pp.169–172). At the turn of the eighteenth and nineteenth century, the conservative rabbinic elite – Mitnagdim – confronted Hasidim (Wodziński 2010, p.166) reproaching them for their lack of respect towards scholars and numerous other faults, neglecting Talmudic studies and alleged links to Sabbatianism among them. The accusations referred first to changes in liturgy, time of prayer and traditional dress, creating separate prayer houses, alterations in ritual slaughter, but also to ludicrous attitudes, exaggerated merriment, promiscuity and rapacity of the movement leaders, false miracles, overuse of alcoholic drinks and tobacco, etc. Objections were also raised against the popularisation of mystic practices, especially ecstatic behaviours, the shift in the traditional Jewish system of values and the replacement of Talmudic studies by prayer. The first critics appeared in the 60s of the eighteenth century, with Gaon from Wilno (Eliasz ben Salomon Zalman) – the most famous representative of the Mitnagdim movement. After 1815, the polemics with Hasidism quietened down, mostly because of its popularisation. Initially, the development of Hasidism in the Congress Kingdom was slower than in the other partitions (except for the Prussian one where it was even slower) and included ca 10% of the Jewish population in the 1820s. However, in the second half of the nineteenth century, the movement grew and started dominating (Wodziński 2010, p.176). Its growth and the influence of individual courts extended far beyond the administrative borders of individual districts, as explained in the comprehensive study by Wodziński (2016). The organisation differed from the one of the kehillah: while the tsadik had his court in one location, his followers were often scattered far and wide. They formed small groups, gathering around their shtibl, which could be just a room or a separate building in the neighbourhood where they lived. Those who could made a pilgrimage to the tsadik’s court or to his grave and the tsadik also travelled to visit his followers. This different organisation diminished the role of kehillah, and thus had its implications for the competing authority. Due to the transformed role of communal institutions, it also had some repercussions in the organisation of space. Looking at the impact of Hasidism, it is also essential to consider the role of women. While the movement did not directly address the female population, the followers’ families also remained affected. Some women joined their husbands and fathers when travelling to their tsadik or actively supported tsadiks’

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 69

activities (Dynner 2006). Moreover, most women observed Hasidim rituals and customs at home. Still, however, in Polish shtiblekh, women did not have separate spaces differently from Galicia (Wodziński 2019, p.242). This made them pray in the communal synagogues. Dynner (2014, p.178) argues for the importance of the size of mass movements like Hasidism, and recognition of the continued presence of the traditional Jewish religious institutions in nineteenth century Poland. A large section of the Jewish population led a traditional lifestyle, only slowly adapting to modernisation changes. The role of the kahal remained pivotal, notably as a centre of religious life. It continued organising everyday life – many Jews prayed three times a day – and exercised control over the religious life of the community. The main place of faith in the community remained the synagogue and beit midrash – house of study of holy books. The basic form of organisation of most activities were the associations – chewrot, who dealt with, e.g., caring for sick, burials, support for poor, organisation of studies, and the like. A more general turn from traditional religious lifestyles took place only in the twentieth century. The appearance of alternative liturgies made the traditionalists realise that the long-established observances required protection (Wodziński 2005). As a consequence, a Jewish orthodoxy emerged, rejecting all changes to religious tradition and assuming an anti-modernist stand. The two most influential movements, gathering around yeshivas and Hasidism, converged with time. From the 40s of the nineteenth century, their leaders entered politics (e.g., Izaak Kalisz from Warka) and considerably influenced state policy towards Jews (Wodziński 2007). Their numerous followers launched the first orthodox political parties at the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth century, with the most recognised, Agudas Isroel, supervised by the Tsadik from Ger, Abraham Mordechaj Alter (created in Katowice in 1912). The party continued the tradition of Jewish lobbying (‫ )שתדלנות‬and approaching the authorities with due respect. The representatives of orthodox Judaism also published their own journals, which presented their views, and at the beginning of the twentieth century, they turned to form the orthodox consciousness of Jewish women, formerly marginalised in public life. Analyses of the Jewish communal authorities’ election results provide some insights into the popularity of the orthodox party: while in 1924 Aguda shared votes with Bund, in 1931 the growing popularity let the party attain some influence in several communities, including Warsaw and Łódź. However, the next elections in 1936 showed the fall of the orthodox movement. Just before World War II, only 40% of Polish Jewry might have been described as traditionally religious (Żyndul 2010). The transformations of the external conditions could not leave Jewish society entirely unaffected. The factors of modernisation which, as Weber (1981, p.354, quoted after Wodziński 2007) has enumerated, affected Jewish masses were as follows: ‘bureaucratisation, the universalisation of law and administrative procedures, the professionalisation of administrative services, the written nature of all procedures, depersonalisation, the increased role of the state in regulating and

70  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

coordinating relations between groups and individuals, and the broadening of the categories of citizenship and civil rights’ (the last one limited under eastern European conditions). As Frankel (1981, p.1, after Wodziński 2007) claims, their development comprised three phases: ‘from a traditional society through a period of liberal progressivism to a phase of postliberal mass politics’. When entering the liberal and afterwards post-liberal era, traditional Jewish masses had to adapt to the new situation of developed bureaucracy and changed political conditions, which began as early as the partition period. To describe these processes, Wodziński (2007) uses the term defensive modernisation, first defined by Wehler (1987, after Wodziński 2007) as ‘applying elements of modernity in order to preserve their anti-modernist character’. While he illustrates this with the example of the political involvement of Hasidim (who looked to secure their own interests and settle things with the administration and other Jews), the term has a broader application and extends to the whole Jewish community. Wodziński claims that, while on the inside they maintained their traditional self-image, in reality, this required constant adaptation to the changing external conditions and did not go without actual transformations. In the current work, I refer to the traditional pattern of Jewish life in a paradigmatic sense, which persisted until the outbreak of World War II, as it provided reference framework. 3.3.4  Jewish Enlightenment and acculturation processes In the last decades of the nineteenth century, in major cities, including Warsaw, Łódź and Częstochowa for central Poland, progressive Judaism synagogues started to be erected by groups of rich bourgeoisie and intelligentsia. The new type of sermon, taken from the German Reform Judaism, found its followers among the proponents of Jewish Enlightenment. Considered its main idiosyncrasy ( Jagodzińska 2008), aesthetics demonstrated itself in the character of the service: an orderly decorous manner, uniformity of cadence of choir boys chanting, and in the physical appearance of the temple. All of these features its disciples borrowed from their Christian counterparts and adapted them to Jewish values and symbols (Corrsin 1988). The moral discourse, delivered in the German tongue, also in Hebrew and later in Russian and Polish, was intended to edify, inspire and instruct. Jewish religious reforms in Poland were then regarded as lacking in organised structure; their proponents, mainly local and not very numerous groups of rich Jewish bourgeois and intelligentsia, followed their German counterparts and adapted the solutions to local conditions. Changes in the professional structure and popularisation of secular education needed to join the intelligentsia and rich groups of industrial bourgeoisie, resulted in the emergence of a new class of people typical for the European Enlightenment. The idiosyncrasy of Haskalah or Jewish Enlightenment, a movement started in the second half of the seventeenth century in Germany, with Moses Mendelssohn considered its founder and main representative, stemmed from the specific social situation of Jews who, remaining outside

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 71

the national society, looked for a more important position within its hierarchy. At the end of the seventeenth century, the movement had spread to Galicia and to the Kingdom of Poland, mainly because of the Jewish merchant families coming from Prussia at the turn of the century. This influx resulted in the construction of the first so called progressive Synagogue in Warsaw, in Daniłowiczowska Street in 1802. Maskilim, the name given to the proponents of Haskalah, advocated the emancipation of Jews, understood as leaving social isolation and acquiring full civic rights. The implementation of those principles required the modernisation of their own culture while protecting Jewish identity. The methods assumed partial social and cultural assimilation, both in the sphere of everyday life, through changes in dress-code and adoption of some habits, and in the limitation of the use of Yiddish and its replacement by local languages. They emphasised the role of modern secular education, with production-oriented professions being actively promoted (instead of traditional commerce and services). At the end of the eighteenth/beginning of the nineteenth century, major centres of the Haskalah movement were located, among others, in Warsaw, and in Płock. This period saw the Enlightenment as still an elitist movement, the share of its proponents was not higher than a few percent. Although the core group of activists remained small, it was surrounded by a much larger group of supporters and followers (Wodziński 2010, p.198). Among Haskalah’s followers, there were intelligentsia, both old and new, new bourgeoisie, great merchants, bankers, tax leaseholders, state officials and, later on, also students of Haskalah schools. Maskilim initiated the assimilation movement; they did not aim, however, for the full acculturation of Jews. On the contrary, they paid considerable attention to the cultivation and learning of Hebrew. Haskalah, which lasted till the eighties of the nineteenth century, boosted the development of a modern press and Jewish literature, it also enhanced the popularisation of achievements in European science and culture among Jews, with time, many of them entering the intellectual elites of their countries. The initial loyalty to the Russian authorities evolved towards a Polish patriotism. After the crisis of the Haskalah in the 60s of nineteenth century, the successors of the movement in the Kingdom of Poland looked for deeper than before integration with the non-Jewish communities (Wodziński 2010, p.198). The emergence of large groups of so called Polish Jews followed. The adoption of language and habits often led to the sharing of common patriotic feelings and attitudes towards Polish culture, even if the religion remained different. As a part of this phenomena, Jewish press started appearing in Polish: ‘Dostrzegacz Nadwiślański’ (1823–1824), ‘Jutrzenka’ and ‘Izraelita’ in the sixties. The fraternisation between Poles and Jews which took place in 1861 before the January Uprising manifested itself also in visual form. This referred not only to forms of dress and appearance but also to the design of buildings, special forms of organisation of public spaces and to the iconography of those times ( Jagodzińska 2008). Next to the main threads inherited after Haskalah,

72  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

aesthetic aspirations persisted as an important feature of acculturated groups. Jews wishing to blend into the Polish society changed their aesthetics criteria in all spheres of life ( Jagodzińska 2008, p.125). As a consequence of the above-explained transformations, the traditional attitude towards religion among large groups of intelligentsia and bourgeoisie changed. Religious issues became subject to scientific reflection and, Talmudic studies being questioned, the position of and adherence to Halakha ( Jewish law ‫ )ֲהָל ָכה‬weakened, and faith in the exceptional character of the Jewish nation decreased. As Corrsin (1988) recalls: ‘Memoirs by members of assimilationist or acculturated families chiefly document the lack of religious practice within their families, or the younger generations’ move away from the faith and practices of their parents’. Parallel to Enlightenment, the assimilation processes developed, including conversion to Christian faith, often based on economic or opportunist reasons. Even though permanent, these phenomena remained marginal. The convergence of everyday habits of Polish, German and Jewish bourgeoisie and intelligentsia directly influenced the spatial behaviour of individual and group subjects, especially their choices of dwellings. Usually, changing everyday customs was followed with resettlement within the town, for instance, in Łódź displacement to the most appropriate location, in Nowe Miasto. Remaining in the former neighbourhood would be impossible because of the ostracism from the supporters of the traditional way of life, who would not accept modern attire. Another reason was the growing aspirations which required improved living conditions, more spacious streets, better infrastructure, more open spaces, and the like, and mingling with other people of a similar status. However, even with the acculturation processes and will to integrate, cultural segregation continued, with some parts of the town more Jewish than others. This situation resulted partly from the specific features of the Jewish community and lifestyle, preserved despite the attempts to change, partly also due to the anti-Semitic attitudes which were gradually arising, i.e. the Warsaw pogrom of 1881. In the interwar period, the process of the language and cultural Polonisation of Jews continued. Young people, in most cases having attended Polish schools, mastered and adopted Polish in their daily life. While the variety of educational possibilities was significant (compare Table 3.2), only 20% of the 400 000 Jewish children in the 1930s were taught in Jewish schools. Of the remaining 80%, 1/3 participated in the complimentary Jewish education. Most Jewish educational placements were in the central Poland (Wodziński 2010, p.303). Most schools in Warsaw and Łódź districts used Polish and Yiddish (Wodzinski 2010, p.299). Polonsky (2014, p.305), based on the results of the census of 1931, gives the interpretation on the quantities of acculturated Polish Jews. Among people who admitted their Jewish faith 79.9% declared Yiddish as their mother tongue, 7.8% declared Hebrew and 11.9% Polish. We may, therefore, infer that the acculturated group counted for ca. 12% of the Jews5.

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 73 Table 3.2  The educational possibilities in interwar Poland (Dobroszycki and Kirshenblatt-Gimblett 1977, pp.200–203; Ury 1983, p.51; Maza 1989, p.38) Type of school, supporting institution or party

Language of instruction

Traditional/religious Chronology versus secular; attitude towards assimilation

1

Kheyder and yeshiva

Hebrew

2

Private schools

-

Since the beginning of Jewish presence 1813 in Tarnopol

3

State schools for Jews, following the method of Lilienthal Regular government schools, in 1881 -12.3% of students ‘Reformed kheyder’ [kheyder metukan] Tarbut schools, financed by Zionist movements, rapid development: in 1931-1932, 242 schools with more than 25 000 students CYSHO Central Jewish School Organisation

-

Traditional religious education Combining Jewish and secular studies Promoting assimilation

Polish

Secular

Hebrew

Secular Jewish schools Secular Jewish schools

The last decades of the nineteenth century Turn of the twentieth century Since 1922 – a central school organisation

4 5 6

7

8

9

10

11 12

Federation of Jewish Secondary Schools, middle class acculturated Zionists SHULKULT schools (Schul un kultur farband Federation for School and Culture), supported by Labor Zionists Agudas Yisroel modern school network: Horev schools – boys, Bais Yaakov schools – girls, also support for yeshivas Yavneh schools, supported by Orthodox Zionists – Mizrachi Szabasówka schools – Polish oriented schools supported by the government

Hebrew

1840

Yiddish

Secular, socialist frame

PolishHebrew bilingual

Secular

Organisation founded 1921, first school ca. 1900 1912

PolishHebrewYiddish trilingual

Secular, socialist frame

1928 – Shulkult foundation

Yiddish, Hebrew

Ultraorthodox

Schools for girls since 1917

-

Orthodox

-

Polish

Secular

After the Versailles Treaty of 1919

74  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

3.3.5  Secularisation, politicisation, migrations Before the outset of World War II, only ca. 40% of Jews may be described as traditionally religious (Żyndul 2010, p.261). Their attitude towards religion was explicit in their political preferences expressed in the last local elections of 1936, when the more secularised Jews accounted for around 60% of the Jewish population. The politicisation of public life, growing since the 90s of the nineteenth century, revealed that the four main groups within the Jewish community could be defined as: (1) proponents of assimilation, (2) nationalists, (3) socialists and (4) orthodoxy. The political views of the followers of those movements overlapped to some degree, and their understanding remains necessary when trying to grasp people’s lifestyle choices. We have so far explored orthodoxy and assimilationist standpoints. Jewish nationalism developed in the context of the changes in the status and relations of the Jewish community with the surrounding ones during the partitions period. Bartal (2005, p.168) divides ‘the growth of the model national movement’ between 1772 and 1881 into three phases: ‘(a) the premodern corporate entity as an element of the general corporate system; (b) subjects of the centralized empire; and (c) a different and separate nation amid a multinational reality of crumbling empires’. The popularity of Jewish national movements grew, accompanying the controversies aroused around the right to use the Jewish language and to continue Jewish traditions. Discussed in the Conference in Versailles in 1919 and in the Polish parliament in the autumn of 1920, it ended with granting national rights to individuals, instead of to communities. As a result, all issues related to the rights of Jewish group had to be discussed separately, e.g., only in 1927 did authorities allow the use of Hebrew and Yiddish during public gatherings. The most onerous consequence was educational constraints – primary schools teaching Hebrew and Yiddish were not offered public financing. Moreover, the popularity of Jewish nationalism, and the attractiveness of emigration, remained strongly affected by the development of PolishJewish relations, which improved significantly during the rule of Piłsudski (1926–1935) in comparison to the period directly after World War I and after 1935 (Żyndul 2010, p.285). After 1931, the economic crisis strengthened tensions and negatively influenced mutual attitudes, leading to a boycott of Jewish commerce and manufacturers. The most aggressive attacks happened in central Poland, in the districts of Białystok, Warsaw, Łódź and Kielce. At the end of the nineteenth century, Jewish nationalism gathered around two major ideas: the creation of a Jewish state, which was agreed for all Zionist movements, and a common Jewish language – Yiddish, for Folkists and later on the non-Zionist left wing. The Zionism movement, aiming at first for the political independence of Jews in Palestine (at later times their goals expanded and became far wider), started after the pogroms of 18911892 (Ury 2010). After the First Basel Congress held in 1897, the movements gained momentum. During the heyday of Zionist politics in the interwar period, the three centres in Warsaw, Lwów and Kraków developed. The

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 75

movement comprised several groups which represented various political options: Mizrachi on the right (started in Vilna in 1902), central, and leftist movements: Hitachduth and Poalej Syjon Lewica (Żyndul 2010). Polonsky (2014, p.305) estimates the share of Zionists in the whole Jewish population in the 1931census at 7.8%, based on the numbers of people of Jewish religion declaring Hebrew as their mother tongue, assuming that they most probably had been preparing for their departure to Palestine. Zionists’ plans to colonise Palestine directly affected the everyday activities of their followers, with the youth movements endeavouring to educate Jewish youths through physical labour. One hundred thousand members in hakhsharot in Poland trained in agriculture for aliyah to Israel (Patt 2009, p.158). There were, however, also Zionists groups who did not agreed on the need for a Jewish state and for whom a Jewish homeland was a priority. For instance, the Left Poalei Zion, the left labor Zionists, were pro-Yiddish (Ury 2010). On the other hand, the Folkist Party ( Jewish People’s Party), rooted in nationalist tendencies at the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth century, gathered defenders of Jewish autonomy and supported Yiddish as an important cultural integration factor, standing up against emigration. The party, started in 1916 by Szymon Dubnow, gained some popularity at the beginning of the interwar period (13% of Jewish votes and two mandates in the first parliamentary elections, one mandate during the elections in 1922). 3.3.5.1  Political parties and social organisations Jewish political life in the interwar period flourished; its full complexity going far beyond the framework of the current book. Apart from national and orthodox parties, which have already been discussed, several other groups emerged, covering the whole political spectrum. Progressively pauperised, Jewish masses became attracted by socialism and communist movements. In 1897 in Vilna, Bund – the General Jewish Labour Party in Lithuania, Poland and Russia, started. Soon, Jews also created their own leftist parties or sympathised with anarchist and communist movements. Although Bund never was powerful enough to enter parliament, it gathered circa 10% of Jewish voices during the elections in 1922, 1926, 1930. The party gained support in the major urban centres, the majority of votes (2/3) coming from Warsaw and Łódź. The complexity of interwar social life was completed by the activities of a wide range of organisations serving a variety of functions, the oldest among them religious or dealing with religious charity. Next to the religious services carried out by Jewish communities (rabbinate, cemetery, ritual bath, ritual slaughter), many other bodies performed more specific tasks. Some of them ran their own synagogues or prayer houses, while others served particular rituals. The organisation of funerals belonged to Chewra Kadisha (‫)קדושה חברה‬, the care for the sick to Linas Hacedek, encouraging Jews to uphold the Shabbat and adhere to religious rules to Szomrej Szabat. Bejs Lechem fed the poor, and Hachnasat Kalo helped poor brides gather their

76  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

dowry. Moreover, many non-religious associations offered charity, among their activities there were: ambulatory medical aid, promotion of hygiene, the organisation of summer camps for Jewish children – The Society for the Protection of Health (TOZ), and orphanages – The Society for the Care of Jewish Orphans (CENTOS). Economic and professional organisations played a crucial role in the protection and support of the specific interests of social and professional groups: merchants, craftsmen, teachers and intelligentsia. The need for economic support made allowance loans counters very popular, similarly to credit associations. Jewish youth gathered around sports clubs and tourist societies, which became an important part of the activities of the political organisations: Makabi (Sionists), Jutrzenka (Bund), Hapoel and Gwiazda – Star (Poalej Zion) and the Jewish Landscape Association (ŻTK). 3.3.5.2 Migrations Ease of movement between locations was always natural for Jews with a history of migration to smaller villages and to the countryside ever since the beginning of the sixteenth century, and permanent migrations between various urban centres. Even so, the massive influx of Jews fleeing the Pale of Settlement to the Kingdom of Poland significantly affected the local Polish-Jewish culture, especially since 1862 when Jews were granted full civil rights. Along with the remarkable economic growth of the Kingdom of Poland, these rights created very favourable conditions for the growth of the Jewish community. So called Litvaks’ immigration strengthen because of the Tsar’s decrees of 1882, 1887 and 1891, which restored settlement restriction to a limited zone and expelled Jews from the countryside. They were also banished from Moscow, Petersburg, and many more towns of the Russian Empire. Cała (1989, pp.153–155) describes the inimical attitude of local Jews towards their Russian counterparts; they were criticised for the popularisation of Jewish nationalism among others. The worsening conditions of everyday life, with the shrinking range of available economic activities, were the main reasons why during the 20 years of the interwar period 400 000 Jews left Poland. They emigrated to, respectively: the USA – 165 000 people, the major movement at the beginning of the 1920s; Palestine – 120 000 people, the major movement since the mid1920s, Argentina (50 000 people), Brazil, Canada and Western Europe (ca. 20 000 people each) (Żyndul 2010, p.248).

3.4 Diachronic facets of complexity – bottom-up practices versus formal planning of Jewish settlements 3.4.1  From the eleventh century – to the end of the fifteenth century The form and organisation of Jewish settlements reflected the diachronic development of this community. The changes stemmed from the population growth and its spread over larger territories. The transforming lifestyles were

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 77

affected by the professional structure and, later on, modernisation and acculturation. Spatial organisation embedded the family, professional and neighbourhood relations; the built form made the inhabitants’ social and material status explicit. At first, and until the sixteenth century, all Jews shared a similar, traditional lifestyle, while at the same time maintaining the social distinction appropriate for the rich financial elites. The numbers of Jews remained limited, those wishing to settle in Poland needed the ruler’s permission, and when departing they had to settle their affairs with the royal treasury (Zaremska 2014, p.66). Protected by the kings’ privileges, their elite status and prosperity was reflected in the quality and location of built structures they inhabited at the time, for example in Płock. Between the eleventh century and the first half of the thirteenth century, only a few Jewish concentrations in the medieval pre-chartered towns were listed, in central Poland, the one in Płock had already begun by the twelve century. The document from 1237 which recorded a Jewish well and Jewish sepulchrum (cemetery) as landmarks while laying out the newly-planned area, proves their presence at the time (Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, p.15). These concentrations were limited in size, most probably consisting of a few wooden dwellings, similar to those in settlements outside the walls. Due to the functions performed by their inhabitants, the character of their occupations and their legal situation, they were usually located in direct proximity to the noble’s manor house, next to the nearest market place or beside a customs’ house or a river crossing. The scarcity of documents does not allow us to draw a complete picture of the first Jewish settlements in Poland before the thirteen century. Zaremska (2010) points to the relation between the date of arrival of Jews and the chronology of a town’s development. In the area of former Mazovia, 155 urban settlements were started during the feudal period, including the 16 largest juridicas in Warsaw (Pazyra 1959, p.7). Amongst these, 106 towns were granted city rights by the 1530s (Kulesza 2011, p.135). The acquisition of city rights in Mazovia took place later than in other parts of the country. Four towns only: Płock (1237), Pułtusk (1257), Łowicz (1298) and Warsaw (1300), got their rights at the end of the thirteenth century, and eight obtained city rights in the first half of the fourteenth century (Kulesza 2011, p.136). Most towns got their rights in two steps: first the office of the village leader was established, and, with a centre for trade and crafts already developed, city rights followed. In 1350 there were thirteen towns located in Mazovia: Warszawa, Ciechanów, Mogielnica, Łowicz, Warka, Gąbin, Sierpc, Jeżów, Wyśmierzyca, Wiskitki and Czersk (Kulesza 2011, p.136). Płock and Pułtusk also had city rights at the time. Jews were initially present only in those towns which played an essential administrative role, their presence in Płock dating back to the beginning of the thirteenth century, in Warsaw – to the beginning of the fifteenth century and in Pułtusk – to the second half of the fifteenth century (from the time they were expelled from Warsaw). Jews started settling in Ciechanów in the first half of the sixteenth century and in Gąbin in the second half of the same century.

78  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

Further, the pattern of Jewish settlement in Medieval towns was directly related to the route of main trade roads – both water and land. In the initial period, Jewish presence was exclusive to the principal towns, but, with time, they spread further. The main waterways were Wisła and Bug, Wisła connecting Mazovia and Pomerania, and Bug joining Poland and Ruś Kijowska (through Prypeć). Pazyra (1959, p.62) emphasises the role of the Wisła river for the development of Czersk, Zakroczym, Czerwińsk, Płock and Wyszogród, and several other settlements in the Warsaw region, and the significance of Bug for Wyszków, Brok and Brańszczyk, which were the places where tolls were collected. The Narew and Pilica rivers played a secondary role; however, they influenced the development of both Wizna and Warka. The commercial land routes also developed early and played a significant role in international trade. The road connecting Pomerania with the south of Poland, which was given trade privileges by Kazimierz Wielki in 1350, had two branches in Mazovia. The first one connected Toruń with Włodzimierz in Ruś and went through Bobrowniki, along the Vistula through Płock, Wyszogród, Czerwińsk, Zakroczym, Warsaw and Czersk and Sieciechów. The other connected Toruń and Lwów and went through Brześć Kujawski, Gostynin, Łowicz, Jeżów, Rawa, Góra nad Pilicą towards Radom (Pazyra 1959, p.63). The third most important road from Mazovia to Ruś led along the Bug river and went through the following towns: Pomnichów, Serock, Wyszków, Brok, Nieskurzyn and Brańsk. Another road led towards Lithuania, which is confirmed by the presence of customs offices in Maków and Wizno. Commercial relations with Silesia and Moravia developed early too, with the following towns participating in this trade: Warszawa, Czersk, Warka, Grodziec, Garwolin, Rawa, Mogielnica and Nowe Miasto. Sochaczew, Łowicz, Płock and Rawa also had rights to trade with Silesia via Wrocław (Pazyra 1959, p.65). Pazyra (1959, p.65) suggests the route of three roads: one through Gostynin to Łęczyca, second from the central Mazovia through Sochaczew, and third from the south Mazovia through Rawa to Łęczyca and then through Wieluń to Wrocław. The road from Garwolin led through Czersk. Another important road served the commerce of salt with Bochnia and Wieliczka, and led from Kraków through Opoczno and Inowłódź to Warka, the plan of the hypothetical route of the main commercial roads is shown in Figure 3.1. The formal foundation of a town was often preceded by various forms of pre-location settlements, with new towns started as a transformation of the former layout, e.g., in Osjaków, Łask or Złoczew, or with a new settlement founded next to the formerly existing village, like in Szadek or Wieruszów. In some cases, the complex of a castle and market settlement, with time, gave rise to a town, such as in Łęczyca, Sieradz, Wolbórz, Inowłódź, Nowe Miasto nad Pilicą, Piotrków Trybunalski; in others the town location followed the market settlement, like in Sulejów or Radomsko. Further towns which developed thanks to the market location were: Piątek, Uniejów, Małyń, Kazimierz nad Nerem and Rozprza (Kulesza 2011, pp.221–222).

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 79

The transformation of the spatial structure of Polish lands, which started in the beginning of the thirteen century (Münch 1965), led to intensive urbanisation and the founding of new settlements along with changes to existing ones. The majority of towns in the thirteen and fourteen century continued to build on the previously existing settlements. The new layout took place in the same location, through changes to the former site, or in its direct proximity, as in Płock, or it moved to a new, in some cases distant, site, like in Łęczyca. In the fourteenth and fifteenth century, cities were also founded ‘in crude radice’, adding new elements to the existing settlements’ network. On the territory of present-day Poland, charters based on German law were granted to circa 500 towns (Koter and Kulesza 1999). As Table 3.3 and the map in Figure 3.1 prove, Jews first picked out those towns which played a major role as trade centres, e.g., where customs offices were located. Other features which affected their presence were the town’s ownership and town’s role in the administrative system of the country; in the case of church properties, Jews were usually absent. With time and the development of Jewish commercial activities, citizens of some towns made active efforts to get the privilege De non tolerandis Judaeis and in this way to eliminate economic competition. This by turn often concluded with Jews moving to a nearby smaller village or another town in the proximity. The combination of all these factors gave a dynamic picture of Jewish settlement in Medieval Poland. Piechotka and Piechotka (2004) distinguish three types of settlements in the group of pre-charter towns – capitals of the country and provinces in the eleventh and twelve century – and in towns continuing those settlements in the thirteen to fifteenth century: 1 towns located in the area of the former pre-charter settlement, with Jews remaining in the same location, e.g., Płock; 2 towns located outside the earlier settlement, with Jews allocated a new place in a newly located town; 3 towns located in the direct proximity of the former settlement, with Jews living in the two spots – former suburbs and new central ones. In the beginning, their concentrations remained small, meaning Jews who lived there had as neighbours Christians, e.g., in Warsaw in the fourteenth century there were just five Jewish houses and a synagogue (Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, p.29). As the Jewish population grew, however, the districts where they lived, especially in larger towns, became more and more distinct. The simple layout plan, with a market square surrounded by residential or commercial-fronting plots, acquired greater complexity as the town’s former elements were developed and adapted. In the case of Płock for instance, the first Jewish settlement was incorporated into the newly founded municipality and became a part of it. In the case of Łęczyca, on the other hand, the new town was started in a new spot and relocation led to the demise of the original settlement (Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, p.18). This second situation

Town

Date of location

Voivodeship

Earlier character of a settlement Jewish settlement

Płock Pułtusk

1237 1257

P. płocka M. zakr.

Commercial borough Commercial borough

Łowicz

1298

R. soch.

Commercial borough

Warszawa Mogilnica Warka Gąbin Sierpc Jeżów Wyśmierzyce Wiskitki Bodzanów Tarczyn

1300 1317 1321 1322 1322 1334 1338 1349 1351 1353

M. warsz R. rawska M. czerska R. gost. P. sierp. R. rawska M. czerska R. soch. M. wyszogr. M. warsz.

Commercial borough Church village Commercial borough Town Borough Church village Commercial Borough Church village Church village

Zajezierze Budziszowice Sochaczew Bolimów

1356 1358 1368 1370

R. gost. R. rawska R. soch. R. soch.

Unknown Village Borough Commercial village

Beginning of the 12e century End of the fifteenth century, after de non tolerandis Judaeis First Jews beginning of the sixteenth century, after bishop’s ban Beginning of the fifteenth century Second half of the eighteenth century End of the sixteenth century Second half of the sixteenth century End of the eighteenth century End of the eighteenth century Beginning of the nineteenth century Beginning of the eighteenth century Second half of the eighteenth century End of the eighteenth century/beginning of the nineteenth century Unknown Unknown First half of the fifteenth century Second half of the eighteenth century (Continued)

80  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

Table 3.3  T  owns in Mazovia which had acquired city rights by the end of the fifteenth century (Pazyra 1959, pp.111–115), data on Jewish settlement – sztetl.org.pl

Table 3.3  T  owns in Mazovia which had acquired city rights by the end of the fifteenth century (Pazyra 1959, pp.111–115), data on Jewish settlement – sztetl.org.pl (Continued) Date of location

Voivodeship

Earlier character of a settlement Jewish settlement

Czerwińsk Ostrołęka Rawa Nowy Dwór Mszczonów Magnuszew Różan Błonie Gostynin

1373 1373 1374 1374 1377 1377 1378 1380 1382

M. wyszogr. M. łomż. R. rawska M. warsz. R. soch. M. czerska M. różan. M. warsz. R. gost.

Church village Town Commercial borough Borough Commercial church village Commercial village Borough Church village Borough

Szreńsk Kuczbork Sochocin Goszczyn Nasielsk Przybyszew Wyszogród Ciechanów Nowe Miasto n. Pilicą Płońsk Radzanów Zegrze

1383 1384 1385 1386 1386 1396 1398 1400 1400 1400 1400 Fourteenth century

P. zawkrz. P. zawkrz. M. ciech. M. czerska M. zakr. M. czerska M. wyszogr. M. ciech. R. rawska P. zawkrz. P. zawkrz. M. zakr.

Village, regional centre Town Village Village Town borough Church village Commercial borough Borough Commercial village Commercial borough Village, family node Borough

End of the eighteenth century End of the eighteenth century Beginning of the sixteenth century Second half of the sixteenth century End of the seventeenth century End of the eighteenth century First half of the seventeenth century Fifteenth century First Jews fifteenth century, community eighteenth century Second half of the sixteenth century Second half of the eighteenth century Unknown, end of the seventeenth century Unknown Seventeenth century Unknown First half of fifteenth century Beginning of the sixteenth century Eighteenth century Half of the fifteenth century Beginning of the eighteenth century Unknown

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 81

Town

82  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

was also quite common. In towns which were relocated, Jews were assigned an area for dwelling next to market places and trade routes, as their role in the development of commerce justified their settlement. The Jewish quarter usually took a spot outside the main market and major streets, on the outskirts but still within the walls, at some distance from a church, next to an auxiliary market (Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, p.28). Hubka (2005) equally conveys an image of Jewish neighbourhoods featuring ‘dense urban streets behind fortified walls’. The divergence of Jewish neighbourhoods was remarkably clear and durable, as they maintained their unique national and religious idiosyncrasy for centuries; the factors which influenced this separation are listed below: 1 the policy of the Catholic Church, isolating Jews from the Catholic community – the resolutions of the Lateran Council (1215), later renewed; 2 the legal situation of Jews; 3 their own objectives to preserve national and religious distinctness through isolation from the alien environment. The Lateran Council resolutions tried to force Jews into closed, separated ghettos, and restrict the erection of new synagogues or the renovation or the rebuilding of existing ones. Although confirmed by the Wrocław Council in 1267, and reconfirmed during the Councils in Buda 1279 and Łęczyca 1285 (Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, p.23), these recommendations were not observed. On the contrary, not only does the protection which the Jewish communities received from the rulers explain their presence in governance centres, but they also enjoyed special treatment. They maintained a network of links with the ruler’s residence, and their neighbourhoods used to be legally excluded from the town’s jurisdiction in central European towns founded under German law. The part of a town belonging to the Jewish community distinguished itself from the surrounding structure, and specific settlement forms emerged due to this Jewish presence (Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, p.7). Living a life different from the rest of a town, with their culture protected by Halakha laws from undesired influx, the Jewish neighbourhoods maintained their separate integrity, even without an external enclosure. The internal organisation of Jewish settlements depended to a large extent on religious practice and the form of prayer known as minhag Ashkenaz (Askenazi custom), which spread from ‘the early Jewish communities in the Roman cities in Germany’ and which the Eastern European communities accepted (Halpern 1968, p.9–33 in Bartal 2005, p.16). Religious and communal life focused around the synagogue, which, especially in the initial period of the Jewish presence in Poland, fulfilled several divergent roles. Along with its religious functions, such as prayers, studies, discussions and reading of holy books, it served also secular purposes: as a seat of kahal, of meetings of the elderly, decision making, court meetings, treasury and communal archives. Sources do not give any examples of preserved buildings from that period in central Poland; the

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 83

closest are those later converted into churches in Oleśnica and Strzegom, coming from the fourteenth and fifteenth century. Erecting a synagogue was the most expensive investment for a community, often engaging Christian architects (Zaremska 2010, p.47). The building itself should not exceed the other town buildings in height, the Church authorities required its form to be modest, different than those of churches and located in a way that Jewish prayers would not disturb the Christian sermons. Piechotka and Piechotka (2004, p.29) justify their interpretation of the recessing of many Jewish synagogues from the street line with Church demands, adding that safety could have been improved because of this seclusion and restricted access. This setback could also have been for some other reasons, as the tradition to hide and enclose the Holy Place in order to maintain its safety and provide proper seclusion has been present in Jewish culture since the times of the Ancient Temple. Simultaneously, the courtyard which neighboured the synagogue used to serve for processions and outdoor religious ceremonies. It was the duty of the kahal authorities to care for its construction and for all the remaining communal buildings and facilities. With time, the range of required institutions extended, as not only did major communities claim a proper synagogue, but a communal ritual bath, a kosher butchery, their own cemetery and hospital as well. Next to the synagogue’s inner yard, there was often beit midrash, where Jews gathered to study and discuss holy books. Usually, before constructing a synagogue, a Jewish community had to organise a mikveh (‫ – )מקווה‬a ritual bath, which served men’s ablutions before the Sabbath and holiday ceremonies and women’s ritual purification. It was also necessary to obtain the proper purity of kitchen utensils for several other reasons, described in detail in Jewish law. The requirement of immersion in a natural body of water, and for some specific impurities the need for ‘living water’ such as springs or groundwater wells, justified the preference for direct access to a water course or river. Additionally, specific religious canons used to regulate the necessities for various types of ceremonies, for instance, Tashlikh – an atonement ritual performed during the first day of Rosh Hashanah holiday, when Jews symbolically ‘cast off ’ all their sins into the water while emptying their pockets of all crumbs. With time, further institutions and places developed, satisfying specific Jewish needs (Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, p.29): 1 a house of a melamed, local teacher, hosting a heder [‫חדר‬, in Hebrew – room] – an elementary school which Jewish boys attended once they had finished their third year; 2 a house of a rabbi – the spiritual leader of a community; 3 a separate well; 4 a wedding house; 5 a kosher butchery and bakery; 6 a hospital and asylum for the poor.

84  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

A cemetery, located outside the district, often even outside the town, on an elevated spot, served as another site identifying the presence of a Jewish community. There, tombstones (macewa – ‫ )מצבה‬marked the locations of burial places, while exceptional personages merited special monuments. In the case when a community was too small to have their own cemetery, a funeral association (Chewra kadisza – ‫ )חברה קדישא‬transported the body to be buried in a neighbouring community. The Jewish presence in a town, limited to one street during the medieval period, usually made its Jewish inhabitants live side by side with Christians. Except for larger centres, e.g., Płock, most typical colonies consisted of just one or two families (Zaremska 2014, p.83). Except for the reputed Academy of Poznań6, the size of the first communities in Poland was not sufficient to assure the presence of Jewish learned men or yeshivas of their own until the end of the Middle Ages. This situation resulted in the search for spiritual guidance from abroad, with rabbinic responsa guiding Jews on how to behave in family or communal life, and how to organise their relations with the surrounding Christians (Zaremska 2014, p.74). The initial, limited, size of Jewish communities and their status as visitors at first constrained the development of communal institutions. With the number of Jewish settlements increasing, their structure became established, and communities evolved gradually. The settlements’ organisation differed locally, the consolidation of Jewish self-government affected both by the legal and political constraints encountered in the place Jews settled, e.g., in Mazovia, communal autonomy was more limited. Yet another factor which influenced the organisation of the Jewish settlements was the models imported by the German colonists (Zaremska 2014, p.83). Apart from the location within the town, it is hard to elaborate on the details of the urban layout at the beginning of the Jewish presence in Poland, as few traces are preserved. According to Piechotka and Piechotka (2004, p.29), Jewish districts developed around the existing streets layout, using the pre-existing parcellation as a canvas. Probably, the structures erected there were also similar to those in the neighbouring districts, with synagogues being built of wood until the fifteenth or sixteenth century and later replaced with masonry ones. While looking at later plans, it is difficult to judge, but already the secondary parcellation seems more apparent than in the remaining parts of a town, more internal connections are present because of the presence of internal courtyards hosting religious institutions. Another reason may be the strong role of family relations in the Jewish community and its social coherence, which made the sharing of space possible. As a consequence, similarly to residential districts in ancient Israeli towns, where a system of courtyards and narrow alleys enabled circulation, Jews used internal, outdoor spaces like courtyards and narrow nooks and pathways in order to circulate inside the quarter without accessing public streets. The symbolic division of the Jewish neighbourhood was provided for with the use of so called eruv (pl. eruvim) – special string or wire surrounding places inhabited by Jews, which let them feel secluded outside on the Sabbath. Although the

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 85

Talmud prescriptions forbade any work and many activities on Sabbath and during holidays, the full catalogue of tasks excluded on these days defined by Jewish religious law, within the area surrounded with eruvim, carrying things was possible during the holy time, just like at home. This kind of behaviour, introducing the gradation of outdoor spaces into private, semi-private and public – those located outside, was convenient during holidays, with their numerous bans and prohibitions. Moreover, the seclusion provided many more opportunities to control who was entering the enclosed, interior space of an urban block. This way of using space, difficult to confirm when analysing early Medieval neighbourhoods because of the deficiency of proof and documents, seems more visible looking at later development. The initial, limited, society of immigrants was growing in size, both demographically and geographically through the Middle Ages to become spiritually self-sufficient in the sixteenth century (Bartal 2005, p.17). The influx of Jews from Western Europe after the persecutions of the Crusades and later on after their expulsion from most Western European countries7 was the main factor in this development. Additionally, Jewish communities grew thanks to high birth rates as a result of early marriages, low death rates among children, higher hygiene levels, healthier lifestyles, etc. 3.4.2  Sixteenth century – until the Partitions of Poland 3.4.2.1  First half of the sixteenth century The period beginning at the turn of the fifteenth and sixteenth century is often called The Golden Era of Polish Jewry. At first, Jews continued to live in royal towns, taking up more and more professional activities as their demographics continued to rise. As a result, commerce expanded outside Jewish quarters, with shops and agencies opening in the neighbouring streets and in empty auxiliary spaces, which, with time, transformed into Jewish markets. Jews coming to Poland in the fifteenth century and in the first half of the sixteenth century settled mostly in towns and, continuing the former tradition, most often in a single street. Therefore, in most towns where they lived there was one street called Jewish, which was also the location of a synagogue, a bath, a heder – a preliminary school for Jewish boys, a wedding house, hospital and other institutions, as described in the former section. The cemetery used to be located outside the town boundaries, however, in some cases the locations were close to the synagogues. Although in the Middle Ages most Jewish dwellings were concentrated next to the Jewish street, some families still built houses in the town centre, mainly next to the main market. With the influx of immigrants, the Jewish street became too crowded, and newcomers started taking over neighbouring streets. With time, a Jewish block or a Jewish quarter was formed, to become, in the end, a closed zone. Attempts to extend it, such as buying further properties, elicited protests from other citizens and their appeals to kings and courts. As a result,

86  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

one of the main features of Jewish neighbourhoods was its cramped layout and overcrowding (Wijaczka 2010, p.92). Economic competition led to conflicts which resulted in pressure exercised by the citizens of congested royal towns on its owners to defend themselves against this Jewish influx. As a consequence, during the sixteenth century, kings issued Privilegium de non tolerances Judaeis to several dozen royal towns. The scale of this trend was not really significant when compared to the quantity of Jewish settlements, however, in this number, there were the most important cities, including Warsaw. Be that as it may, these regulations were in vain because in close proximity of towns having this privilege, in areas belonging to nobles or governors, ‘Jewish towns’ developed, e.g., in Piotrków (Wijaczka 2010, p.94): in Podzamcze and Wielka Wieś. These new concentrations used to locate themselves in the suburbs or in so called ‘New Towns’ (Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, p.30). The most evident and exemplary case was in Warsaw, where, after the expulsion of the Jews in 1527, they were allowed to stay only during the parliament’s sessions, the city government tried to prevent their permanent residence with all means. Even so, magnates who owned numerous residencies and juridical zones located in the proximity of the old town, provided them with opportunities to settle and prosper, dealing with commerce, crafts and money lending (Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, p.47). In some cases, the ban on settlement and running a business in a given town was bypassed when Jews moved to locations close to the desired urban centre, usually private and belonging to magnates, often also to the clergy. Such satellite towns could have been as distant as several kilometres from the main trade centre, e.g., Jews from Rozprza worked in Piotrków, and Jewish merchants from Przytyk commuted to Radom (Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, p.47). The above-described situations were possible, since, in 1539, the Polish Parliament gave full jurisdiction over Jews living in private towns to nobles. In the period of a more general empowerment of nobles, who then represented up to 8% of the total population, and the development of urbanisation in vast areas of the Polish and Lithuanian Commonwealth, the law contributed to a larger policy of letting nobles freely develop their estates. The nobles saw Jewish proficiency and specialisation in commerce and financial administration as useful in developing the local economy (Teller and Kąkolewski 2014, p.92). Jews took up the challenge and used the opportunity to apply their skills in trade and the management of leased properties. Nobles founded a large percentage of new, private towns in the sixteenth century, with Jews contributing to their speedier development, this way increasing the incomes of their owners. The initially inimical attitude of nobles towards Jews was, in the sixteenth century, replaced with the efforts to engage them into the organisation of the noble economy and to use their skills and knowledge in competition with the local merchants. Leaping on the chance, Jews started, on a mass scale, settling in private towns, which ended with more than half of the Jewish population of the

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 87

Commonwealth living in private towns by the eighteenth century (Teller and Kąkolewski 2014, p.116). The overpopulation of Jewish districts in central and western Poland, considered by Topolski (1992) to be the principal factor for the dynamic development of towns in Eastern parts of the Commonwealth, was, at the same time, the reason for migration to the countryside in central Poland. Jews living in cities continued to be incolati – those who were excluded from citizens’ rights but who had rights to own properties and pursue their professional career. In the sixteenth century, a three-degree structure of Jewish autonomy developed, with its basic community level – kehillah, and its authorities kahal – elected from men who were heads of affluent families. The community was, as it always used to be, responsible for a synagogue, cemetery, mikveh, butchery, and the remaining communal institutions. It was also responsible for the cleanliness and water supplies of the Jewish district. The kahal took care of jurisdiction, oversaw the observance of Talmud prescriptions, gave concessions for the commercial and manufacturing activities and controlled them, leased concessions and accepted new members (Polonsky 2014, p.42). The range of communal institutions grew with time, formerly, in many towns, several amenities were housed in the single building of a synagogue, now they expanded into separate edifices. The new institutions evolved, with the most important among them: yeshiva and kloyz. Yeshiva, which was originally intended to provide rabbinical training, developed into a fully-fledged academic institution, focused on Talmudic studies. With the most prestigious yeshivas in the sixteenth century in Poznań, Kraków, Ostróg and Lwów, the Commonwealth grew into a famous centre of Talmudic scholarship (Reiner 2010a). When discussing the Jewish architecture of the Golden Age, elaborations list monumental synagogues in Lwów, Brześć over Bug, Wilno, Grodno, Lublin, Gniezno, Leszno, Tarnów and Łuck (Wijaczka 2010, p.92). These were Christian architects who designed some of them (e.g., Piotr Ronk from Poznań in Brześć over Bug, Piotr Rzymianin in Lwów – the building founded by Izaak Nachmanowicz). Kloyz – an educational institution existing from the sixteenth until the nineteenth century, meant a private house of study headed by an outstanding scholar who gathered affluent adult male students. With a rich family or a patron providing funds, its existence remained independent from the local community (Reiner 2010). 3.4.2.2  Second half of the sixteenth century up to the Cossacks’ uprising Huge demand for agricultural, forestry and livestock products fuelled the economic development of the sixteenth and first half of the seventeenth century. Field acreage grew through conversion of forest and use of scrubland, the serf economy expanded and the settlement network densified through colonisation and redevelopment of free lands. More and more nobles and clergy moved to

88  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

larger cities, living in the special juridical districts, excluded from the towns’ authorities’ supervision. In Warsaw, for example, most areas outside the city walls had become magnates’ and noblemen’s’ property even before the middle of the seventeenth century. Bogucka (Bogucka and Samsonowicz 1986, p.338) claims that the turn of the sixteenth century should be considered the climax of urbanisation processes in the Commonwealth. At the time, seven big cities had a population larger than 10 000 people, of which only Warsaw was in our area of concern, with Toruń being on the periphery. Goldberg (1985, after Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, p.45) called five of these towns Jewish metropolis: Kraków with Kazimierz, Poznań, Lwów and Lublin, due to the role they played in the Jewish self-governance system and advancement of Jewish cultural life and scholarship. The importance of Warsaw grew significantly, along with the displacement of the country’s central zone. Ca. 11 percent of towns, mainly those continuing the former kings’ foundations, had roughly a few thousand citizens. The remaining 88 percent of towns were small, and most of them private. In central Poland, among many newly-founded private towns, the majority dealt with agriculture and trade with some becoming craft centres. Following the privileges obtained from the state authorities, the important markets and fairs were located there, as well as customs houses and the like, enabling commercial exchange and raising income in the serf economy. Despite the ban on settlement which functioned in Mazovian towns until 1768, the Jewish communities grew numerous, as Bogucka asserts (Bogucka and Samsonowicz 1986, p.471). For instance, in Sochaczew in 1602 there were 22 Jewish houses out of a total number of 266, in Płock in 1578 tax was collected from 124 Jews, there were also large centres of Jewish crafts in Błonie, Wizna, and Jedwabne (ibid.) (Figure 3.2). The towns expanded, accommodating population growth, with former suburbs which used to extend outside, unplanned, becoming their inherent parts. The defensive walls were abandoned and no longer necessary in their previous function due to changes in military techniques, only rarely did new ramparts replace them. In most cases, cities and towns remained open, surrounded only by a ditch or wooden fence. In major towns, the former wooden structures, especially those located next to the markets and main streets, were replaced with gentrified masonry tenements, and buildings became denser. The majority of new towns founded at the end of the sixteenth century followed the medieval patterns, with a rectangular grid of streets leading out from the market square, which was the centre of commercial and economic life. Market squares used to be huge, as they served as annual farmers’ markets, where a thousand herd of cattle and great amounts of crops were sold. The character of numerous small towns developing then remained semi-rural, with vast areas taken up by farmland. This development was concentrated around the market and access roads. In smaller, in most cases partly agrarian, private towns, the areas assigned to Jews were not constrained by any regulations. Their location depended on

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 89

Figure 3.2  Jewish communities at the end of the sixteenth century (Wijaczka 2010, pp.66–67). 1. Concentrations in towns which belonged to: I. nobles, II. king, III. church, 2. province borders, 3. current administrative borders.

the decision of the town’s owner or his officials, with a synagogue on the outskirts, close to a watercourse or a river, usually distant from a church (Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, p.49). While cities and towns grew both demographically and territorially, the extension of the Jewish neighbourhoods was in most cases impossible or protested against by neighbouring citizens, with growth having to be contained within the existing borders. All this led to the increased density and transformations of the urban structure. The multi-family tenement appeared, with several floors and with the size of buildings growing. Backyards and some streets shrank, partly built upon. After fires, the rebuilding, devoid of control, led to the transformation of parcels’ layout and to secondary divisions. Streets were not only narrowed but also often displaced to host all the necessary constructions. At the same time, they were adjusted to the requirements of the Jewish community, with their dense network of social relations. The distribution of structures in Jewish districts is often claimed, especially in Polish sources, to be chaotic, accidental, etc., in later period causing substantial attempts to transform their layout.

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3.4.2.3  Turn of the sixteenth century to the Partitions of Poland From the turn of the sixteenth century, Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth had the largest concentration of Jews in the world, with half of all European Jewry living here. From circa 0.6 percent at the end of the fifteenth century to 5 percent in the middle of the seventeenth century, the growth of the Jewish share in the total population of the country was significant (Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, p.40). Circa 80 percent of the Jewish population lived in cities and smaller towns in the mid seventeenth century; their concentrations were present in two third of all urban settlements, with the rest living in the countryside. The economic stagnation at the turn of the sixteenth century evolved into recession, the nobles’ democracy declining and replaced with the magnate’s families’ oligarchy, although this did not affect Jewish society directly. Furthermore, the middle of the seventieth century was marked with huge wars, which started with the Cossack uprising (1648-1654) and continued through the Swedish Deluge (1655-1660). War took its toll, including amongst Jews; many towns and villages were plundered and hundreds of people killed. Moreover, Jewish leasehold activities and apparent prosperity made peasants turn against them, the Jews were more often than not blamed for the misery of the serfs, which made them more vulnerable to attacks. In central Poland, in 1656, Polish troops killed circa 1700 Jews in Łęczyca, while the overall number of slaughtered and burnt, including women and children, reached 4000. In Mazovia, the slaughter of Jews took place in Ciechanów, Gąbin, Płońsk and Płock. (Wijaczka 2010a, p.112). A survey performed between 1600 and 1664 showed that around 78% of all dwellings in royal towns in Mazovia were destroyed (Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, p.52). The disruption brought about by war made the boundaries of Jewish districts’ blur. The influx of people from suburbs and unprotected towns, who were looking for protection in fortified centres, could not be contained in former central Jewish districts. As a consequence, they took over dwellings outside this district, even in royal parts of cities with the privilege ‘de non tolerandis Judaeis’. Even in the cases when Polish citizens insisted, the return to the former situation, where Jews were confined exclusively to their own district, was not possible because court cases lasted years (Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, p.53–54). Another consequence of the wars was that the former masonry structures were often replaced with wooden dwellings. At the same time, the huge demographic growth of the Jewish population, not constrained by wars, resulted in their inflow to Warsaw and other large cities. Apart from living in private magnates’ properties, the practice of renting private houses and dwellings from gentile owners became popular, even if protested against by the neighbouring population. Goldberg (2001, p.150) gives a number of 5000 Jews living in Warsaw in the middle of the eighteenth century. Jews used to rent apartments in private houses, not only those belonging to regular citizens but also in magnates’ palaces and manors (Piechotka and Piechotka 2008, p.113–114). Middle-size towns were not

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 91

able to limit the Jewish influx, yet depopulated centres attracted even more, e.g., in Łęczyca, the Jewish district grew fast; similarly, they started living in Piotrków, first occupying locations in close proximity to the market, then moving to other locations (Piechotka and Piechotka 2004. p.58) The economic crisis which followed the wars caused the income of nobles and farmers to decrease, leaving towns unable to support all their inhabitants and causing many Jews to move to the countryside. As a result, the percentage of Jews living there rose appreciably in the Commonwealth and reached circa 30% in Mazovia. The census of 1764/65 showed the highest share of Jews in the Crown living in the countryside in Mazovia (Figure 3.3), at that time economically backward; according to Eisenbach (1983, p.17), it was as high as 59%. In the voivodeships located more to the west the share grew smaller: in Łęczyca Voivodeship – 34%, in Wieluń Voivodeship – 28%, in Sieradz Voivodeship – 22.5% (Eisenbach 1983, p.17). Mazovia was one of the districts where Jewish countryside settlement dominated, with whole families moving there permanently. This meant that the structure of Jewish occupations had to change. Very rarely making their livelihood from farming as their main occupation, they most often dealt with commerce, manufactured

Figure 3.3  Jewish communities in 1765 (Wijaczka 2010a, p.132). 1. Jewish settlements, 2. districts borders, 3. current administrative divisions.

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goods, kept taverns or were engaged as lease holders. Jews became strongly involved in the manor-based economy, in which the monopoly for vodka and beer production and selling played the most significant role. Leasing estates in various parts of the Commonwealth, they managed the entrusted properties, and people who were living there, similarly to the Christian nobles. While they did not, presumably, cultivate the land themselves, they were skilled in managing the farms. By offering much higher lease fees, Jews prevailed against poorer Polish nobles. Even the clergy preferred to lease their estates to Jews rather than to Christians. The second most important area of Jewish activity in the countryside was the leasing of taverns and mills. Usually, the contract also covered the right to manufacture and sell vodka and beer, on many occasions being even broader. In the second half of the seventeenth century and in the first half of the eighteenth century, Jews used to lease land properties along with their inhabitants. In such cases, crops and hops did not come from the proprietor’s barns but were produced in the fields entrusted to the lessor. Lessors were obliged to follow the rules of the sowing of spring and winter crops, and also to sow fields abandoned by peasants. In the case of crop failure or damage as a result of a war, they could count on changes to the lease contract. Leasing was a lucrative occupation in the eighteenth century. Lessors dealt not only with production and sales of alcoholic drinks but also with farming. From the sixteenth century, the number of country tavern-keepers grew. In the eighteenth century, in certain villages, there were sometimes even two taverns. The presence of such a number of village Jews, unheard of elsewhere, was considered a brand new occurrence in European Jewish history, from almost one-third up to half of the Jewish population had moved to villages by the census of 1764–1765 (Teller 2014, p.134). There were about 500 000 Jews who dwelled on noble’s estates, most of them in small towns, both new and old (Teller 2014, p.135). Nevertheless, as Eisenbach (1983, p.19) asserts, most Jews inhabiting the countryside did not achieve high incomes and experienced poverty. Along with the migrations of Jews to the countryside, their institutions followed. The first information on synagogues and cemeteries founded in small villages coming from the seventeenth century, confirm the creation of a permanent, large, Jewish community – kehillah. Most commonly, Jews lived in two or three villages in the proximity of a kehillah; sometimes there were many more villages, e.g., in 1753, 23 villages surrounded the one in Ostrów Mazowiecka (Wijaczka 2010a, p.127). At the end of the eighteenth century, about 40% of Jews in Mazovia lived in the countryside, their daily lives were focussed around urban concentrations called in Yiddish shtetl, ‫( שטעטל‬a larger town or a city was called a shtot, Yiddish: ‫ ;שטָאט‬a smaller one a dorf, Yiddish: ‫)דָארף‬. Considered a unique example of Jewish life in the Diaspora, shtetl, used to be an urban concentration, the size of which varied between a few hundred to even 20 000 inhabitants. Principally in the area of the former Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, the shtetl long remained a place ‘in which Jewish community constituted the majority of inhabitants and built their unique social

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 93

and cultural pattern of the individual and collective life’ (Borzymirska and Żebrowski 2003, p.654). It continued in central Poland for many years, preserving the traditional life style, its idiosyncrasy stemmed, among others, from the presence of numerous, multigenerational and patriarchal families and from the permanence of traditional institutions: synagogues, rabbis, religious fraternities – Chewrot, and the like., Furthermore, a social structure where everyone could establish his social status both as a member of the elite (szejne Jidn) or ordinary member of the community (prosteh) based on the individual or family yichush, yielded the ideal life style (Borzymirska and Żebrowski 2003, p.654). Adopting the definition by Kassow (2007), a little town could be named shtetl if the Jewish population there was large enough ‘to support institutions essential to Jewish communal life’. Coben (2011), trying to estimate the size of the Jewish community which fulfilled the above condition, enumerates the necessary institutions as follows: • • • • •

a synagogue, understood as ‘a freestanding building for prayer, assembly, and religious study’ (Coben 2011), a beit midrash qualified to this category, while meeting in a space in a private home did not; a heder – a school headed by a melamed (teacher); a mikveh – ritual bath; a Jewish cemetery located on the site; a chewra – ‘a voluntary benevolent association composed of Jewish individuals on the site for the purpose of distributing charity to temporary or permanent residents of the site’ (Coben 2011).

Customarily, the Jewish neighbourhood was clustered around a secondary street or small square, usually named Jewish, in many locations adjoining the towns’ market. A synagogue, the house of a rabbi and a community mikveh used to be grouped and placed not far from a river or stream, within the borders of a Jewish district. The remaining buildings serving the Jewish community, of which the majority used to be located next to or in proximity of Jewish street, included: a school, in some places a yeshiva, shops providing necessary items, especially a kosher butchery and bakery, but also a dress-maker, quite often also a poor house and a hospital. A rabbi, a cantor and a gabbai (Hebrew: ‫גבאי‬, other names shamash ‫ – שמש‬a beadle, a caretaker, person serving in the synagogue) also used to live in the proximity. Usually, as Hubka (2005) clarifies, with time, the institutions, both religious and those catering to the needs of the Jewish community, which were once grouped around a synagogue, displaced to more distant, independent edifices. Hubka (2005) distinguishes three typical patterns of Jewish settlement in eighteenth-century towns and small villages: •

a small cluster next to a secondary, small-scale square or in a neighbourhood adjacent to the main market – he recognises this type as the most common;

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• •

the community’s location adjacent to the town’s boundary or outer defensive wall – if it still existed, often next to one of gates; a spot next to a river or stream – this location justified by the need for water for ritual purification in mikveh, or directly in a watercourse. Another reason the author gives is the availability of low-lying, scrub, non-agricultural land.

The shtetl culture, which, despite the passing of time, survived in many locations in its initial, almost unchanged form until just before the beginning of World War II, attracted considerable attention as an embodiment of yiddishkeit, its idealistic images often presented in an abstract, almost poetic way. Shown for instance by Heschel (1949, ebook loc. 726): The little Jewish communities in Eastern Europe were like sacred texts opened before the eyes of God – so close were their houses of worship were to Mount Sinai. In the humble wooden synagogues, looking as if they were deliberately closing themselves off from the world, the Jews purified the souls that God had given them and perfected their likeness to God. […] Even plain men were like artists, who knew how to fill weekday hours with mystic beauty. A famous (and controversial, mainly for its alleged idealism) picture of life in a shtetl was provided in a postwar study by Zborowski and Herzog (1995). FIRST LARGE-SCALE MANUFACTURING CENTRES

In most cases, as explained above, Jews living in small towns dealt with commerce and small-scale manufacturing and satisfied the needs of the surrounding gentile, mainly the rural population, with the main place for exchange being fairs. With time, another reason for the Jewish community to come to a town, besides the lease of magnates’ or nobles’ properties, became the development of large-scale manufacturing, with the magnate proprietor looking for settlers who could successfully develop his enterprise. These activities, which started as early as in the eighteenth century, attracted Jews, along with German settlers, and resulted in the founding of new Jewish districts. This was the case in Przysucha, where German manufacturers settled in 1710, brought by chancellor Czerniawski to service and develop his metallurgic business. Adjacent to their location, Jewish, and later Polish, districts started (Figure 3.4). In Głowno, in 1730, the town’s owner, Balthazar Ciecierski, brought over Jewish manufacturers: tailors, tanners, furriers and hatters, expecting their aid in the development of commerce and crafts (Egoldberg et al. 1976, pp.81– 84). A similar situation happened near to Rawa Maziowiecka, where, in the second half of the eighteenth century, the governor of Lanckorona started a Jewish crafters’ settlement in Zamkowa Wola. The settlement, which in

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 95

Figure 3.4  P  lan of Przysucha, redrawn after Trzebiński (1955, Ryc.2). 1. Palace and manor, 2. Jewish market, 3. synagogue, 4. Ursulin, a settlement of Polish craftsmen, Polish market, 5. Catholic church, 6. German market, 7. arms factory, 8. Przysucha village.

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1789 already had 25 houses, a synagogue and a tavern, was incorporated into Rawa Mazowiecka in 1798 (both cases after Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, pp.60–61). Not possessing any rural properties and thus focused uniquely on their main occupations, which were crafts and commerce, the Jewish inhabitants could successfully compete with the citizens of Rawa Mazowiecka, achieving large profits, especially from the production of alcoholic drinks. The legal case over Jewish rights to conduct these activities ended only in 1799, when a new district was incorporated into the town (Kalinowski and Trawkowski 1955, p.184). The plan of the new settlement was created to fit into the former irregular layout of a street named Jerozolimska going out of the town towards Warsaw. There was an inn at the end of this street, and another street, perpendicular, led towards the river in which Jewish religious facilities were located, behind the facade of buildings surrounding the main square (Figure 3.5). Jewish districts distinguished themselves from their surroundings due to their seemingly cluttered and densely built irregular appearance. These features intensified along with the changes of backdrop settings and the transforming approach to town planning. The turn of the seventeenth century witnessed the development of Enlightenment planning, with the ideal of the

Figure 3.5  Plan of Miasto Żydowskie ( Jewish Town) in Rawa Mazowiecka in 1817: ‘“Plan miasta Rawy podług oryginału z roku 1817 __”, Oryg. w zbiorach Zakładu Architektury Polskiej Pol. Warsz.’, redrawn after Kalinowski and Trawkowski 1955, p.191. 1. Castle, 2. inn and town hall, 3. church and former Jesuit college, 4. former parish church, 5. church and manor of Augustinian order, 6. hospital, 7. church of Holy Spirit, 8. manor of Holy Spirit, 9. house of commandant, 10. Koński Rynek (Horse Market), 11. cemetery of Saint Stanislaw, 12. synagogue, 13. inn, 14. Jerozolimska street, 15. manor of the county office.

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 97

Renaissance regular town plan gaining popularity. The geometrical composition of the new layouts made even more explicit the distinction between the top-down planning and the bottom-up transformations by the Jewish settlers. The first town laid down using these principles, as early as in 1570, was Głowów, in Małopolska. The town which is often cited as representative for the first group of regular plans based on the square was Frampol near Lublin, founded at the beginning of the eighteenth century. The absolute regularity and clarity of composition were also main features of the model example of the Baroque plan for the cult centre in Góra Kalwaria of 1672, which later attracted one of the leading Hasidic communities in Poland – more attention is given to this case study in a further part of this book. Another type of town plan was a radial layout, with the main market in the form of a circle or eight or six side regular polygon, which first was seen in private towns founded in the eastern parts of the Commonwealth, currently Ukraine: Katerburg, Krynki, or Korzec. The classical composition of orthogonal plans found their successors in the one of Nowy Dwór over Narew, currently Nowy Dwór Mazowiecki, which regained city rights in 1782, thanks to Stanisław Poniatowski, the king’s nephew, who wanted to start cloth production here and brought over textile manufacturers. The main focus of the plan was a vast rectangular market (100 x 30 m), which was afterwards transformed into a municipal park, and symmetrical, rigid composition of the whole, with the two landmarks of the town hall and the church located on the two shorter sides of the main square, contrasted with the less rigid layout of the older town (Szafer 1955, p.54). The older market was also regulated, with the building of a Jewish school, clear on the original plan, and other buildings belonging to this culture (Figure 3.6). The proportion of the Jewish population was high in Nowy Dwór Mazowiecki, as shown in Figure 3.7, after Bielecka, from 1897 (2002) and Berish, earlier data (1965). The local Jewish history has attracted much attention recently, including visiting former citizens, stories collected by Bielecka (2002), others by the former Jewish residents of Nowy Dwór (Shamri and Berish 1965). Another town plan coming from the same period is the regulation of the royal town of Kozienice, currently in the Kielce district, created in 1782 after a great fire. The orthogonal plan by Jan Kanty Fontana (Szafer 1955, p.56), with a huge market (ca 540 by 175 m), was lined by the residence of the King and the symmetrically located town hall. Additional similar regulations were introduced in private towns of Eastern Poland, for instance Worniany or Krystynopol, all of them attracting Jews. The compositions of the Enlightenment period joined together the magnates’ residence and the town which was their property. This effect could be achieved either through the direct adjacency of the manor and the market, for instance in Kozienice, where the square assumes a role of an ‘avant-cour’ in front of the palace, or through visual axes linking more distant composition elements. Among

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Figure 3.6  P  lan of Nowy Dwór Mazowiecki of 1797, after Szafer (1955, p.55): East from the former market square a new town was laid out, with a great rectangular market with landmark buildings on its shorter facades. 1. Town hall, 2. church, 3. inn, 4. beit midrash, 5. Piaski Colony, 6. road to crossing, 7. town meadows, 8. wind-mill, a. property of the town’s owner, b. property of individuals or religious communities.

towns in central Poland, such composition may be found in, Białaczów, where a long perpendicular axis was delineated between the town hall and the palace. Moreover, in Siedlce where, in 1783, its owner, Aleksandra Ogińska, routed a street from the palace’s front court to the market and parochial church (Szafer 1955, p.60). Siedlce was another example of a private town which became an important centre for Jews in Mazovia as early as in the eighteenth century, with the population dynamics shown in chart Figure 3.8. Their influx started at the

Figure 3.7  The share of Jewish population in Nowy Dwór Mazowiecki8.

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 99

Figure 3.8  Jewish population dynamics in Siedlce8.

end of the sixteenth century and grew along with the town’s development and investments by the proprietors, with the Jews settling close to the town hall and main market. In private towns like Siedlce, their owners, aiming at growth of commerce, built large town halls, which, next to their administrative function, also hosted spaces to be leased as stores (Trzebiński 1955, p.87). The towns in Poland, according to the memorial submitted to the Parliament in 1789 by representatives of Jewish communities in towns of the Crown (Eisenbach 1983, pp.66/67), might be classified into three categories: (1) towns in which Jews could settle freely, (2) towns in which, thanks to agreements with local municipalities and certain fees, they were granted the rights to settle and conduct businesses, (3) towns in which Jewish settlement and businesses were banned. On this backdrop, the situation of the Polish capital remained special. Despite the fact that from the middle of the eighteenth century the attempts to expel Jews from Mazovia had ended (the law of 1768 abolished the ban on Jewish settlement in this voivodeship and the Constitution of 1791 legalised the law), still the municipality maintained the privilege de non tolerandis Judaeis (Eisenbach 1983, p.95). The anti-Jewish attitudes continued, with Jews often seeking help from the richest: after the expulsions in 1779, banker Piotr Teppler accepted large numbers of Jews onto his private property in Raszyn. From 1786 the passes allowing Jews to get to Warsaw were reintroduced, Jewish women were allowed to enter only to visit a doctor alone or assisting their children (Eisenbach 1983, p.96). Many Jews settled in villages and small towns around Warsaw and the private juridical zones so readily that a brand Jewish town, Nowa Jerozolima, was founded on the estates belonging to the prince August Sułkowski (demolished in 1775 after protests by Warsaw merchants) (Eisenbach 1983, p.97). Juridical zones were finally abolished in 1791 (Eisenbach 1983, p.113). The situation of Jews in Praga remained special, as ever since 1775 they were allowed to build houses, conduct economic activities and establish the community with a synagogue, cemetery, ritual bath, etc. There were also separate syndics [hebr. sztadlan] representing the Jews of Warsaw and of Praga (Eisenbach 1983, p.129). Finally, Prussian authorities approved the kahal in Warsaw in 1801.

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Partitions of Poland  During the partitions of Poland, the political situation of the areas under consideration changed several times. At first, they became part of Prussia (the first partition 1772), were later incorporated into the Duchy of Warsaw, and finally became part of the Kingdom of Poland – all these conditions could not leave the Jewish situation unaffected. During the period of Prussian rule, the activities initiated by Frederick I, the so called Frederician Colonisation, transformed large rural areas where new rural settlements were founded, with regular plans and standardised structures (Kalinowski 1986, p.40). In between 1772 and 1808, the Prussian government undertook the regulation of several towns in which new neighbourhoods were planned for settlers, for instance in Lipno in Kuyavian-Pomeranian Voivodeship – 1799, in Wizna in Podlaskie Voivodeship – 1799, and in Pułtusk in Mazovian Voivodeship – in 1803 (Kalinowski 1986, p.40). In 1799, a plan for Dąbie over Ner in current Wielkopolskie Voivodeship was conceived, which later on became a model for government industrial settlements (Kalinowski 1986, p.41). In the main administrative centres, new neighbourhoods were laid out for Prussian government employees. In Płock, the district encircled a square dominated by the administration edifice designed by D. Gilly (Kalinowski 1986, p.40). The Prussian authorities also initiated several works on fortifications, among others, in Warsaw and in Łęczyca. In 1797, King Frederick William II issued an edict, entitled: Jeneralne urządzenie Żydow w prowincjach Prus Południowych i Nowowschodnich, defining the legal and economic situation of Jews; it significantly worsened their legal conditions, abolishing former self-governance and the judicial authority of rabbis (Bartoszewicz 2006, p.106). At the same time, Prussian authorities enhanced economic opportunities for Jews, cancelling the privileges de non tolerandis Judaeis in some of the towns in Mazovia, e.g., in Pułtusk, Mława and Raciąż; this way they enabled the development of Jewish communities there during the period 1802-1807. Growth also took place in towns where Jews were already present, like Ciechanów (from 240 to 1194 people), Maków (from 505 to 2007), Nasielsk (from 477 to 2410), Płońsk (496 to 2801), Różan (52 to 309) and Wyszogród (836 to 2883) (Szczepański 2005, p.34). The Duchy of Warsaw  During the period of the Duchy of Warsaw (18071815), which was a small state that emerged during the Napoleon Wars and was dependent on Napoleon’s rule, the formerly initiated urbanisation processes continued. The government, intending to strengthen the influx of craftsmen from Wielkopolska and Silesia and retain settlers invited previously by the Prussian authorities, issued a Decree of 20th March 1809 which released new-comers from all burdens and public taxes for six years. This regulation brought about some initiatives by private investors. In 1807, Ignacy Starzyński started a new industrial settlement in his village, Ozorków. The contract which he signed with 25 settlers on 1st March 1811 determined their conditions as follows. Each settler got the permanent lease of a lot of 16 square rods, 1 unit of land and 1 unit of meadow, and

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 101

their duty was to construct a house with masonry chimneys and covered with ceramic or wooden tiles, located in fixed places and in a street line. Kalinowski (1998, p.35) sees the origins of the regulation in the earlier Prussian legislation. The village developed quickly, and in 1815 counted 1800 citizens (Kalinowski 1998, p.34). The development attracted Jews, the independent community established in 1819, three years after acquiring city rights for settlement (Figure 3.26). The regulatory plan of 1816 introduced a long and broad street in the centre, closed at one end with a triangular square, from which four streets started, at the other end was a market, next to which a church was erected. Close to both markets several ponds were dug, which provided energy for the mills. As it was a private town, the settlement of Jews in Ozorków was not constrained by any regulations. The activities of Jewish entrepreneurs – the factory belonging to Libracht family started as early as in 1817 (Dumała 1974, p.251), attracted Jewish workers. The enterprise, located in the eastern part of the main avenue, on both its sides and not far from the upper pond, achieved the peak of its development in the middle of the nineteenth century. The arriving Jews tended to settle around the marketplace9. Information on facilities belonging to the Jewish community is scarce; we know the location of the synagogue in the current Wyszyńskiego Street10. It is highly probable that the locations of the synagogue and other necessary edifices were inscribed in the development plans and approved by the town’s owner, the placement of the cemetery was formally agreed upon in 182111. The same contract assigned the places for new Jewish settlers in Krakowska Street (current Zgierska Street). However, this rule had many exceptions and was not strictly obeyed (Górny 2014, p.20) and Jews largely contributed to the towns growth (Figure 3.26). The period of the Duchy of Warsaw witnessed two projects by Józef Sadkowski, a ‘constructor’ of the Radom Department, which among many other, often unrealised concepts, distinguished themselves through their originality. The projects, addressing the redevelopment of Stryków of 1809 after a fire, and of Ryczywół in current Wielkopolskie Voivodeship after flooding (1811), belonged to Classicism, both in their adherence to geometrical rules and clarity of plan (Kalinowski 1986, p.41). Stryków, already a market settlement in the fourteenth century, in the first quarter of the nineteenth century, lived through a period of transformation, thanks to the development of the cloth industry. The first cloth makers came in 1791 from the fire ravaged Leszno, following the invitation by the town’s owner, Czarnecki (Szafer 1955, p.60). The plan of the new settlement laid out next to the regulated old town, with a rectangular market and a synagogue as part of its south façade (Figure 3.9). It consisted of two parts: a huge (ca 450 × 300 × 300) triangular new market and north of it another circular, smaller square. The middle of the round square, encircled with office workers’ houses, was landscaped and an obelisk erected. Special green areas with trees were also designed, with barns grouped and distributed in a free manner on the outskirts (Szafer 1955, p.61). The project was presented for approval to the Minister of Interior Affairs in October 1809

102  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

Figure 3.9  Plan of Stryków of 1809, redrawn after Szafer (1955, p.61): Plan of the town’s reconstruction after fire by J. Sadkowski. 1. Catholic church, 2. Evangelical church, 3. town hall, 4. synagogue, 5. auberge, 6. inn., 8. cemetery, 9. place for barns of Nowe Miasto (New Town), 10. barns of Stare Miasto (Old Town), 11. gardens, a. parcels for new houses in Old Town, b. parcels for houses in New Town, c. former buildings preserved from fire, d. new houses orderly located, maintaining proper fire distances (10 cubits).

(Kalinowski 1998, p.33). The plan was largely implemented, its traces clear in the current town’s layout (Figure 3.9). When juxtaposing the population composition at the moment when the redevelopment plan was conceived with the former town’s layout, the place of the Jewish population strikes one most. Jews, who provided for around 70% of the population at the time (Figure 3.10), were allowed to stay in their premises, without resettling, the new plan being developed for newcomers. The authorities of the Duchy of Warsaw tried to regulate the Jewish situation differently than the Prussian government. In 1807, the formerly abolished privileges de non tolerandis Judaeis were restored. As Bartoszewicz (2006, p.106) asserts, the attempts to formally confirm the factual state of the spatial concentration of Jews led to the establishing of Jewish zones in several towns. The establishment of a Jewish district in Warsaw was subject to polemics (Bergman 2002); as Szczypiorski (1964, p.33) states, the decision on its creation was a continuation of Prussian plans, confirmed by the king’s decree of 16th March 1809. The plans, which followed the initial idea of the Minister of Police, I. Sobolewski, assumed the movement of Jews to the north district. According to the calculations of the Ministry of Police, it could have accommodated ca 72 000 people, far less than the Jewish population in Warsaw at the time (Szczypiorski 1964, p.37: AGAD Akta Rady Min. Ks. Warsz. vol. 165, k.8–17). This initial decision did not, however, demarcate precise zone for the Jewish population; only in 1812 did I. Sobolewski ask to have the borders fixed, which was included in the project of another decree of 1813. The tendency to regulate the Jewish presence led to the establishment of zones in other principal towns, including Płock (1811) where a Jewish zone was introduced on the site where Jews had lived since the thirteenth century. Bartoszewicz (2006, p.108) considers these regulations precursory to

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 103

Figure 3.10  Jewish population dynamics in Stryków, based on census data (1827 and 1921) and Kirshenboim and Dombrowska (2007)3.

similar regulations introduced later on in other towns. Not only did they fix the precise location of the zone, but also stated that exceptions may be made for the Jews who: 1) had the required sums of money, 2) worked as bakers or conducted ‘decent businesses’, 3) read in Polish, French or German, 4) sent children to public schools, 5) dressed in a way similar to other citizens. Besides this, the right to settle outside the zone was allowed for Jews with a high education or performing free professions, such as painters or doctors, and to those who built a masonry house. A similar set of exceptions were later repeated in other places. Further Jewish districts were created in Maków (as discussed below) and Przasnysz – Decree of 1813 (Szczypiorski 1964, p.38, after AGAD Akta Rady Min. Ks. Warsz. vol. 165, k.55–60). During the short period of the Duchy of Warsaw further zones were designed but not implemented in Ciechanów, Chorzele, Wyszków and Pułtusk (Bartoszewicz 2006, pp.109–111). The Congress of Vienna of 1815 transformed the Duchy of Warsaw into the Kingdom of Poland, subordinated to the Tsar of Russia. Nevertheless, at least in its first period until 1832, the Kingdom of Poland preserved some of its former autonomy, it had its own constitution and a Polish government, continuing that of the preceding period. Directly after the Partitions, the feudal economy remained seemingly undisturbed, with ca 30% of Jews performing an important role in estate leasing (Bartal 2005, p.17, around 25% according to Wodziński 2010, p.195), but the transformation had begun. The trend for Jews to abandon the countryside for small, in many instances private, towns in the proximity, which had already started in the period of the Duchy of Warsaw, continued (Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, p.73). The

104  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

altered legal status of Jews, as discussed above, the political processes affecting the areas under considerations, the growth of the Jewish population, and changes to the status of Polish estate owners, all these contributed to the growing wave of migration from villages to larger towns and cities (Bartal 2005, p.17). Large masses of Jews, expelled from the countryside, a process which in the Congress Poland took place in the twenties and thirties of the nineteenth century, and formally forbidden propination or the right to sell alcoholic drinks, were looking for new sources of income. The traditional Jewish culture, inherently urban, with a strong sense of community, facilitated the migrations. During their entire presence in Poland, Jews had remained, on the whole, an urban population, accustomed to travelling and maintaining extensive relations with their families and community members in other centres. These processes were especially explicit in the towns of northern Mazovia, where the share of the Jewish population peaked in the first part of the nineteenth century. The history of Maków Mazowiecki, a representative for this group, goes back to Middle Ages and is related to the presence of the customs on the upper Orzyc River. Maków received towns rights under Chełmno Law in 1421. Jewish settlement developed since the sixteenth century – at first, the community was subordinated to the  kahal  in Ciechanów (Figure 3.11). The wars of the seventeenth century and the Swedish deluge contributed to the town’s decline. The rebuilding started soon, with Jewish merchants and artisans: tailors and cobblers as chief contributors. The independent kahal in Maków was established in 1758, with several surrounding towns subordinated to it. During the Duchy of Warsaw period, in 1813, the Jewish zone was introduced, covering the part of the town north from the road to Ciechanów. In 1867 Maków became the seat of the county. The town was famous for its yeshiva. During World War I, Maków was the scene of numerous battles,

Figure 3.11  J ewish population dynamics in Maków Mazowiecki, based on census data (1827 and 1921) and https://www.makowmazowiecki.pl/261,historia, accessed 7.12.20213.

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 105

which led to the town’s destruction. During the interwar period, the economic life was concentrated around small craftsmen’s workshops, working to meet the needs of the rural population. A large part of the inhabitants made a living from commerce. The Jewish history of Maków is representative for the towns in the northern Mazowia, including larger and smaller centres, such as Ciechanów, Pułtusk, Różan, Nasielsk, Płońsk, Zakroczym. URBANISATION IN THE FIRST HALF OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY

In the beginning of the nineteenth century the majority of Jews lived in towns and villages in the central, southern and eastern parts of Poland. In central Poland, they made up to circa 30 percent of the urban population. The numbers varied, however, within districts, e.g., in Warsaw Voivodeship, in some towns and villages, the share of Jews was small and did not exceed a few percent, in many others, Jews were the majority (e.g., Maków, Przytyk, Grodzisk, Kałuszyn, Przysucha, Sochaczew). Figures 3.12 and 3.13 show the distribution of the Jewish population in towns and villages, yet the quantities collected in the 1827

Figure 3.12  T  he distribution of the Jewish population in 1827, Komisja Rządowa Spraw Wewnętrznych i Policji, 1827. 1. Size of  Jewish population in towns and villages, 2. voivodeships’ borders, 3. county borders, current administrative divisions.

106  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

Figure 3.13   The share of the Jewish population in 1827, Komisja Rządowa Spraw Wewnętrznych i Policji, 1827. 1. Share of Jewish population in towns and villages, dot sizes describe the size of a settlement, 2. Warsaw, 3. remaining towns, 4. voivodeships’ borders, 5. county borders, 6. main roads, 7. industrial road, 8. current administrative divisions.

(Komisja Rządowa Spraw Wewnętrznych i Policji, 1827) refer to the presence of the Jewish communities in urban centres only, excluding smaller settlements. The presence of synagogues reflected the residence of Jewish communities, their number being 27 in Płockie and 46 in Mazowieckie (Rodecki 1830, p.6). After a period of prosperity for the noble economy during the seventeenth and eighteenth century, urban settlements were gradually losing their prior reasons for existence, their functions replaced by manors. While at the beginning of the nineteenth century, the manor network continued, and Jews lived and often thrived there, also the development of urban settlements regained impetus. REGULATORY ACTIVITIES BY THE GOVERNMENT

The specific situation of Jews overlapped with the parallel urbanisation processes which started as a result of progressing industrialisation and the changing administration system. The dynamic development of urbanisation

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 107

from the beginning of the nineteenth century was not even and affected only certain urban concentrations, namely those which attracted industry or played a major role in the administrative network of the country. The growth of some, mostly smaller, towns stagnated, while others, in most cases large and with an already established position, flourished and expanded further. Some towns lost their city rights and continued as small villages, and new towns were founded to accommodate the growing industrial production. Conceived as a continuation of earlier proposals, going back to the times of the 4-year Parliament, they could come to fruition in a period of relative prosperity and certain freedoms assigned to the Polish government. Ostrowski (1996, p.78) emphasises the role of Prince Ksawery DruckiLubecki, who, having become President of the Government Commission of Revenue and the Treasury, insisted on the intensification of economic relations with Russia, his efforts paving the way for the abolishment of custom borders between the two countries. This by turn opened lucrative Russian markets for Polish industrial, chiefly textile, products. During the so called Constitutional Period of the Kingdom of Poland, lasting from 1815 to 1830, the large-scale processes of the regulation of towns started. The reasons for these regulations were multiple. Next to the desire to improve health conditions, the general functioning and the perceived aesthetic and technical value of development, the plans often followed on from the decision on the town’s extension or construction of a new one to accommodate arriving craftsmen, specialists of desired professions. In many cases, the decision to regulate a town was taken in the aftermath of catastrophic events, mainly fires or floods, which destroyed previous constructions. Kalinowski (1998, p.38) classifies developing towns into two main types: (1) administrative centres, (2) industrial production centres. In the first group, he distinguishes two main levels, following the organisation of administration in the Kingdom of Poland, established in its general form earlier during the period of the Duchy of Warsaw. The eight voivodeships’ capitals formed the highest level, with Warsaw as the capital of the country and of the Mazovian Voivodeship. The remaining major towns of interest: Płock, Siedlce, Radom, each hosted Voivodeship Commissions, which were subordinated to the appropriate state commissions (Ministries). All the voivodeships were divided into circuits, the administration of which belonged to delegated commissaries from the Voivodeship Commissions (Kalinowski 1998, p.38). Mayors and the president of Warsaw were appointed (Kołodziejczyk 1958, p.109). Already in 1811, the Parliament of the Duchy of Warsaw approved a law which classified all towns into five categories, depending on the size of the population: (1) over 10 000 inhabitants, (2) 6 000–10 000, (3) 3000–6000, (4) 1000–3000 and (5) less than 1000 (Kalinowski 1998, p.38). The actual classification was not issued until 1819, affecting the division of government funds assigned for the redevelopment and regulation of urban structures. The final classification lists, and the preferences when distributing resources and supporting growth, also took into account other factors besides population size, for instance the

108  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

location, the potential for improving governance or being an industrial centre, and the like. (Kalinowski 1998, pp.38–40). The administrative centres were classified higher than towns with the same population, in certain cases, the circuit headquarters were even ranked as voivodeship capitals in order to emphasise their role and foster development; this was, for instance, the case of Łowicz (Kalinowski 1998, p.54). While the largest redevelopment projects took place in Warsaw, other main towns also witnessed investments and regulations. During the first years of the Kingdom of Poland, new legislation was issued, which determined all the construction and urban planning and design activities in the Kingdom of Poland (Kalinowski 1998, p.46): • •

•

‘Przepisy ogólne Policji Budowniczej’ ‘General Regulations of the Construction Police’ of 1820; ‘Instrukcja dla mierniczych, trudniących się pomiarem siedlisk i realności miast w Królestwie Polskim, przez Komisję Rządową Spraw Wewnętrznych i Policji wydaną’, ‘Instruction for surveyors, dealing with settlements and realities’ measurement in the Kingdom of Poland, issued by the Government Commission of Internal Affairs and Police’ of 1823 (Kalinowski 1998, p.25); ‘Legislation on towns’ a regulation issued by KRSWiP of 1820 (‘Komisja Rządowa Sprawiedliwości, Spraw Wewnętrznych i Policji’ – Government Commission of Justice, Internal Affairs and Police, one of the five ministries – of the so called Government Commissions of the Kingdom of Poland – after Kalinowski 1998, p.37).

The regulations strongly affected the form of constructions, as they introduced the obligation that each new building may be located only in the line of a street and follow the approved general plan of the town’s regulation. Further rules were more specific; they referred to such issues as approval procedures and staking out buildings’ plans, or colours of facades, and forms, width and material of pavements (Kalinowski 1998, p.46). The Instruction for Surveyors unified methods of map making, which seriously improved their standards. The legislation of 1820 on town regulations, by turn, introduced rules on financing works on urban redevelopment through town budgets and provided guidance on plan making. Point 4 of this law, for instance, forbade erecting any buildings in market places and squares, and point 5 stated that the repairing of pavements and construction of new ones should be first of all conducted in squares and major streets (Kalinowski 1998, p.46). The legislation was strictly observed, including not only stopping illegal construction or unapproved projects but fines imposed on the municipality where such situations happened. By 1815, regulation plans had been made for one-third of all towns, which is approximately 140 towns in the Kingdom of Poland, including all administrative centres, major industrial towns and some commercial towns within the state’s borders (Kalinowski 1998, p.47).

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 109

Figure 3.14  Jewish population dynamics in Radom 3.

Among towns in the area which now belongs to Mazovian and Łódź voivodeships, it was Radom which made the biggest progress thanks to its new function as the capital of Sandomierz Voivodeship. Besides, Płock and Siedlce, also performing major administrative roles, witnessed many improvements (Kalinowski 1998, p.48). Moreover, some large-scale improvements to the road network were introduced to get a more representative and ordered frame to the entrance (Kalinowski 1955, p.160). For management purposes, the municipalities limited the number of entrances, borders marked with shallow ditch and toll gates, or just barriers built next to access roads. Moreover, the works were undertaken as part of larger construction works on surfacing post roads across the whole country (Kalinowski 1998, p.49); these initiatives allowed certain major redevelopments in the suburbs of larger towns. While the Jewish community in Radom dated back to the second half of the sixteenth century (Penkalla 2001, p.391), the introduction of the privilege de non tolerandis judeorum in 1724 hindered its further development for many years, until the second half of the eighteenth century. After that date, in 1798, the governor of Radom, Aleksander Potkański, reintroduced Jews to the town, allowing them to settle in his enclave south from the medieval town, in Podwale Street. The economic prosperity of the town proved to be a huge attractor for Jewish merchant and craftsmen (Figure 3.14), and Jews played a major role in its prosperity, with the richest allowed to enter the central part after 1814. The town’s government included them in its plans, for instance, planning to move the Jewish district to the old part, along with the laying out of a new market square in this area in 1823. This would have served to improve the living conditions for Jews who lived in the dampest and marshiest section of the town, next to large ponds and several watercourses. Despite the relocation plans being abandoned in 1824 as too expensive, new facilities for Jews were built, e.g., a butcher’s shop in the corner of Wałowa and Krakowska Streets (Kalinowski 1955, p.163, Figure 3.15). The economic competition must have been fierce, as in 1832 the local government issued plans to establish a Jewish zone, but did not implement them (Piechotka & Piechotka 2004, p.193), and the law of 1862 gave Jews full freedom to choose their location.

110  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

Figure 3.15   Plan of Radom 1846, reconstruction after Kalinowski (1955, p.173). I. Masonry structures, property of the state, town or church, II. masonry structures, private, III. wooden structures – residential, IV. auxiliary buildings; 1. Slavic burgwall, 2. military storage, former Church of Saint Wacław, 3. hospital, 4. voivodeship school, former college of Piarists, 5. parish church, 6. castle, 7. prison and lazar house, former monastery of Sisters Benedictines 8. monastery of Bernardines, 9. theatre, former monastery of the Holiest Virgin Mary, 10. Jewish district in the property of the head of Radom county, 11. post office, 12. circuit commission, 13. butcher’s house, 14. guardhouse, 15. former site of town hall, a. tollhouse, b. butcher’s house, c. military stables.

The role in the administrative system at the level of capitals of circuits also became the reason for growth. Once transformed, they started attracting newcomers, e.g., Radzymin, since 1867. The redevelopment of the circuits’ headquarters involved erecting new administrative buildings. Usually of a small scale, two to three floors, with modest Classicist facades, they comprised administration and the commissary’s dwelling, such as in Rawa Mazowiecka or Mińsk Mazowiecki. In many towns, including government ones, the authorities built new town halls, commercial facilities, for instance, butcher’s shops and guardrooms at turnpikes (Kalinowski 1998, p.53). The image of these places changed significantly thanks to the increased development of housing, supported by government funds. Besides, building from wood was restricted, and larger structures in principal streets were enforced. Furthermore, the owners of private towns had to make regulatory plans and provide necessary facilities for the municipal authorities. Regulatory works affected first of all the street layout, straightening streets and laying down construction lines. Beautification sometimes took on abstract forms; for instance, in the case of Rawa Mazowiecka, the masonry facades of buildings on

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 111

Piotrkowska Street and in the New Market hid wooden gable ends of houses (Kalinowski and Trawkowski 1955, p.193). Growing cities looked for greater conciseness; medieval town centres now became connected with the suburbs through the demolition of former fortifications. The scale of possible redevelopment depended on available funds. Although limited in many towns, in some, they were sufficient for the local community to witness the creation of public gardens, construction of schools and prisons (Kalinowski 1998, p.54). While the major urban centres were the subject of intensified actions, other towns also experienced redevelopment. Several dozen regulatory plans were made between 1820 and 1830 for towns without prevailing administrative or industrial functions, the majority between 1821-2412 (after Kalinowski 1998, p.54). The government invested in the construction of town halls, for instance, in 1823, in Warka, Grójec and Piaseczno, in commercial facilities such as booths or butcher’s shops, built, e.g., in Góra Kalwaria from 1829 to 1836, in Sochaczew from 1829 to 1833, and in the building of post offices and inns (Kalinowski 1998, p.55). Likewise private owners were encouraged to make regulatory plans, for instance, in Mińsk Mazowiecki (Kalinowski 1998, p.55). As a result, at the beginning of the 1830s, around 40 per cent of towns in the Kingdom of Poland had regulatory plans (Dumała 1974, p.42). The government attempted to elaborate similar plans for the remaining, mainly private, towns, yet the lack of funds and insufficient numbers of suitably trained specialists hindered these activities (Dumała 1974, p.43) INDUSTRIALISATION

Along with the redevelopment of main administrative centres, the government of the Kingdom of Poland initiated strategic urbanisation processes enabling large scale industrialisation. The reforms, dating back to 1821 when Prince Ksawery Drucki-Lubecki became the President of the Government Commission of Revenue and the Treasury, were intended to strengthen economic relations with Russia. Industrial production, the development of which was envisaged in the Kingdom of Poland, was to be exported to satisfy the needs of the vast rural territories of the Russian empire. After 1882, customs duties on exports to Russia significantly reduced – from 1825 the import of textiles from Prussia stopped, and other products had a duty imposed on them – these conditions created a huge opportunity for the brand new Polish textile industry (Ostrowski 1996, pp.78–80). Convenience for new settlers arriving from Germany limited the choice of site for the new industrial centre to Kalisian and Mazovian voivoideships. District Commissioner Raymond Rembieliński, a President of the Mazovian District Commission, presented in 1820 a plan for the development of textile settlements. The reasons for this were multiple, first, the abundance of water courses, small rivers and streams guaranteed the water supply necessary for powering mills and tanneries. Then, in a whole strip extending from Izbica to Tomaszów, an ancient forest grew which could easily become a source of timber for

112  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

construction purposes and also for heating. As the first step, the government started the planning and construction of main roads: one cutting through the Łęczyca district (1820) and the other one from Kalisz through Łódź, Zgierz, Łowicz to Warsaw. The efforts by private proprietors preceded government ones. Starting from the beginning of the nineteenth century, they founded several new industrial settlements (Ostrowski 1996, pp.81–82); the names of their founders and dates of the creation of industrial settlement and town’s charter are listed in Table 3.4. With time, all of the subsequent textile centres attracted Jews. The rules on parcellation and contracts with settlers in new private industrial towns were similar to upcoming regulations for government settlements. The actual development was also alike since it satisfied the same functions. Among the diverse spatial layouts of these settlements, Kalinowski (1998, p.59) distinguishes Aleksandrów, Tomaszów Mazowiecki and Konstantynów as the most compelling. The first of this group, Aleksandrów, was founded by Rafał Bratoszewski in 1817 on the site of the former village Brużyca Wielka, a large settlement comprising 565 parcels together with gardens. The main market square, together with five streets, defined space organisation. Next to the market, there was the place of an old inn, a site for the town hall, a new evangelic church and a new inn. The program was completed with a new marketplace and sites for a new church and hospital (Kalinowski 1998, p.59). Following government recommendations, a special zone was established for Jewish settlers in 1822 in the area delimited by Warszawska and Wiatraczna (currently Daszyńskiego) Streets14. It succeeded the arrival of the first Jewish settlers in 1818 by four years. The new marketplace was assigned for Jewish commerce. A covered gallery hosting Jewish shops connected the town hall and the butchers’ shop in the market constructed in 1825 (Dumała 1974, p.277). The first wooden synagogue was built in 1822 in the north part of the town. It survived until the end of the nineteenth century, to be replaced with a masonry building (built between 1897-1902), located at the crossing of Warszawska and Piotrkowska Streets15. Jewish merchants and industrialists dealing with textile production prospered. Between 1831 and 1869, Aleksandrów went through economic stagnation due to the textile industry crisis. Dumała (1974, p.276) attributes the scale of the collapse to the lack of surfaced roads providing access. Private town, located off the beaten track, could not effectively compete with more potent industrial centres, such as, first and foremost, Łódź. As a consequence, Aleksandrów lost city rights in 1869 (Dumała 1974, p.278); the town status was reestablished in 1924. From 1866 to 1939, Aleksandrów became an important Hasidic centre, the seat of dynasties: Chanoch and Danzinger. In 1866, the tzaddik Chanoch Lewin ben Pinchas ha-Kohen settled in Aleksandrów (where he earlier served as the rabbi), followed by his disciples. In 1878, rabbi Jechiel Danzinger (son of Szraga Fajwel) moved to Aleksandrów to establish the Aleksander dynasty

Table 3.4  Industrial settlements started as a private foundation at the beginning of the nineteenth century in the region of Łódź13 Settlement

Founder

Name of the property Year of foundation Town’s charter Jewish kahal

Ozorków

Ignacy Stażyński Ozorków

1816

Aleksandrów Rafał Bratoszewski Brużyca

1817

1822

Zduńska Wola Stefan Złotnicki

1819

1825

Klemens and Józefa Poddębice (earlier 1819 Złotniccy location fourteenth century)

1822

Poddębice

Zduńska Wola

Konstantynów Mikołaj Krzywiec Żabice Wielkie Okołowicz

Tomaszów

1821

1830

Antoni Ostrowski Next to a 1823 metallurgic centre in the forest near Pilica

1830

1819

1 034 (1827) 5 837 (1897) 4 949 (1921) 1818 – first 686 (1827) Jewish settlers, 1 673 (1897) 1822 – zone 3 061 (1909) over 4 000 (1939) 1828 468 (1827) (1788 – first 7 291(1909) information 8 509 (1917) on Jews) 9 000 (1925) 8 670 (1931) 8 219 (1939) Second half of the 267 (1827) nineteenth century, 832 (1857) before kahal in 1 197 (late 80s) Łęczyca 1 333 (1921) ca. 1 600 (1939) 1823 (recognised 516 (1827) formally 1835) 613 (1857) 1 091 (1897) 942 (1921) ca. 1 300 (1939) 1831 787 (1829) 961 (1839) 2 035 (1859) 5 160 (1879) 7 405 (1905) 11 500 (1919) 10 070 (1921) 11 892 (1939)

Percentage of town’s pop. 32 (1827)* 50 (1897) 16.8 (1827) 28 (1897) 30 (1909) 17 (1827) 32.2 (1909) 47.8 (1917) 38 (1925) 37.4 (1931) 36.0 (1939) 18 (1827) 45 (1857) 40 (1921) 65 (1827) 21 (1857) 19.5 (1897) 16.4 (1921) 28.8 (1829) 32.4 (1839) 37.9 (1859) 43 (1879) 49.4 (1905) 34.2 (1919) 35.6 (1921) 26 (1939)

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 113

1807

Jewish population

114  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

Figure 3.16  Jewish population dynamics in Aleksandrów Łódzki3.

there. The tzaddik’s court was located in a masonry edifice constructed in 1935 in Warszawska Street 10. Besides, the town hosted a rabbinical college and a Jewish religious library. The presence of religious leaders brought crowds of Hasidim pilgrims (Figure 3.16). Tomaszów Mazowiecki slowly developed from the small metallurgical centre started in 1788 by count Tomasz Ostrowski. His son Antoni brought in the first manufacturers in 1823, and from this time, the village quickly grew to a large textile industry centre. In 1830 Tomaszów got city rights. The plan of Tomaszów differs from the other settlements of this time. From the north, it neighboured the valley of the Wolborka river, where at first blast furnaces and later-on weaving mills were located. From this ensemble of industrial buildings, two streets started with two squares: Józefina Market and Antoni Market. A grid layout surrounded both squares. Construction lots were smaller than in later towns, and garden lots were not available. The manor and park of the Ostrowski family were located between the town and industrial plant (Kalinowski 1998, p.59). Dumała (1988, p.131) emphasises the entirely urban features of the Tomaszów plan, with its large-scale layout, a rich set of composition solutions, clarity of transportation network, vast tree-lined avenues, multiple axes and structural diversity of districts. The role that Jews played in the economic development of Tomaszów was significant (Figure 3.17). In its initial period, during the ownership of Count Ostrowski, their rights to settle were not limited as in other industrial towns. The town’s proprietor, Antoni Ostrowski, recognised the rights of Jews and their role in the country economic development. His standpoint was made explicit in a treaty published during his emigration to France, which followed his role in the November Insurrection and the imposed death penalty. Its title: ‘Pomysły o potrzebie reformy towarzyskiéy. w ogólności. A mianowiciéy co do Izrealitów w Polszcze, przez założyciela miasta Tomaszowa Mazowieckiego’ may be translated as ‘Ideas on the need for social reform in general. Which refers to Israelites in Poland, by the founder of the town Tomaszów Mazowiecki’. The initial freedom to settle, which required only the owner’s consent, was reduced in 1844 after Tomaszów became a government town, confiscated by the Russian authorities as part of the post-insurrection

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 115

Figure 3.17  Population dynamics in Tomaszów Mazowiecki3.

repressions. The zone introduced at that time included the following streets: Polna, Bóżnicza (now Bohaterów Getta Warszawskiego), Mojżesza (now Stolarska), Jerozolimska, Handlowa (now płk Berka Joselewicza), part of Kramarska or Kupiecka (now Żwirki i Wigury) and Wschodnia Streets, some of these were reserved for Jews from the very beginning of the town. However, the restrictions, which functioned till 1862, were not obeyed rigidly. Even in the discussed period, despite the zone, circa 80% of the Jewish population lived south of the river Wolbórka, in Kościuszki Square and the streets: Tkacka, Mościckiego, Polna, Św. Antoniego, Bóźnicza, Stolarska, Zgorzelicka, Piłsudskiego, Kramarska, Joselewicza and Jerozolimska, with some larger groups also located in Warszawska and today’s Jana Pawła II Streets (Podolska 2010, pp.137–139). Thanks to the mutual toleration which remained from the initial time, the three groups of citizens, Polish, Jewish and German, coexisted without major problems. Konstantynów, an industrial settlement founded by Mikołaj KrzywiecOkołowicz in 1821 close to the village Żabice Wielkie, got city rights in 1830. The plan consisted of two squares: Great and Small Market, joined together by the axially located Długa Street. The initial location set the number of settlers at 150, with the option to accommodate 50 more (Kalinowski 1998, p.59). Three less known private industrial settlements in Mazovian district also got a town charter: Babiak in 1816, Osięciny in 1823 and Jadów in Mińsk district, also in 1823 (after Dumała 1988, p.112), the latter one as a small servicing centre for the surrounding countryside (Kalinowski 1998, p.39). The government of the Congress of Poland founded several new industrial settlements, always in the proximity of formerly functioning royal towns. In this group there were, among others, settlements in: Zgierz (1821), Gostynin (1821), Łódź (Nowe Miasto 1821), Gąbin (1823), Uniejów (1823), Łęczyca (1824), Rawa Mazowiecka (1824), Pabianice (1824), Szadek (1824), Grocholice (1826) and Pułtusk (1826) (Kalinowski 1998, p.57). With time, some of them changed profile from manufacturing centres towards industrial production. All of them attracted Jewish citizens. Table 3.5 presents the data on the growth of

Settlement

Town’s charter, regulatory plan Jewish kahal

Jewish population

Percentage of town’s pop.

Zgierz

1821

Beginning of the nineteenth century, since 1824 Synagogue Board Jewish Zone 1824–1862

Gostynin

1821

First half of the eighteenth century, long tradition of Jewish settlement, Jewish Zone 1823–1862, centre of Hasidism

Łódź

1821 – Nowe Miasto 1824 – Łódka 1825 – Nowa Łódka 1828 – Ślązaki

First years of the nineteenth century, Jewish Zone 1825-1862

Gąbin

1823

Jews in Gąbin since the beginning of the sixteenth century (1507 – first mention), 1578 – official status of Jews confirmed by the king Stefan Batory

27 (1808) 356 (1827) 1 637 (1857) 3 543 (1897) 3 828 (1921) 131 (1808) 425 (1827) 645 (1857) 672 (1866) 1 760 (1897) 1 831(1921) 11(1793/94) 58 (1808) 397 (1827) 2 886 (1857) 98 386 (1897) 156 155 (1921) 202 696 (1931) 577 (1808) 1 472 (1827) 1 897 (1857) 2 048 (1866) 2 539 (1897) 2 564 (1921)

5.3 (1808) 7.9 (1827) 19.6 (1857) 18.6 (1897) 18.2 (1921) 21.3 (1808) 24.4 (1827) 20.7 (1857) 21.5 (1866) 32.3 (1897) 27.4 (1921) 5.7 (1793/94) 13.5 (1808) 14 (1827) 11.7 (1857) 32.2 (1897) 34.6 (1921) 33.5 (1931) 48.8 (1808) 50 (1827) 48.3 (1857) 49.8 (1866) 49.4 (1897) 44.4 (1921) (Continued)

116  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

Table 3.5  Industrial settlements started as a government foundation at the beginning of the nineteenth century in the region of Łódź, after Dumała (1988, pp.110–119), census data referring to the Jewish population after shtetl.org.pl, completed with the results of the 1827 census (Continued)

Table 3.5  Industrial settlements started as a government foundation at the beginning of the nineteenth century in the region of Łódź, after Dumała (1988, pp.110–119), census data referring to the Jewish population after shtetl.org.pl, completed with the results of the 1827 census (Continued) Settlement

Town’s charter, regulatory plan Jewish kahal

Jewish population

Percentage of town’s pop.

Half of the nineteenth century

268 (1827) 960 (1897) 1 400 (1931)

18 (1827) 40 (1931)

Jewish settlers arrived at the end of the fifteenth century, since when Jews provided a large share of the population

Rawa Mazowiecka

Jewish settlement Zamkowa Wola incorporated into the town in 1799. Independent kahal only created in the nineteenth century.

160 (1564) 384 (1632) 40 (1661) 386 (1777) 610 (1793) 999 (1808) 1 600 (1820) 1 797 (1827) 2 369 (1857) 3 397 (1868) 3 407 (1875) 3 444 (1897) 6 050 (1910) 4 173 (1921) 3 616 (1931) 3 900 (1938) 1 380 (1827) 3 018 (1921)

13.1 (1564) 30.2 (1632) 22.7 (1661) 45.5 (1777) 59.3 (1793) 48.6 (1808) 54.4 (1820) 45 (1827) 43.2 (1857) 52.8 (1868) 49.4 (1875) 41.1 (1897) 83.9 (1910) 40.6 (1921) 33.7 (1931) 32.5 (1938) 38 (1827) 40 (1921)

1824 – wool cloth manufacturing, 1827 – Tatar, new industrial facilities on the site of a former mill

(Continued)

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 117

Uniejów – the decision on 1823 the location of the industrial textile settlement was not followed by actual development Łęczyca – the initial attempts 1824 to develop a textile industry did not succeed when facing the competition of neighbouring Zgierz and Ozorków

Settlement

Town’s charter, regulatory plan Jewish kahal

Jewish population

Pabianice

1824

1836

Szadek

1824

Independent kahal – first half of the nineteenth century.

70 (1822) 134 (1827) 467 (1848) 778 (1857) 800 (1860) 1 088 (1865) 1 956 (1884) 2 900 (1888) 7 230 (1921) 34 (1764/65) 38 (1793/94) 61 (1808) 208 (1827) 339 (1857) 495 (1897) 535 (1921) 479 (1939)

Percentage of town’s pop. 6.2 (1827) 11.3 (1848) 17.0 (1857) 16.2 (1860) 18.4 (1865) 24 (1921)

5.7 (1793/94) 6.3 (1808) 13.1 (1827) 18.8 (1857) 19.8 (1897) 17.5 (1921)

118  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

Table 3.5  Industrial settlements started as a government foundation at the beginning of the nineteenth century in the region of Łódź, after Dumała (1988, pp.110–119), census data referring to the Jewish population after shtetl.org.pl, completed with the results of the 1827 census (Continued)

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 119

Figure 3.18  T  he distribution of towns discussed or mentioned in the text: 1. Industrial towns started as private foundations, 2. industrial towns started as government foundations, 3. administrative towns – voivodeships’ capitals, 4. administrative towns – circuits capitals, 5. towns with regulatory plans, 6. zones for Jews established independently from foundation plans, 7. towns where the Prussian government cancelled De non tolerandis Judaeis privileges, 8. towns where the significant growth of the Jewish population took place during Prussian rule, 9. industrial road laid out to develop textile industry in the region of Łódź, 10. main roads, 11. voivodeships’ borders in 1830, 12. contemporary administrative divisions.

the Jewish population, and the map in Figure 3.18 shows the distribution of industrial towns, started both as government and private foundations. Several of those settlements were also located outside the current Łódź and Mazovian voivodships, in Greater Poland: in Koło county: Dąbie (1821), Przedecz (1821), Brdów (1823), Turek (1823), Koło (1823), in Greater Poland also: Konin (1825), and in Silesia: Częstochowa (1823). Dumała (1988, p.112) also includes Grocholice in the above list and gives the year 1826 as the date of the town’s charter. In this case, however, it was rather the activity of the private owner, Józef Kaczkowski, which attracted the German and Jewish settlers to the nearby former small village of Bełchatów, and transformed the town, first into a manufacturing centre and afterwards

120  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

Figure 3.19  The share of Jewish population in Łęczyca 3.

into an industrial one. Bełchatów was included in the Register of Industrial Towns of the Kingdom of Poland (1820), which further enhanced its development. With time (in 1977), Grocholice became one of Bełchatów’s districts. The chart (Figure 3.19) shows the population dynamics in Łęczyca, which, as one of the royal towns of the longest traditions in central Poland, was expected to develop further thanks to the textile industry. Its growth was steady, yet it does not show the impact of industrial production at the beginning of the nineteenth century because the initial attempts to develop a textile industry did not succeed in the face of the competition from the neighbouring Zgierz and Ozorków. While most of the above settlements succeeded, some, perhaps located far from the border or in an out-of-the way place with regards to the industrial routes, did not develop as planned, Uniejów and Pułtusk belong in this group. The settlements were established based on rules included in the so-called Zgierz Contract (Umowa zgierska), approved by the government and representatives of arriving settlers on 30th March 1821 (Kalinowski 1998, p.57). Not only did it regulate the mutual relations between the authorities and the settlers, but also comprised certain regulations on physical development and parcellation. This contract affected five towns: Zgierz, Łódź, Dąbie, Przedecz16 and Gostynin, with further ones also being laid down based on the same set of rules. Newly arriving settlers were allocated parcels of a standard size (1.5 morgi, which equals 0.84 ha), of which part was intended for building and part, often sited separately, functioning as a garden. The separation and placement of gardens outside the urban zone made the overall appearance of a town much more concise and, as a consequence, more urban. After the initial set of five towns, further plans followed the same rules: for Brdów, Turek16, Gąbin, Uniejów. The geometrical layouts of these settlements were, according to Kalinowski (1998, p.58), inspired by the Renaissance and even, in some cases, Baroque planning. He distinguished three types of plan layouts: 1 development intended for around a central square, for instance in Zgierz, Łódź Nowe Miasto, Gostynin and Gąbin; 2 stretched along one or two streets, again in Łódź, in Konin and Turek16;

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 121

3 based on the grid without a central square, e.g., in Uniejów, Koło, Pabianice. The regularity of these plans was further enhanced by typical, repetitive patterns of newly-built, mostly wooden, houses, which contributed to the facades of squares and streets. Both governmental and private ‘industrial settlements’ pursued a similar system of parcellation, which could be attributed first to the medieval tradition, and next to the patterns of German foundations, such as New Village near Potsdam, Zinna, Schöwalde and Gosen (Kalinowski 1998, p.60). Not only did the layout resemble that of German examples, but the buildings were also very similar; their forms, regardless of whether the structure was masonry or wooden, was taken from houses built at the end of the eighteenth century in areas colonised by the Prussian authorities17 (Kalinowski 1998, p.58). While the requirements were to build of brick, at least in the main, most representative streets, the lack of funds often led to the use of much cheaper wood as construction material. Among the above-listed towns, both public and private, it was Zgierz, by 1831, which took the lead in the initial period of textile production development. According to Dumała (1974, p.227), the private Ozorków was the next in the ranking, followed by (in 1828): Aleksandrów, Konstantynów and Tomaszów. Further down the list came Brzeziny, Łęczyca and Rawa and only then Łódź. Table 3.6 compares the means of textile production in these towns. Apart from new settlements, factories were also started in existing towns, both royal and private, funded by private entrepreneurs of various nationalities: Sieradz 1822, Adolf Harrer; Przedbórz 1824, August Lange; Wieluń 1824–1825 Józef Neuville (Dumała 1988, p.112), the last attempt ending with failure19. Not only did they change the former profile of a town, but, first of all, they positively influenced its development. New Jewish communities arose in newly developed or extended towns, and existing ones grew in size. Jewish settlers were drawn by emerging manufacturing and industrial centres. Many of these settlements, often after an Table 3.6  Means of textile production in leading centres in 182818 Town

Wool spinning Wool spinning Quantity of Quantity of working spindles1 working spindles (% of amount in Zgierz)2

Weaving production Quantity of weavers’ workshops3

Weaving production Quantity of weavers’ workshops (% of amount in Zgierz)2

Zgierz Łódź Ozorków Aleksandrów Konstantynów Tomaszów

15 900 1 800 15 791 12 740 6 940 4 160

437 42 389 260 200 177

100 10 89 59 46 41

100 11 99 80 44 26

122  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

Figure 3.20  Jewish population dynamics in Konstantynów Łódzki3.

initial period of free Jewish influx, imposed regulations that constrained further opportunities for Jews to settle, in most cases because of government policy. Originally it concerned government towns, yet some private ones also witnessed a similar situation. For instance, in Konstantynów, after its initial rapid development, when the share of Jews in the incoming population had been high, the owner decided to limit their presence, and a royal edict was issued in 1830 which required mayoral consent for every newly-arriving citizen 20. After 1862 the Jewish influx to the town also remained low due to the pressure from the German and later Polish citizens; the change of attitude towards Jewish settlers is visible in Figure 3.20. JEWISH ZONES

Besides the beautification of and improvements to town structure, regulatory activities also included the creation of Jewish zones, both in administrative centres and in newly founded or extended industrial towns. First, all the projects of Jewish zones started during the period of the Duchy of Warsaw were now being continued. In a few locations, they were completed (Bartoszewski 2006, p.111), e.g., in Przasnysz a zone was established in 1822, and even extended the following year, in Pułtusk a zone was also established in 1822 and later enlarged in 1830. In Ciechanów, due to the prevailing number of Jews inhabiting the town (219 Jewish families, versus 190 Christian ones), the introduction of a Jewish zone proved impossible (ibid., p.115). A similar situation took place in Czyżewo where, in 1816, 85 Jewish families lived and only 9 Christian families. In Płońsk, the attempts to start the zone also failed as Jews did not build houses in the area defined for them in three years’ time after the document’s approval in 1816. The projects to establish zone in Wyszogród also failed, similarly to the ones in Janów and Kluczbork16 each for a different reason (ibid., pp.115–116). Bartoszewski (2006, pp.117–120) also discusses the attempts to create zones in Warka (1821, failed after an intervention from the local Christian population), in Węgrów (1822, failed due to the majority Jewish population in the town), in Raciąż (a project since 1816, approved in 1834), in Łowicz (a project 1826, approved in 1828),

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 123

and in Bolimów (a project and approval in 1827). A detailed description of the process of the creation or rescinding of the zones’ projects may be found in Bartoszewski (2006, pp.117–121). The Decree of KRSW (Government Commission on Interior Affairs) of 1818 imposed on all the mayors of government towns the obligation to prepare a list of areas where Jewish settlement would be allowed, which could not, however, include main streets and roads. The Tsar’s edict ‘On means preventing unnecessary concentration of Jews in towns and villages’ issued in 1822, finally confirmed the establishment of Jewish zones in towns of the Kingdom of Poland (Żebrowski 2003). The previously mentioned Zgierz Contract included restrictions on the Jewish presence in newly-founded industrial districts in government towns. In several cases this led to the creation of special Jewish zones in the towns where it was implemented. This was the case in Zgierz itself, where a Jewish district was established as early as in 1824, and all Jews who already had their properties in the town had to move there. The following year another edict was issued which forbade the renting of flats to Jews outside this zone. The zone contained the south side of Sieradzka Street, and Łódzka Street, on the outskirts of the town and next to the river Bzura. Only Jews who had the required amount of money, did not have debts, worked as bankers or had prospering economic activity, spoke Polish, French or German, sent their children to public schools and dressed in a way similar to Polish citizens were exempted from this law. They were allowed to choose a location following their preferences – but not more than 2 Jewish families could abide in a single street. The exception also referred to those Jews who had enough money to buy land and construct new factories, as well as to teachers, doctors, artists and great merchants, after fulfilling conditions similar to those mentioned above (www.jewishgen.org). Nevertheless, in order to obtain the necessary documents confirming their rights to live outside the zone, applicants had to go through a complicated and time-consuming bureaucratic procedure, and their requests were often rejected. On the other hand, the much slower growth of the textile industry than in neighbouring Łódź did not encourage as many German settlers as initially expected. While dwellings in the zone were extremely overcrowded, with a few families per single dwelling, outside there were many empty parcels, with much better construction conditions. Polish tenement owners, interested in attracting Jewish tenants in their otherwise empty flats, exercised pressure on the municipal authorities, who, starting from the 1830s, supported Jewish pleas to settle outside the zone. With time, along with the growing overcrowding and danger of epidemics (in 1848 an outbreak of cholera started in the zone), these tendencies became more explicit and manifested themselves with many Jews living outside illegally. The zone was further extended in 1855 due to the intensive demographic growth and overpopulation (Figure 3.21); after its extension, it contained both sides of Sieradzka Street, Łódzka Street, the north side of Piaskowa Street, both sides of Strykowska Street between Sieradzka and Błotna Streets, Błotna Street between Łódzka and Strykowska Streets, Konstantynowska Street

124  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

Figure 3.21  Jewish population dynamics in Zgierz 3.

between Łódzka Street and the road to Konstantynów, Szlachtuzowa Street between Piaskowa Street and river Bzura. Special zones for Jews were also created in Łódź (1825, described with more details in the case study section on this town), Gostynin (1823) Łowicz (1829) and others; there were also plans to establish a zone in Pabianice in the 1860s, interrupted by the abolishment of all restrictions on their settlement in 1862. Special zones for Jews were also introduced in private towns, for instance in Zduńska Wola; the founding document of the urban settlement of 1825, issued by Tsar Alexander the 1st, established the area where Jews could settle, which covered Stefana and Ogrodowa Street and a parcel in the market, number 39. Jews who had owned properties in the town before the edict, brought there by the earlier owner of this area Złotnicki21, could continue using their buildings; however, after the death of the owners, their heirs were obliged to sell the estates to Christians. The only condition for Jews to live in Zduńska Wola was having a permanent occupation enabling them to support themselves. On the other hand, the document stated that Jewish settlement should be controlled; the maximum share of the Jewish population could not exceed 10% of the Christian one (Wicher 1925, pp.68–69). The population dynamics (Figure 3.22) shows that the latter regulation was not observed, as by 1862, when all settlement constraints were lifted, Jews already provided circa 32% of the town’s total population. When considering the Jewish

Figure 3.22  Jewish population dynamics in Zduńska Wola.

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 125

population dynamics and lack of complaints on overcrowding in the Jewish zone, the assumption may be made that spatial settlements limitations were also not strictly observed. Jewish properties were distributed in the proximity of two streets constituting the initial zone. Taking into account finer grain of the street network in this neighbourhood in the regulatory plan of 1913, which repeated the already existing network of streets in this part of the town (Dybała 1974, p.256), this assumption seems very likely. Furthermore, the plan of Zduńska Wola did not comply with contemporary aesthetics. Dybała (1974, p.255) presumes that the location of the market followed the earlier fifteenth-century town location, and the layout of most streets repeated the tracing of earlier country roads, beautification elements limited to small scale interventions, such as the short avenue leading to the Złotnicki family manor house. The organisation of production based on sourcing out of work to external manufacturers found its reflection in the organisation of the plan, which resembled an ensemble of separate craftsmen settlements (Dybała 1974, p.256). While, according to Bergman (2002, p.85), zones were established or designed in 31 or even more towns in the Kingdom of Poland, the assertion of how many of them really functioned – with Jews moving there, erecting houses and respecting the regulations – remains difficult (Bartoszewski 2006, p.120). This was also the case when projected zones confirmed the already existing and sometimes historically verified location of Jewish quarters. First, thanks to special regulations included in the documents establishing the zones, the affluent could settle wherever they chose. Second, the implementations were abandoned in towns with a dominant number of Jews and where their population remained very small. Often, Polish citizens and municipalities did not support the zones, as they limited their profits from rent or for fear of constraining the economic input of Jews in the towns’ development. In all, out of an overall number of 453 towns and villages in the Kingdom of Poland in the 1860s Jews could settle in just 246. In 90 towns, the municipalities abided by the pre-partitions regulations, and the formal ban on Jewish settlement continued. Moreover, in 31 towns Jewish zones were established. In 86 towns located in the border zone – a strip of 21 km – Jewish settlement was forbidden as well (Eisenbach 1983, p.142). Both Jews, and often also a town’s authorities, did not respect these formal exclusions, as they perceived a Jewish presence as valuable for the local economy. The decree of 1862 finally abolished all the constraints on Jewish settlement in towns and villages and opened the way for the Jewish presence outside their former locations. Nevertheless, in most cases, former Jewish zones, usually the oldest parts of towns where markets were located, remained as locations of the most traditional communities. While Classicist geometrical order provided the basis for new regulatory plans, as in Stryków, Aleksandrów, Łódź, in the case of most extensions, Jewish districts continued in the historic old towns, sustaining and redeveloping the medieval structure and layout (Łódź, Stryków). The plans of

126  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

medieval towns serving as the base for the new development, the initial country-like wooden structures were first redeveloped and extended, to finally be replaced with masonry tenements, often after an outbreak of fire. This point should be highlighted as the new development usually did not repeat the forms of preceding wooden structures. Newly erected houses emulated the buildings located in other parts of the same town, often constructed by the same craftsmen. What differed was the distribution of buildings, often in specific details and adjustment to the needs of differing lifestyles which followed the requirements of Jewish worship, rituals, and professional life. As a consequence, we may state that while the general two-dimensional layouts of public spaces in medieval town cores remained, the actual image of these spaces and their actual functioning, changed greatly due to the Jewish presence. The delimitations of zones should be, as Bergman (2002) proves, analysed in the context of eruvs – the rules referring to physical space, which since antiquity have enabled the observance of Shabbat. Eruvim provided a physical manifestation of the law of Havdalah (Bergman 2002), which divides sacrum from profanum and, as Śpiewak (1983, p.15) asserts, remains one of the most crucial rules for Jewish identity. The space belonging to the Jewish community was considered private and, as has already been discussed for medieval settlements, needed to be physically distinguished from its surroundings. Jews used to delimit their private sphere within which they could carry things on Sabbath. In the case of towns where a water course, river or Medieval walls already delimited an area inhabited by Jews, the eruvim could be neglected. Though when towns removed their walls, as, for instance, in Łęczyca in 1818 or in Mszczonów in 1830, the delimitation had to be introduced (Bergman 2002). Jews used strings, wires or chains stretched between houses or hung on poles to mark the perimeter of the housing area. The custom was not always understood and well received by Poles, for example, Bergman (2002) quotes Śniadecki’s speech of 193822: ‘Dirty cords are hanging from an inn to a barn, from a barn to a pigsty: Jerusalem joints!’. Bergman also describes the actual appearance of eruv poles and wires, as used in Zakroczym, where the document of 183723 showing the formally approved distribution of poles has been preserved. In 1935 the Government Commission of Internal Affairs recommended a special design for eruv poles, Figure 3.23, of circa 5.18 m height (9 ells, 17 feet, after Bergman 2002, p.89). Another set of rules worth mentioning which proves traditional Jewish customs and specific usage of space was the prohibition issued by the Commission of the Mazovian District of 1834 for Zgierz (District Journal No 168) ‘to erect in front of Jewish houses fences made of hard wire or chains’ (Wolfe-Yasni 1975). The way Jews living there marked the presence of traditional eruvim evoked protests among other citizens. Only the efforts by the Jewish community settled the dispute, and in 1836 a new edict was published stating that fences of thin wire were allowed.

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 127

Figure 3.23  A  special design for eruv pole, recommended in 1935 by the Government Commission of Internal Affairs, circa 5.18 m height (9 ells, 17 feet, after Bergman 2002, p.89). RELIGIOUS TOWNS

Next to industry, mainly textile, another important factor attracting Jews to a town was religion. As Halpern (1968, pp.9–33 in Bartal 2005, p.16) states, Jewish life remained organised around the religious community through the Middle Ages and until the early modern era, when, new religious leaders and movements arose. From the beginning of Hasidism, it was the presence of a tsadik court that drew incomers to a town. On major holidays, but also for periodical visits, Jews flocked to towns and villages where the rabbi they followed lived. Some even stayed there permanently; others worshipped from afar, gathering in their local shtiblekh and pilgriming to their Rabbi from time to time. The religious factor being the main reason for development, it brought about the growth of commerce and services catering to visitors. Apart from the most important centres of Hasidic movements in Góra Kalwaria (‫ גער‬Ger), Aleksandrów Łódzki (‫ אלכסנדר‬Aleksander), or Przysucha (‫ פשיסחא‬Pshiskhe), there were also many smaller ones, e.g., in Radzymin,

128  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

Grodzisk Mazowiecki, etc. In these settlements, formerly functioning patterns of Jewish quarters continued as described above, with the one next to a stream or a river becoming more popular because of the strict requirements on purification in Hasidic tradition. The development of Jewish religious life in Góra Kalwaria and, as a consequence, the specific structures accommodating worshippers and spatial layouts of former Jewish quarters is covered more closely in the case studies section. 3.4.2.4  The situation of the Kingdom of Poland after the uprisings The nearly complete destruction of Iłża, and severe damage in Ostrołęka, Pułtusk, Raciąż and Nur in the former Płock district, Kozienice in former Sandomierz district and Łowicz, Gostynin and Okuniew in the former Mazovian district and in Warsaw itself followed the outbreak of the November uprising (1830-31). Not only did the upheaval result in damage to several towns, but it also ultimately changed the political situation of the formerly constitutional Kingdom of Poland, and led to tsarist government depriving it of its independence (Dumała 1974, p.52). The successful development of individual towns depended strongly on external conditions, including first of all the periods of prosperity and crises, and the background political situation. Discussing industry as the main base for growth at the time, we may (after Dumała 1974, pp.188–190) distinguish three phases of the development of textile production: 1 up to 1830 – wool and, to a much lesser degree flax treatment and cotton textile production. Crafted articles were exported to Russia or sold to the Polish army. Protection on the part of the government further enhanced the positive economic situation. During this period, the main form of production organisation was an outwork system; 2 1830–1850 – recession in wool production, development of the cotton industry, and, to a lesser degree, flax textile production, with the much cheaper products satisfying local needs. Development of large cotton production centres: Łódź, Ozorków, Pabianice, Zduńska Wola. The decline of production in Sieradz, Wieluń, Łęczyca, Rawa Mazowiecka, Dąbie, Poddębice. The production decreased rapidly to 40% in 1834, comparing to the level of 1828, the number of workers decreased 5-fold in parallel. Four centres of wool textile production survived the crisis: Zgierz, Tomaszów Mazowiecki, Ozorków and Konstantynów. 3 from 1851 – elimination of trade barriers between the Kingdom of Poland and Russia begins another period of prosperity. In the aftermath of the November uprising in 1831, the Russian government introduced new customs’ tariffs (1831) and a ban on transit through Russia (1834). Further consequences were the liquidation of the Polish army and

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the general pauperisation of Polish society due to the war. Since the incorporation of the Kingdom of Poland into the Russian Empire in 1832, the gradually diminished autonomy reduced the possibilities of effective introduction of reforms. Another attempt to regulate towns in the Kingdom of Poland took place in 1836 when the Government Commission for Interior Affairs (KRSW) undertook the elaboration of its long-term plan of modernising towns around the country. Again, this undertaking proved impossible because of the political and economic situation; the local authorities were even unable to outline such plans (Dumała 1974, p.44). Insufficient funds, lack of adequate power of the executive authorities and the traditional customs of impoverished citizens hindered changes. By the same token, this situation served in the preservation of traditional, mostly wooden, structures and local traditional construction methods such as arcades and stairs from the side of a street and exterior entrances to basements (Dumała 1974, p.50). Reforms were possible only for the most necessary interventions, such as the redevelopment of river systems to protect towns from floods. Another urgent necessity was the enlargement of market squares in prospering towns. For instance, in Łęczyca the project to enlarge the market was presented to the Government Commission in 1839, and, as an effect of this regulation, the whole block of development on the south side was removed, doubling the area of the market. Parallel streets were also enlarged. A similar enlargement of a market square took place in Wieluń, in the regulatory plan made after the severe fire of 1858. In several towns, markets were cleansed of their former development, including old town halls, such as in Błonie and Piotrków, or churches, as in Krośniewice (Dumała 1974, p.65). More common were demolitions of housing and commercial development which were said to hinder the use of marketplaces, this happened for instance in Grójec and in Sulejów (Dumała 1974, p.65). Another essential group of transformations was related to the construction of public edifices, particularly outside the central area. This was especially the case for railway stations, the proximity of which used to attract storage, industry and housing estates. Streets which led to the train station and the square in front of the main building got special treatment, often becoming either main axes or main nodes of the composition. Another public edifice which usually got considerable attention was a hospital. Dumała (1974, pp.66–67) gives examples of such structures in Łęczyca (1842) and Wieluń (1837-39). One more reason for redevelopment was laying down a transit road, for instance in Piaseczno, the road to Puławy, which cut through the main market, or in Garwolin, the road to Wołyń. In the first case, the decisions on choice of location resulted from the property prices and devalued the former layout. In the latter, the new street went parallel to the side of the market and then through the walls and former pit – much better integrated into the spatial structure of the town (Dumała 1974, p.68). Among private towns, the plan of regulation of the newly incorporated part of Radzymin, between the new hospital, a new street and the market, should be noted

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due to its diversified composition (Dumała 1974, p.86). Some smaller projects were also elaborated for individual streets or even their fragments, for instance in Bolimów, Piątek, and Łowicz (Dumała 1974, pp.84–86). The abrupt change of the situation of all regulatory activities in the Kingdom of Poland followed the resolution by the Administrative Council of 1848, which recommended the Government Commission of Interior Affairs ‘prepare the plans of all towns and then present them to His Highness the Emperor’ (Dumała 1974, p.90). The resolution resulted in the formal abolishment of all the 306 previously elaborated regulatory plans, the 150 towns which did not have plans were expected to prepare them from scratch. The resolution, which was officially justified by the need to define the hard edge of the urban zone for fiscal requirements, demonstrated a strong political character. The newly made plans were to comply with that of the Russian town Krasne, which had been provided to the Commission as a model solution. As Jałowiecki (2010, p.143) underlines, the plan followed the patterns of military camps, with spatial forms defined to accommodate the police and military requirements of the invading state. The plan for Krasne, based on a regular grid of wide streets, with several market squares, proposed the redevelopment of the town without taking into account its former structure. The existing configuration of the land in Krasne was virtually ignored, except for a stream and large pond; this approach to neglect existing land configuration was later emulated by other towns. The rich program of diverse services, quality zoning and streets much wider than commonly applied earlier in the Kingdom of Poland, designed to be enclosed with normative buildings, were clearly inspired by the military settlements of Aleksiej Arakczeje, which functioned in Russia between 1810 and 1857 (Dumała 1974, pp.90–99). The resolution, except for nearly completely constraining planning activities, had no significant impact on the actual form of cities. Even in the case of fires, towns were rebuilt according to the former parcellation, with various tricks being used in order to avoid presenting the plans to the Russian authorities; the bloated and inefficient bureaucracy, which extended any approval process for years, significantly aided such solutions (Dumała 1974, pp.100–120). In some cases, newly made plans were abandoned for bureaucratic reasons, for instance, after a fire in central Garwolin in 1854, the plan submitted for assessment by the Construction Council was not examined because of incorrect documentation – the inaccurate layout of the documents, and the wrong format. In this situation, the citizens rebuilt the centre without waiting for formal approval (Dumała 1974, p.107). The plan for rebuilding part of Siedlce after the fire of 1854, which did not predict any significant changes, first waited four years for approval and then was finally not sent to Petersburg for final acceptance, awaiting realisation until substantial changes in regulations in 1865-1868. The construction of a new railway station and the introduction of a large avenue joining the new edifice with the centre, along with a vast new square with an Orthodox church in the middle, made the plan similar enough to the plan of Krasne to be finally accepted. Another plan

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which was rejected by the Commission for formal reasons was the one for the redevelopment of the already mentioned Jadów24 in Wołomin county. In the case of Łysobyki, also in Wołomin county, the plan made after a fire in 1859 waited two and a half years before rejection. In its response, however, the Council recommended rebuilding the town according to the rejected plan. As Dumała (1974, p.118) presumes, it was very likely that many buildings had already been reconstructed on their previous sites by this time. The plan for Mszczonów, after a huge fire in 1862, was approved by the Government Commission after more than a year, with several more corrections added after another year and a half. The plan’s principles mostly repeated those of the 1822 plan, with a large, regular market square in the east part, although streets were enlarged according to the requirements of 1858. The new part of the town, replacing the one burnt, emulated the layout of the model town of Krasne, without, however, real justification in the local configuration – one of the streets, which continued the main axis of a church, ended blindly in fields. Although many towns were seriously damaged during the January uprising, their rebuilding did not involve significant changes to the plan. According to Dumała (1974, p.122), no single plan was sent to Petersburg for the required Tsar’s approval until 1869, and none received consent until 1877. This was a result of inefficient bureaucratic procedures on the one hand, and of the conscious boycott of the orders of Russian authorities on the other (Dumała 1974, p.181). In the later period, along with changes in the political situation during the rule of Alexander the 2nd, which replaced the severe regime of Nikolaj the 1st, the previous regulatory principles became much more flexible (Dumała 1974, p.123). Having the status of a town imposed on a settlement an obligation to support a mayor and a policeman and to pay consumption taxes and further contributions. In return, towns could organise regular markets and fairs, and could maintain other commercial facilities, such as a butcher’s shop and commercial stalls. While continuation of craft activities was still possible after a settlement lost city rights, it was no longer profitable because of the lack of a regular marketplace. Often, as a result, Jews, who used to deal with these kinds of activities, left the town (Dumała 1974, p.175). While the Russian government tried to limit the number of towns, as they considered the presence of fairs a factor affecting the alcoholism of the masses, this pressure was ignored by the Polish administration of the Kingdom of Poland. As a result, only a few towns lost their former privileges before 1869, in this number Dobre in 1854. On the other hand, besides several new industrial towns, already listed above, which got their city rights in the 30s of the nineteenth century, a handful more obtained this new status, among them Lututów (1843). After the defeat of the January uprising (1863), the repercussions affected many Polish nobles personally and restricted the former autonomy of the Kingdom of Poland. In 1864 the Russian government abolished serfdom and gave equal civil rights to serfs. Essential changes took place only in 1869 when the majority of 452 towns were deprived of their city rights, with

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only 116 left. Although an administrative reform of 1865 deprived many small towns of their former city rights, the overall number after 1870 fell to 116, most of them still functioned as commercial and craft centres. This was possible thanks to a special edict, issued in parallel to the administrative reform, which allowed commerce and crafts as well as markets and fairs in all settlements. Many individual decisions, unjustified, or as Dumała (1974, p.179) writes accidental, led in effect to more intensive and unconstrained urbanisation. From 1869, several new regulatory plans were made for towns which possessed city rights; the list included: Łódź (1873), Pabianice (1878, 1884), Piotrków (1882), Nowy Dwór (1888), Garwolin, Gostynin and Łask. Besides this, the development of Radom and Siedlce was most likely preceded by a project. Furthermore, a few former municipalities, now without city rights, got new regulations, in this number: Tuszyn and Pławno. As a rule, plans attempted to convert former layouts of streets into regular grid systems, adding extensions, often regardless of the natural landscape, for instance in Łask (Dumała 1974, p.129) (Figure 3.24). Existing streets were, for the most part, enlarged to circa 21,3 metres (10 sążnie), or even more for major roads. A large trench was dug to delimit the town’s area, in many cases accompanied with inner street. In some projects, necessary communal facilities were introduced (Dumała 1974, p.129). Many towns got new, spacious squares with edifices of Eastern Orthodox churches located centrally, and visually closing the perspective of a street, for instance in Radom, and in Warsaw and Tomaszów Mazowiecki. Several industrial centres of the Kingdom of Poland were left without major planning activities at the beginning of the second half of the nineteenth century, with the exceptions of limited attempts in Warsaw, Łódź and Żyrardów25. Equally, Warsaw’s regulations did not take into account the rapid industrialisation of the city, although they partially dealt with the planning of new extensions, improving the street network and technical infrastructure. As has been already explained, development of Warsaw, which has been

Figure 3.24  Jewish population dynamics in Łask 3.

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extensively characterised in sources of various research fields, remains beyond the focus of the current work. The development of Łódź is addressed in detail in the case study chapter (IV.1). The only textile industry town which, as Dumała (1974, p.281) states, was founded after the November uprising was Żyrardów. In the initial phase of the town’s development, which started in the village of Ruda Guzowska, then the property of Łubieński family, the main method of production organisation was an outwork system. The centre consisted of a 3-floor factory, surrounded by several smaller auxiliary buildings and two single-storey housing blocks for employed clerks and technicians, all extending along the road from Mszczonów to Wiskitki. The railway, constructed in 1845, initially without an effect on the firm’s functioning, after the acquisition by the Austrian cooperative Hille and Dietrich significantly stimulated the factory and settlement development, which by the 1870s grew to around 9000 people (Dumała 1974, pp.282–283). The new symmetrical plan extended along the axis perpendicular to the already mentioned Mszczonów-Wiskitki road and contained several industrial buildings and a housing estate initially including 11 blocks of flats. The main axis visually joined two subsequent squares: the first one in front of the factory building, the next prepared to host the church, and further continued as the main avenue. Jews, at first not present in the official statistics of Żyrardów (Figure 3.25), started settling in what remained of the former village of Ruda Guzowska only in the 60s of the nineteenth century. With time, the Jewish colony on the east side of Familijna Street in Ruda Guzowska, near the railway station, grew into what became afterwards ‘a Jewish district’ of Żyrardów (even though only 30% of the houses there belonged to Jews)26. In 1887, the Żyrardów Enterprise bought a strip of land in this area and laid out two streets: K. Dittrich Avenue (now Partyzantów Avenue) and K. Hiellego Street (current P. Wysockiego Street). Many Jews erected tenement buildings there; the layout of the Jewish neighbourhood, as shown in the plan of 1921, was much less regular and denser than development in other parts of the town (Bartoszewicz 2011, ryc.10, p.569). A similar observation refers to the already mentioned Ozorków. The foundation act of 1816, signed by general Józef Zajączek, did not contain any

Figure 3.25  Jewish population dynamics in Żyrardów3.

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Figure 3.26  Jewish population dynamics in Ozorków, based on census data (1827 and 1921)3.

restrictions on Jewish settlement. The contract of 1821 assigned the locations for future Jewish settlers, but it was not strictly obeyed. For this reason and also because of the intensive development of its textile industry, Jews flocked to Ozorków, soon becoming half of the population (Figure 3.26). The share of the Jewish population, as high as 50% at its peak during the town’s development, means they must have inhabited a large part of the town. Looking at the neighbourhood which was formerly inhabited by Jews, the denser network of streets distinguishes itself from the surroundings. The densities were only slightly higher than elsewhere, urban structures consisting mostly of one-floor houses, with a roof ridge parallel to a street. JEWS VERSUS URBANISATION AND INDUSTRIALISATION

After 1851, the economic stabilisation, which followed the changed customs and excise regulations and influx of foreign capital and artisans, led to improved market conditions and urbanisation of the country. People migrated to urban centres, which increased the demand for housing, which, in turn, led to densification. The former patterns of development, consisting of mostly wooden houses with gardens, were replaced with densely-packed, masonry tenements. As property values grew, uncontrolled speculations became common. Development was undergoing exponential growth (Rybka 1995, p. 97), embracing the new industrial functions of cities. In most cases, no regulations constrained this immense and rapid growth. Ostrowski (1996, p.81), writing about the development of industrial Łódź at the end of the nineteenth century, described the uncoordinated mixture of tenements, factories and manufacturers’ houses. Similar disapproval was expressed by other authors, e.g., Olenderek (2007). We should realise that part of this criticism resulted from the modernist stand of historians of architecture, who perceived mixed-use development as inherently wrong. This opinion may also originate in the critics of the capitalist economy; the urban fabric of the nineteenth-century industrial towns was associated with such notions as exploitation of workers, inequalities, and the like. In the case of earlier authors, the critics often stemmed from their Classicist perspective. Other problems, such as pollution,

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the lack of appropriate living conditions, overpopulation, seriously affected the urbanising population and caused multiple negative consequences. The distinctions between neighbourhoods inhabited by factory workers and the bourgeoisie were explicitly evident, reflected, among others, in the quality of built structures, sizes of individual dwellings, furnishing and maintenance of streets, and the like. While the above processes affected all the citizens of the Kingdom of Poland, the contrasts between Jewish, Polish and German inhabitants were clear. For Jews, it was easy to migrate to big towns, as, since the beginning of their settlement in Poland, they lived mostly in urban settings. Those who stayed in rural areas were, on the whole, an urban population who moved to the countryside to perform their professional activities and did not lose their link with the town. The identities of Poles and Jews manifested themselves in different forms of lifestyle and worship and stemmed from separate religious and social traditions. In the case of Jews, strong external ties affected all spheres of life, including commerce, education and religion. All this led to the development of significant cosmopolitan networks of relations – a feature specific to the Jewish community. It distinguished this group against the backdrop of the locally oriented social life and economy of Poles, especially when it came to the traditional life in smaller urban centres (Hubka 2005). Furthermore, religious reasons affected the occupational structure within the Jewish community, some professions being common among Jews due to their accessibility, others excluded. Jews customarily dealt with commerce and crafts, as these were the occupations where they did not depend on employers and could freely adjust their schedules to religious requirements, especially the observance of Sabbath. For this reason, they rarely sought jobs in industry. A significant share of the Jewish population were tradesmen providing for the demands of non-Jewish inhabitants. They specialised, for instance, in tanning, fur making and watchmaking, all considered typical Jewish occupations in Eastern Europe (Bartal 2005, p.42). Other typical occupations included: tailoring, Hebrew printing, tinsmiths, carpentry and the building industry, harness making, shoemaking, jewellery, peddling, retail commerce, pawnbroking, money lending, and wholesale trade, both on an interregional and international scale. Weaving and tailoring remained traditional Jewish crafts; in many towns, Jews started manufacturing textiles independently of the initiative of the town’s owner, which was the case in Brzeziny, where Count Ogińska in 1815 founded an industrial settlement named Lasocin, intended for German settlers. Jewish tailoring activities, with a specialisation in trouser sewing, preceded this event, boosting the town’s economic development. Kałuszyn, where the Jewish population dominated, up to 87 per cent in 186127, was another town recognised as a centre of textiles, yet with a specialisation in prayer shawl (Hebrew talit, Yiddish: tałes) weaving. As Wodziński (2010, p.195) rightly asserts, each Jewish town had its own speciality. Against this backdrop, a brand new, yet relatively small, elite of capitalistic entrepreneurs, bankers, industrialists and large-scale merchants emerged (Bartal 2005, p.42).

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Urbanisation processes included high migration to existing or new towns. In the case of Jews, the latter was strengthened with the restrictions on staying in the Pale of Settlement. In the second half of the nineteenth century, many Jews from the former Commonwealth gradually moved to the Kingdom of Poland. At least in the initial period after their influx, they stuck together because of the Russian language they used and different habits, which distinguished them from the surrounding Polish Jews, who were already at the time a much more acculturated community. This was particularly visible in cities like Warsaw and Łódź, where so-called Litvaks attended separate synagogues and lived on different streets than the rest of the Jewish community. In smaller communities, the differences were not that visible, as it was in big metropolia which drew the newcomers. What was also specific to this group were their intensive commercial contacts in the places they previously inhabited, which they used for trade purposes. ACCULTURATION PROCESSES AND THE ROLE OF JEWS

In the typical cultural reality of nineteenth-century Jewish Poland, only a relatively small group of affluent bourgeoisie and intelligentsia tended towards acculturation and Polonisation. At the same time, the Jewish masses, including the large number of followers of Hasidism, retained traditional patterns of life (Bartal 2005, p.86). Dynner (2014, p.178) stresses the need to rethink the extent and significance of the Polonisation processes in the Kingdom of Poland in the nineteenth century. He lists the following features which demonstrated the level of acculturation: • • • •

acquisition or adoption of Polish education; usage of Polish language; choice of apparel; support of anti-tsarist uprisings.

Next to the change of clothing, which was an explicit factor manifesting a person’s views and social status, another element of material culture reflecting one’s level of acculturation was the choice of place of abode. Dynner (2014, p.178) argues that contemporary historical narrative emphasises the size and significance of a secularly-educated, rationalist milieux and does not properly render the resilience of tradition, either cultural or economic. Long-established social relations held through the nineteenth century in most of the villages and towns of the Kingdom of Poland, despite all the societal challenges of the time, such as industrialisation, urbanisation and pauperisation (Dynner, 2014, pp.177–178). The traditional religious institutions and religious observance or mass movements like Hasidism remained present in Polish Jewish society until the outbreak of World War II and had an essential impact on the development of many urban centres. Nevertheless, while retained or even strengthened in the face of social politics by the state, the traditional communities went through

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severe transformations, which the urban patterns of everyday life also reflected. Once focused around the town’s only synagogue, the strongly centralised configuration of former centuries was complemented by a multiplicity of prayer houses and shtiblekh (Hubka 2005). The extent and role which Jews played in the Polish economy at the time were made explicit in the memorial submitted to the authorities by the Stock Exchange Committee in Warsaw (quoted by Eisenbach 1983, pp.262–280). The Committee reacted this way to the government’s attempts to extend to the Kingdom of Poland the ‘temporary resolution’, which Tsar Alexander the 3rd approved for the Russian Empire in 1882, and which reintroduced certain restrictions on free settlement of Jews in towns and villages and the rights to buy and lease real estate. The memorial presented in detail the economic situation and professional structure of the Jewish population together with the assessment of the advantages and disadvantages of the envisaged changes. The local attitude towards the Jewish community, which ranged from cooperation to hostility and separation, seriously influenced the effects of acculturation processes. This was reflected in the way settlements were organised and all the ethnic and religious groups distributed. The classification framework of various legal conditions faced by Jewish communities in the Kingdom of Poland in the beginning of the nineteenth century (by 1862) still needs definition. Nevertheless, the substantial overlap between various cultural groups, both in the sense of ethnicity and religion, which resulted from the practices of land ownership and development, involved gradual rather than abrupt transformations. Even in a case where a ban on settlement in certain neighbourhoods was established, it was rarely executed immediately. By the same token, when a Jewish zone was introduced, it did not mean that Polish inhabitants should immediately move out, or that German proprietors should sell their land. The perceived conceptual separation of Jewish districts mentioned by Hubka (2005) could have resulted from the different semiotics for the two main groups of users of the discussed territories: Jews and Poles, which is addressed in the current book. Hubka’s statement (2005) in which he attributes the dense, non-geometric spatial layout of the Jewish districts in small towns of the eighteenth century to the incremental growth and restrictions placed upon the Jewish community through legal regulations, can be extended to the nineteenth century as well. The description applies even better taking into account the scale of the urbanisation processes. The contrast between regular layouts of ‘geometric, Magdeburgian, or Enlightenment inspired town-planning models’ (Hubka 2005) and crowded Jewish neighbourhoods particularly strikes when regarding the unified visual order of the government buildings and geometrical regularity of newly planned or reorganised streets and squares. As Hubka (2005) rightly points out, this contrast gave way to ‘a standard polemic where Polish elites criticized the Jewish community for seeming lack of care for visual (i.e. western, Baroque) spatial order’.

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Furthermore, while he discusses the small towns of Eastern Poland at the end of the eighteenth century, this observation can be easily extended and applied to the settlements of central Poland during the following century. In all of them, physical divisions were absent, and various cultural groups integrated; the distinctions between the level of integration resulted from the local attitude towards Jewish settlers, reflected in specific local regulations. In the Kingdom of Poland, two formal planning cultures could be distinguished at that time: the one of the tsarist government, based on the assumptions of the plan of Krasne, and the regulatory activities of the Polish authorities. On this backdrop, the bottom-up, so called ‘speculation activities’ of Jewish entrepreneurs of various scales, who tried to use the available opportunities on the one hand and adjust to the constraints imposed by formal planning on the other, are especially evident. As an inherent part of the urbanisation and industrialisation processes, the development of transportation infrastructure progressed in the second part of the nineteenth century. The railway network developed from 1859. The main rail lines which played an essential role for the central Poland were as follows: the line joining Russia with Prussia (1862), the line joining Warsaw with Białystok, Wilno and Sankt Petersburg (1862), the line Łódź-Koluszki (1866), the line Warsaw-Terespol (1867), the Nadwiślańska Railway (1877), joining Kowel and Mława though Warsaw and the line Dęblin-Dąbrowa Górnicza through Kielce and Koluszki Ostrowiec through Tomaszów Mazowiecki (1885) (Rybka 1995). The development of the railway enhanced the migration processes and development of urban settlements around railway nodes; it also enabled the construction of summer houses, which became a new fashion in the final decades of the nineteenth century, resulting in the development of several new settlements, e.g., Otwock and Falenica. 3.4.2.5  Garden cities, new urban planning trends At the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth century, Polish publicists, architects and urbanists, influenced by Western European, mainly British ideas, began to research how to improve the situation of overpopulated and congested downtowns. Inspired by the garden cities movement, initiated by Ebenezer Howard’s publication Garden Cities of Tomorrow (1902, after Czyżewski 2009), Polish activists: Józef Polak (1914, after Czyżewski 2009, p.33) and Władysław Dobrzyński (1917, after Czyżewski 2009, p.35) actively sought possibilities to put their ideas into practice. They organised multiple lectures and an exhibition on garden cities in 1910, published in the professional and popular press and participated in organisations aiming to implement the idea, such as the Delegation towards Towns and Gardens, a branch of Warsaw Hygiene Society (Czyżewski 2009, p.136). Neither did they miss the development of the concept, which, in the meantime, had evolved from Howard’s original concept into one of garden suburbs, as easier to implement

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in local conditions than a brand new town. These activities bore fruit; in 1912, an architectural competition was launched to design the garden city Ząbki, and two parallel projects started in Młociny and Nowa Warszawa, all three in the Warsaw suburban zone. The competition for the Ząplan of the garden city Ząbki was resolved in 1912 and was won by Tadeusz Tołwiński (Czyżewski 2009, p.137). The detailed conditions for the time, location and form of structures to be built, along with rules on properties and the management of their closest neighbourhood, were included in the notarised deed of sale. Among them, there was a ban on reselling the property to Litvaks in order to avoid any presumed speculation (Czyżewski 2009, p.139). 3.4.3  The interwar period The revolution of 1905 halted the rapid and unhampered urbanisation of the Kingdom of Poland; then, the process was constrained by the outbreak of World War I. In 1918, after regaining independence, the Polish government started rebuilding the structures of the newly reborn state, trying to unify three parts of the initially different legal, governance, economic and cultural systems, a process which was prolonged until the outbreak of World War II. The destruction and tolls of World War I, together with the long-lasting effects of wasteful exploitation by invading countries, led to a tough economic situation and, finally, to the severe crisis and recession of 1923 (Rybka 1995). One of the factors which particularly affected the textile industry in central Poland was the closure of the massive Russian market for its products. After a few years of improvement, the great worldwide crisis of 1929-1933 again hit the young Polish economy, and soon after, the political changes in Germany and Austria led to the outbreak of World War II. The industrialisation and urbanisation processes started during the period of partitions continued. The formerly conceived plans went on with inherently urban content, and Jews largely participated in this effort. However, the network of towns and villages still remained relatively small in comparison to Western Europe, and industrial production was limited. Housing, affected by the ravages of war, continued to be a widely debated problem for years; the poor working masses lived in very tough conditions of high overpopulation and squalid structures. These problems overlapped with high birth rates, which worsened the living conditions even further. In order to deal with these problems, the municipalities needed to build infrastructure – especially water and sewage systems – not only for the existing urban areas but also when preparing new land for urbanisation. However, the failures of the partition period needed to be first rectified; the construction of a sewage system in Łódź, for instance, which was by then a huge industrial metropolis, only began in 1925, and by 1939 still covered just a part of the town, Bałuty excluded. The water system, also designed by Lindley by the turn of the century, did not fully launch before 1939. In other municipalities, e.g., Radom or Piotrków, infrastructure was constructed more or less in parallel.

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The linking together of the transportation networks of the three formerly partitioned areas was another challenge. The unconstrained and spontaneous growth of towns, which had formerly been intentionally constrained because of political reasons, now required planning (Rybka 1995, p.99). For example, Warsaw removed its fortifications only in 1916, this way literally opening the gates to territorial expansion. The surrounding communities incorporated into the new administrative borders quickly and spontaneously filled with new chaotic structures. Already in 1916, work on the new regulatory plans for the neighbouring communities started (Czyżewski 2009, p.37). Other towns experienced similar difficulties. The law on the development of towns approved in 1922 imposed on municipalities the necessity to improve the living conditions of their citizens. At first, the activities were limited; only smaller towns, with structures destroyed during the war, corrected their street layouts to some extent; the traditions of Classicism planning of the beginning of the nineteenth century still continued (Rybka 1995, pp.99–100). From 1922, the influence of young professionals trained in the Warsaw Faculty of Architecture (founded in 1915 by the team led by Prof. Tadeusz Tołwiński) started slowly transforming this approach. In 1928, the parliament approved a law on ‘construction and building of housing estates’, which imposed on all municipalities the elaboration of general and detailed plans for all towns. This regulation led to the opening of planning offices in all major towns. The plans approved for Warsaw (1922–1923, 1927, 1931 – formally approved, 1938, after Jankiewicz, Porębska-Srebrna 2005) and for Łódź (approved 1935) turned out to be difficult first to approve and even more challenging to put into effect. First, the obligation to buy land to satisfy public goals was impossible due to limited funding; second, land speculation delayed the plans’ implementation. At first, the Classicist planning tradition retained its leading position as a way of making plans. However, from the end of World War I, some elements of modern urban planning began to spread; plans of Warsaw of 1931 and 1938 belonged to this group. The Society of Polish Town Planners (Towarzystwo Urbanistów Polskich TUP) was inaugurated in 1923, thanks to the initiative by Oskar Sosnowski, and attracted specialists from several professions taking part in urban planning. In this number: architects, engineers, hygiene activists, physicians and economists, with time becoming a platform of contacts which facilitated cooperation. The activities of the TUP involved the organisation of several urban planning competitions for the centres of larger towns. The organisation launched the first urban planning conference in 1930. The modernist traditions of regional planning started well, with the project ‘Functional Warsaw’, presented in 1934 in London, during the preparations for the Fifth Congress of Modern Architecture (CIAM) in 1937. The project, elaborated by a team from the Office of Regional Planning, led by Jan Chmielewski and Szymon Syrkus, was continued and extended as a ‘regional plan for the Warsaw district’ in 1938 (Wisłocka 1968, p.226). From 1930, regional planning offices were established in both Warsaw and Łódź

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 141

regions, their activities supported by the law on regional planning approved in 1935. Studies on the scale of the whole state were conducted after 1936 by a planning unit established as part of the First Minister’s Office (Studium Planowania Ogólnokrajowego SPO) (Rybka 1995, p.136). The analyses performed by this institution confirmed the necessity to balance development in the country. Thanks to these studies, Radom and its proximity became part of the Central Industrial District (Centralny Okręg Przemysłowy COP), introduced in 1937 (Rybka 1995, p.154). The housing problems of the 20s and 30s were temporarily satisfied by illegal constructions erected outside the towns’ borders, on the outskirts. The spontaneous, chaotic parcellation of rural land without formal construction permission, with extremely narrow access roads leading to the plot’s boundary, was built upon with single-storey shacks made of the cheapest materials. Usually, such houses had only one or two chambers and were extremely overcrowded (Rybka 1995, pp.123–124). These forms developed on the outskirts of all the larger cities. Helas next to the private tenement houses, often also of inferior quality, such informal structures provided the only real remedy to the dwelling problems of the time. In the literature on the history of urban planning of the interwar period, vanguard movements are usually predominant; their development in Poland, habitually dated since the end of World War I, in fact, started already twenty years earlier (Rybka 1995, p.101). The attention of professionals focused on the most urgent problem: the lack of small, affordable flats. As early as 1919, based on the law approved by the Polish parliament, the government established the Sovereign Housing Fund (Państwowy Fundusz Mieszkaniowy), which in later periods financed several cooperatives and institutions constructing flats for the army, civil service and workers. After 1927, the regulations changed, and building non-profit dwellings became the principal application field. The main institutions which dealt with housing construction at the time were: The Military Housing Fund (Fundusz Kwaterunku Wojskowego FKW), the Warsaw Housing Cooperative (Warszawska Spółdzielnia Mieszkaniowa WSM) and the Social Security Fund (Zakład Ubezpieczeń Społecznych ZUS). While the housing estates built by FKW consisted of blocks with relatively large flats (e.g., Żoliborz Oficerski in Warsaw, based on the garden city layout) and, in most cases, used conservative architecture and urban design models, the estates built by WSM and ZUS represented more of the vanguard; the estate in Rakowiec in Warsaw designed by Helena and Szymon Syrkus (Praesens) belongs to the latter (Rybka 1995, pp.101–104). The activities of WSM (started 1920/21) deserve attention due to its vanguard style and the influence it had on Polish urban design development thanks to the highly thought of architects who cooperated with this institution, such as Helena and Szymon Syrkus, Barbara and Stanisław Brukalski, or Jan Chmielewski. In 1934, the Society of Workers Estates (Towarzystwo Osiedli Robotniczych TOR) was formed, which built circa 10 000 social flats in Warsaw, Łódź: Bałuty, Stoki and Marysin and in other locations.

142  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

A comprehensive presentation of these issues may be found in Rybka (1995), Wisłocka (1968), and for Łódź in Olenderek (2012). Furthermore, the implementation of the garden city concepts continued after World War I. However, Howard’s original ideas of cooperative and self-sufficient urban settlements altered and evolved into advertising slogans conveying suburban, often summerhouse development, located in the open or, more often, the forest landscape. As Czyżewski (2009) rightly observes, the post-war residential and, primarily, low-density settlements had little to do with Howard’s ideals. An element that did remain of the original concept was the organised, large-scale parcellation, following a geometrical plan, usually with some circular avenues, and a central square and services in the middle. The largest group of such suburban colonies were founded in the proximity of Warsaw, in the fashion introduced by the already mentioned Ząbki, Młociny and Podkowa Leśna. The factor enhancing the popularity of these new settlements was the rail network, especially the Nadwiślańska Railway, often cited as the Otwock line, which attracted development in, e.g., Otwock, Śródborów, Soplicowo. When, in 1922, the Electric Access Railway cooperative (Elektryczne Koleje Dojazdowe EKD) started, it immediately enhanced the attractiveness of the land alongside, encouraging several new settlements founded under the common umbrella of ‘garden cities’. In this group, there were such settlements as Podkowa Leśna (the first ideas to create this garden city coming from 1913 in a project by Tadeusz Tołwiński; the actual settlement being founded in 1925, designed by Artur Jawornicki). Other well-known settlements of this kind are Ostoja (1927), Włochy (1928), Komorów and Zalesie. Additionally, several well-known summer resorts used the garden city umbrella as a commercial slogan, for instance: Milanówek, Konstancin Jeziorna or Magdalenka, and, with time, the character of both garden towns and summer resorts became very similar. Jews, especially Jewish intelligentsia and rich businessmen, played an essential role in the development of many of these settlements. Especially Otwock, Józefów, Miedzeszyn, Świder or Śródborów became well known Jewish resorts, catering to the needs of the Jewish intelligentsia, while for instance, Falenica attracted mainly the orthodox community. Singer (1993) described the customs of Jews who spent their holidays in small towns surrounding Warsaw in one of his essays for Forwerts of 1945. Similar phenomena also took place around other major cities, especially industrial Łódź, with its immense pollution, poor living conditions and very high population rates, which spread out in new settlements: Kolumna (1926-27), Tuszyn-Las (Forest 1928), Sokolniki (1927-1930), Grotniki (1925-1928). While publicised as garden or forest cities, and, following the example of Howard’s garden cities, intended to improve health conditions for the general population, the large scale parcellations of the time were taken over by intelligentsia and well-to-do businessmen, with Jews playing, next to Germans, the central role. For example, in Kolumna, the Jewish population dominated, so the town was called ‘Small Palestine’. By the same token, in Tuszyn, which

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 143

became very popular among the Jewish intelligentsia, an orthodox enclave emerged (Baranowska 2007, p.26). Głowno, which already hosted a large Jewish community before World War I, also became a well-known resort, where wealthy Jewish citizens of Łódź erected wooden villas profiting from the presence of the vast pine forest. The extension of the town’s administrative borders in 1935 incorporated these suburban forest districts, one of them named Nowy Otwock (New Otwock); the name shows how fashions spread. In all, the intensive transformations of the interwar period, regarding the top-down, formal planning approach, consisted of three main threads: • • •

continuation of the former, primarily Classicist tradition of urban planning, considered an exemplification of Polish national heritage; modernist threads, which were applied, first of all, to state-supported housing estates and to regional planning; continuation and transformation of the so-called ‘garden city’ movement.

Apart from the above, bottom-up processes also took place, which, catering to the needs of citizens and answering a real economic demand, were often described as speculation, slum creation, etc., and were strongly criticised. While in most cases, the criticisms stemmed from several reasons, including poor living conditions, overpopulation, substandard construction materials, the bad quality of solutions, damage to the environment, lack of the proper maintenance, negative impact on the environment, etc., it might not have deserved such severe criticism. All the more so that the top-down planning did not solve the real problems of many citizens, especially the marginalised and deprived groups. The specific needs of the Jewish religious and ethnic community remained beyond the formal planning scope of interest, with Modernism looking to satisfy one-way functional planning principles and traditional Classicism sticking to the cultivation of conservative and national Polish values. When referring to ‘the garden-city movement’, the parentheses stem from the evident alterations to Howard’s original idea and the lack of proper strategic instruments serving the organisation of the construction process and the community. In reality, we may look for the origins of the contemporary urban sprawl in the large scale and low-density parcellation of forest and rural areas which took place then.

3.5 Neighbourhoods inhabited by Jews in pre-war central Poland – three typological levels The following section presents the experience of mapping pre-war Jewish communities in towns and villages of Mazovian and Łódź voivodeships in central Poland. At the moment directly preceding the outbreak of World War II, local Jewish groups featured varying levels of acculturation, systems of values, adjustment to religious beliefs and political views. The overall picture was highly complex and, in this author’s opinion, deserves to be called a

144  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

contemporary heterogeneous society. This mosaic was mirrored by a variety of neighbourhoods. They covered the whole range of assimilation and acculturation attitudes, with, on the flip side, isolation and differentiation from the surrounding and, in most cases, blended community. 3.5.1  Method of analysis As a result of its historical development, each single town and each single Jewish community had its own idiosyncrasy, which, to be understood, must be mapped spatially and with regard to the time axis. Since there is no one single approach to present all cases, morphological typology needs to be developed to enhance understanding. As has already been defined at the outset, the self-organising society which Jewish communities in pre-war Poland embodied could be considered a prototype of contemporary cultural complexity. The mapping of this complexity is a challenge, a method for which is addressed in the current study. Jews, who made up a vital share of the population, when sharing the same places with Polish and German citizens, they preserved their own culture. Along with acculturation and modernisation, Jewish daily lives also changed, and with them, the urban settings in which they lived. Enticed by the emerging opportunities, people tried to improve their living conditions or simply began looking for income. The period of the Noble Economy before the partitions of Poland found many Jews still inhabiting small villages and manor houses; many still worked as leaseholders, even if no longer dealing with propination. In small villages, the picture was clear and showed a traditional community with a few more educated representatives of the intelligentsia; shtetls continued their pace of life, and the Jews living there went on with their traditional, religion-based culture. Along with the growth of the population and the range of available occupations, lifestyles and political preferences, religious and social groups, a much more complex mosaic emerged. Beginning from the period of the Kingdom of Poland, many towns went through intensive development as newly established administrative centres. Many others developed as industrial hubs, mainly, but not exclusively, for the textile industry. In many towns, new districts were developed, both by public authorities and by private owners, and other, mostly private, towns were started from scratch. The larger cities, including Warsaw and Łódź, were surrounded by satellite settlements of various scale. The development of the industrial era was overlapped with that of merchant urbanisation (terminology after Lefebvre 2003 and Portugali 2000, p.312). Most of these urban centres, especially those hosting markets, accommodated large groups of Jews, their core population dealing with such crafts as tailoring, dressmaking, shoe-making, and the like. Some towns had a longer or shorter tradition of Jewish settling, with various conditions for the accommodation of Jews. Many municipalities formerly had the privilege,

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 145

non tolerandis judeorum, which forced Jews to settle in the private domains of rich nobles. In others, the Jewish presence was, until 1862, limited to specially established zones. Next to the commerce which developed in all urban conditions, the Jewish religious centres drew many, with the renowned Hasidic courts serving as major attractors. The Jewish faith and its requirements also encouraged specialised services, such as the making of prayer shawls in Kałuszyn. The acculturation processes of the interwar period further added to this mosaic; for example, the popularity of medicine as a profession was picked up by Jewish intelligentsia, leading to the development of towns which served as health resorts offering sophisticated and specialised health services. New forms of urban structures developed, along with the culture of spending holidays in the countryside. This complexity, which stemmed from the overlap of several factors, many of them dating back to long established traditions and customs and many adopted as a result of the recent civilisation changes, needs to be understood to realise the real impact of Jewish self-organised and bottom up activities. The hierarchy of types necessary to properly picture the complexity of the various lifestyles comprises three levels: that of region, town and neighbourhood. •

•

•

the upper level, in the form of a database, shows the collection of circa 2500 places where Jews lived before World War II, including cities, towns, villages, manors and also smaller settlements, with the Jewish population counting from a few people up to many thousands; the intermediate level refers to those towns or cities which contained a Jewish population large enough or with a long tradition of Jewish presence, characterised with a mixed profile, making the strict definition of Jewish lifestyle impossible as there were various groups of differing acculturation levels, principal occupations, etc.; the level of neighbourhood refers most often to a predominantly Jewish part of any village or town which used to host a Jewish community. In larger, mixed profile settings, it may also refer to a part of a town with a specific character and of lesser or higher acculturation degree.

To illustrate a few particular examples of various instances of Jewish culture and their settings in the period directly preceding World War II, the choice of a few representative case studies has been made and included in the next chapter. The case studies refer to those parts of smaller or larger towns or fragments of larger towns or cities where high densities of Jews were once present. 3.5.1.1 Database The current study, departing from a heuristic approach, looks for the classification of lifestyles and values versus typology of living places. While making the complete data set needs a bottom-up approach with individual case studies; however, the initial framework may be defined at the outset, with

146  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

an assumption that the classification may be further extended. In order to achieve comprehensive results which could fully render the reality, the database needs to be scalable. The combination of values from several fields would give a matrix and determine the types of records. In addition, concatenation of attributes should be done separately for various periods. The requirement to render the actual complexity of the typology means avoiding any predefined, closed and hierarchical structure. Instead, what we need is a scalable system of description which may accommodate both new categories and new record values, as necessary. Some historical documents have a predefined structure, which should be followed unaltered to convey its historical testimony, e.g., classification of settlements based on results of the 1921 census. While the number of such comprehensive and closed documents is limited, they may be used as initial characteristics, giving the general picture and introducing background organisation. Another basic source of knowledge is statistics, which contains mainly quantitative data. For the sake of the final assessment, typology thresholds need to be introduced, pertaining to the quantities of Jewish populations, their percentage and the size of towns or villages. The initial study covering the available statistical data gives a framework for further development, but it also reveals an image which may serve as a source of valuable insights into the dynamics of Jewish life in central Poland. The ArcGIS 10.1 has been used as a platform for mapping, with layers describing the situation at a few historical moments based on the data available. The layers were afterwards combined to follow the processes of the emergence/ collapse of Jewish communities. While the data on the origins of Jewish presence in Poland is fragmentary and refers to the established communities only, the most recent available statistics, coming from 1921, contain exact numbers of Jewish inhabitants, down to a single person. This gives a very detailed picture of urban dynamics at this moment. Later census data of 1931 has not been published in a form enabling the analysis of population dynamics. The statistical data and typology of urban centres were complemented with the available knowledge on new industrial and administrative towns and districts started in the region in the nineteenth and twentieth century, including the data on the Jewish population. Here many sources were used, in this number databases held by: Polin Museum in Warsaw: www.shtetl.org. pl, YIVO Institute in New York, Jewish Gen and others. It was further complemented by available research on the development of industry and urbanisation, both during the period of the Kingdom of Poland and the interwar period. Studies on individual towns and villages were also consulted and numerous historical elaborations referring to the Jewish past in Poland. Chosen features included in the current set of attributes are listed in Table 3.7, along with a preliminary set of values. The final list is yet to be elaborated or, more likely, will be left open for possible extension. As a result, an initial framework typology of urban centres of various scales has been obtained, which shall allow for a more profound understanding and description of Jewish urban life in Poland in the period before World War II.

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 147 Table 3.7  Chosen features included in the database set of attributes Field

1765

1827

1921

Name Current name Population Jewish pop. Share Fairs/year Markets/week Masonry buildings Wooden buildings Buildings Voivodeship Propertya Type Community board/kehilla Bund Hasidic community Number of dependent shtibles Administrative centre

Name Name value: 2000 name value: n, k, ch all -

name name quantity quantity % quantity quantity quantity quantity quantity name value: p, g, ch all yes/not -

name name quantity quantity % quantity quantity quantity name value – Table 3.8 yes/not yes/not yes/not quantity

-

yes/not

Industryb Notes

text

value: capital, curcuit, voivod. type: t, m, … type: t, m, … text text

a  Property types: n – noble, k – king, ch – church; p – private, g – government. b  Industry types: t – textile, m – metallurgy.

3.5.2  The regional level The demographic dynamics are comparatively high for the Jewish population, yet quantitative thresholds need to be defined to assess their representation in the settlement network of central Poland and provide an image at a given moment. In 1921, of the total number of 345 settlements in central Poland with a Jewish population larger than 50, 70 had a Jewish population of 50 percent or more of the total population. The multiple towns and villages in central Poland where Jews lived differed a lot, some of them tiny, others reaching up to several hundred thousand. Using the classification of settlements by the authors of the 1921 census, Jews were present in the settlements which had the status of a town or of an urban settlement – in 1921, in the 70 mentioned above, with a Jewish population of 50 percent or more, 25 possessed the status of a town, 27 were urban settlements and 10 still villages, most of them quickly urbanising, to become towns in future or suburban colonies outside the larger settlement (Table 3.8). The quantity of settlements with over 50 Jews where they provided for 30 and more percent of the total population, reached up to 182 (Figure 3.27). Moreover, nearly all towns in central Poland had their Jewish community.

148  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements Table 3.8  Jewish settlements larger than 50 people and providing for more than 50% of the total population (GUSRP 1925) Profilea

Quantity

Jewish population

Towns Urban settlements Villages Settlement Summer resort Manors Colonies

Number 25 27 9 1 1 2 5

People 1429–6812 218–3809 57–1085 139 1108 65–148 73–270

% 50–82 50–97 53–100 60 63 52–54 57–100

a  Classification follows the one of the 1921 census.

Figure 3.27  Settlements with over 50 Jews where they provided for 30 and more percent of the total population (GUSRP 1925). 1. Percentage of the Jewish population in towns and villages, dot sizes describe the size of a Jewish population, 2. regional centres: Warsaw, 3. remaining towns and villages with a Jewish population, 4. contemporary voivodeship borders, 5. pre-war county borders.

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 149

In the case of smaller settlements, Jews were equally spread within villages, with individual groups often counting no more than five people, which may point at a single family. The distribution also depended on the overall Jewish population in a given region. The classification of a town’s profile refers mostly to the settlements with a population larger than 50, which usually hosted a Jewish kehillah. In the case of smaller settlements – yishev, the profile was chiefly rural, with Jewish families catering to the needs of the surrounding communities regarding commerce and often also tavern-keeping. In larger communities, there were also some other basic crafts offered, customarily tailoring, shoemaking, and the like. Additionally, small groups of Jews resided in manors; perhaps they were their current or past leaseholders (Figure 3.28). The scale of this phenomena

Figure 3.28  Distribution of manors with Jewish dwellers (GUSRP 1925). 1. Manors, 2. size of Jewish population in towns and villages, 3. regional centres: Łódź and Warsaw, 4. pre-war counties, 5. contemporary voivodeship borders.

150  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

Figure 3.29  T ypes of settlement patterns in the regional scale (GUSRP 1925): I. Industrial, II – rural, 1. size of Jewish population in towns and villages, 2. regional centres: Warsaw, 3. type of settlement pattern, 4. pre-war counties, 5. contemporary voivodeship borders.

varied between counties, depending on the importance of the manor economy in general, and the role of agriculture as such. Nonetheless, in some counties, such as Łowicz, apart from major towns, Jews were barely present. When analysing the distribution of the Jewish population in the scale of a region (Figures 3.29 and 3.30) two main patterns are noticeable, corresponding to the two main types of prevailing economies: agrarian and industrial. The main difference between the two patterns refers to the regularity of distribution, and its internal dynamics. 3.5.2.1  Industrial development The two most important cities in the region, Warsaw and Łódź, considered Jewish metropolises (Guesnet 2015), became at the same time two main nodes of the urban network, attracting people from the surrounding

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 151

Figure 3.30  T  ypes of settlement patterns in the regional scale (GUSRP 1925): I. industrial, II – rural, 1. size of Jewish population in towns and villages, 2. regional centres: Łódź, 3. type of settlement pattern, 4. pre-war counties, 5. contemporary voivodeship borders.

counties. Moreover, the strip of textile industry towns, already founded in the period of the Kingdom of Poland thanks to the government initiative dating back to the times of Stanisław Staszic, which spanned from Tomaszów to Zgierz, flourished. The main urban centres were those thriving thanks to industrial production; with time, huge masses of people developed specialised services, satisfying both their own needs and those at the regional scale. When analysing the patterns of distribution of the Jewish population down to the smallest groups, a dynamic emerges, with Jewish settlements gathered along major access roads. It is noticeable which locations attracted Jews the most, which ways they took to travel, where they stopped, etc. The whole pattern, genuinely dynamic, is more explicit in the regions of Warsaw and Łódź, the two most important industrial and administrative centres of Poland.

152  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements

In the region of Łódź, the locations where the groups of Jews lived spread along the more important roads, e.g., from Łódź to Warsaw through Stryków and Głowno, from Łódź to Koło and Poznań, joining Łódź and Warsaw through Brzeziny, along with others. In the areas surrounding Warsaw, Jews located themselves first of all next to the railway lines, some of them built catering to their needs, e.g., of the line to Góra Kalwaria. With time, the railway influenced the development of the culture of summer resorts, e.g., in Otwock, Świder and Falenica. 3.5.2.2  Rural development In the southern part of Piotrków, Radomsko, Wieluń and Sieradz counties, the patterns remained more regular, static, with nodes equally distributed, which could have been due to the general rural character of this area. The density of small concentrations south from Piotrków Trybunalski grew considerably, which could be attributed to the long-term traditions of Jewish settling there, probably broken by the short period of Prussian rule. Another reason for settling there may have been a shallow layer of coal in the region of Bełchatów, and thus easy accessibility of this fuel; similar phenomena also occurred close to Rogoźno, more to the north. Besides, the Jewish population in this region was proportionally higher, similar to the overall numbers of people in towns and villages. The high densities, with all their consequences regarding economic constraints imposed on Jews, could have led to their expansion into rural areas in quest of decent livelihoods. Yet, despite the large sizes of villages in Wieluń county, the Jewish population there was quite limited; it provided for up to 10 percent of the total number of inhabitants, except for a few towns and manors. When examining the overlap of patterns of Jewish distribution there with the background settlement pattern, an interesting phenomenon emerges: the total sizes of Jewish rural communities in Wieluń county are similar to those in Radomsko and the south part of Piotrków county. What was different is that in Wieluń county, a similar group of say thirty Jews lived within the administrative borders of one village, whereas in Radomsko and in the south part of Piotrków county, a group of thirty Jews would be scattered in a few small villages located one next to another, a cluster structure allowing them to maintain direct links with their community. The similarities in settlement patterns may result from the roles which Jews performed in the rural society, and the demand for their services, which did not differ that much between the two discussed regions (Figures 3.29 and 3.30). We must remember the need of a threshold of 10 men over thirteen to satisfy minyan quorum requirements for public prayers. Each Jew belonged to a kehillah, with whom they had to maintain easy and undisturbed contacts, which required spatial proximity. So either they stayed in a town where kehillah was located or, moving to the countryside, remained close to a larger settlement, keeping travel distances feasible.

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 153

Similar patterns were observable east from Warsaw, in Mińsk Mazowiecki, Siedle and Węgrów counties. While in the immediate region of the capital, its influence is evident, further to the east more static patterns prevail. This again could have been the predominating role of the agrarian economy. Nevertheless, in this region, the Jewish population share grew much higher than elsewhere, which was reflected in the growth of both small, rural concentrations and larger urban centres. 3.5.3  The town level The variety of Jewish culture in pre-war central Poland found its reflection in the variety of places inhabited by Jews. Each town had its distinct history, its specific reasons for development and growth. The Jewish population changed over time, first growing then declining when the gentile citizens obtained a privilege non tolerandis judeorum or pogroms purged Jews out. In some towns, Jewish zones were created, or they collapsed and even, in some cases, lost their charters. Reasons for growth were multiple; in the era of industrial production, the most common were related to the development of specific industries, the most often being textile or leather garment production. Despite this, many towns and villages continued as formerly, servicing the neighbouring countryside with small crafts and commerce. Table 3.9 shows the basic range of community profiles, with several examples of each type. The main typology refers to the professional profile, with the division into market-based, thus commercial hubs, administrative centres, and industrial, in this number, textile industry centres. The specialisation did not exclude other activities; commerce and crafts were represented in all Jewish settlements. Moreover, professional profiles changed over time. While smaller settlements preserved their unique profile and specialisation, growth usually led to complexity and overlapping of several characteristics. These transformations, complemented by ongoing acculturation and assimilation, gave way to the emergence of districts inhabited by Jewish groups of distinct features, such as social status, education, professional profile, religious observation, and the like. The phenomenon was most explicit in the case of large metropolises, like Warsaw and Łódź, but it was also observable in cities with long traditions of Jewish presence, such as Radom, Płock or Siedlce. On the other hand, rapidly developing towns and villages gained new extensions, such as colonies and suburbs. This rapid suburbanisation proceeded with Jews gravitating to these new urban centres. They took an active part in this kind of development, often informal, sometimes happening just outside a town’s administrative borders, on private grounds, as in the case of Łódź Bałuty. In some cases, for instance, in Koluszki, a former village grew strong thanks to the important railway node there; caused by, first, the construction of the Warsaw Vienna Railway and, later on, the connections to Łódź and further to Kalisz and Poznań. Several smaller villages in its direct

154  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements Table 3.9  Basic range of communities’ profiles Profile

Mixed

Textile industry/crafts

Industry Commerce

Cult Summer resorts

Examples

Warszawa Łódź Płock Radom Siedlce Brzeziny Zduńska Wola Kałuszyn Łask Bełchatów Tomaszów Nasielsk Stryków Piaseczno Widawa Góra Kalwaria Aleksandrów Ł. Przysucha Otwock Falenica Głowno

Jewish population People

%

310322 156155 7352 24465 14685 4979 7885 5033 2623 6249 10070 2691 1998 2256 773 2961 2635 2153 5408 1108 1430

33 35 29 40 48 47 42 82 54 59 36 53 48 40 35 54 32 66 63 63 59

proximity urbanised, further enhancing the central town’s growth. Jews who settled in the neighbouring villages in most cases profited from the existing community facilities of the core one, altogether forming a thriving community. Such a cluster may or may not become an actual town; Koluszki obtained its township in the post-war times in 1949. Another town that grew thanks to railway construction during the nineteenth century was Kutno. Religious towns Numerous religious centres represented a specific case of specialisation, in most cases growing around a court of a Hasidic or Orthodox rabbi. Among centres of religious cults, the most spectacular examples of rapid growth were Ger (Góra Kalwaria), Przysucha and Aleksander (Aleksandrów Łódzki), all of them seats of famous Hasidic rabbis. Wodziński in his comprehensive study (2016) analyses the impact of individual courts, measuring it with the numbers and an extent of the network of shtiblekh – Figure 3.31. Hasidism did not have a centralised structure; it consisted of several selforganised bottom-up movements which concentrated around leaders. With time, as Assaf (2006) asserts, since the nineteenth century, Hasid groups used

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 155

Figure 3.31  The impact of individual courts, measured with the numbers of networks of shtiblekh (Wodziński 2016). 1. Number of shtiblekh of a given court, 2. pre-war voivodeship borders, 3. pre-war county borders, 4. places where Jews lived, 5. elaboration extent.

to be identified with dynasties and named after the towns and villages where they emerged. The influence of individual courts depended on the leaders’ charisma and, as Wodziński (2016) proves, the type of leadership. Their followers remained dispersed in many locations, where they formed small or larger groups focused around their distinct prayer houses. The centres which managed to find out methods of remote worships, not based on frequent personal contact with a tsadik, could easily maintain a network of distant shtiblekh, contrary these based on strong personal ties usually worked in

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much smaller, regional scale. Wodziński also points at the various economic status of adherents of Hasidic centres; wealthy merchants able to travel far usually supported more popular tsadiks, benefiting from network of distant contacts, contrary pourer craftsmen or tradesmen preferred closer tsadiks, who mattered to their direct needs. A whole spectrum of variations remained in between these two situations. The extents of the Hasidic courts’ spheres of influence in the interwar period remained strongly correlated with the political borders of the earlier partitions. This observation proves the movement’s conservatism on the one hand and the strength of the partitions on the other. The latter was retained in the distinctive features of the followers, including, as Wodziński (2016) explains, their ‘socio-economic status, networks of economic cooperation, or the inclusion and exclusion of various social groups, especially women and paupers’. While the sphere of influence of Hasidic courts remained unchanged geographically, the character of its audience underwent significant transformations. In particular, the mentioned exclusion of women would have been impossible in light of the Hasidism impact on domestic life. Another reason Wodziński points for the durability of the image of Hasidic spheres of influence stemmed from the crisis of the movement itself. New groups which formed between wars, like these in Bobowa, Piaseczno or Radomsko, were not capable of altering the former conditions. The two dominant groups, the one of Ger and the one of Aleksandrów, competed. The ‘dynastic model’ was represented by the dynasties of Przysucha (the courts in Biała, Parysow, Międzyrzec), of Kock (the courts in Kock, Sokołow, Puławy) and of Warka (the courts in Warka-Otwock, Mszczonow, Skierniewice) (Wodziński 2016). Wodziński (2016) observes that the popularity of specific groups may be represented by a Pareto curve, which confirms the thesis on the self-organisation character of the movement. 3.5.4  The neighbourhood level This concluding section focuses on the neighbourhood as a primary character area. It offers an introduction to the case study analysis and reveals the way how the towns investigated in the following chapter have been chosen. The methods which make it possible to read the urban forms against their cultural background complement the description. The diachronic aspects of urban tissue transformations remain at the centre of attention. Next, the primary research questions are introduced, which refer to a distinct spatial order, proxemics, and sociometric layout. Each town and neighbourhood, in the case of larger urban centres, featured its own specific characteristics. In short, the idiosyncrasies of the towns and neighbourhoods and the impact of Jewish culture were a result of: • •

tradition, history and the conditions of growth, e.g., type of property; duration of Jewish habitation in a given town;

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• • • •

size; professional specialisation of a town; presence of religious movements, religious institutions and the like; location.

The approach applied in the current volume includes different perspectives in a single model and enables a comprehensive description of the processes occurring in urban settings. In such a spatial, social and cultural pluralism, human intentionality and socio-spatial emergence are central (Portugali 2000, p.142). Shifting the perspective from the top-down planning and taking into account the bottom-up changes and small-scale transformations, we gain new insights. The theory of self-organisation (Portugali 2000) assumes that individual preferences and intentions and actual behaviour and actions correlate. The focus is on individuals and their personal choices and values. The ensuing everyday habits of Jewish citizens endow the neighbourhood structures they once inhabited with long-gone meanings, an information layer revealing how daily life unfolded. It is acknowledged that Jewish communities in pre-war Poland represented an example of a self-organising society with its cultural complexity. The mapping of this complexity at the scale of the neighbourhood is a challenge, a method for which has been addressed in the current chapter. The above considerations are in line with the empirical studies of the relations between Jews and Poles, especially in the major cities, where more complex socio-cultural processes could occur. This is also one of the possible paths for the further development of this research. Both the everyday life and the approach to materiality were, in the case of Jews, defined by their attitude towards two issues: religion and modernity. Moreover, as Schlör (2008, p.227) points out, topics related to place and space appear in many aspects of Jewish studies, not only in religion but also in history and literature. However, the popular perception leaves them outside the main current of interest. According to Mann (2006), the Talmud ‘identifies and debates what are clearly defining characteristics of the conception and practice of space and (concrete) place: distance, measurement, size, juxtaposition’, which justifies attempts to investigate the distinct ‘Jewish’ character of sites formerly inhabited by Jews. We need to revisit them, taking into account the diversity in occupations and lifestyles. Furthermore, while shifting the perspective to include self-organising practices and temporary transformations, their assessment shall be reconsidered. Whereas some of the bottom-up practices are often described in historical sources or literature in a pejorative tone, as land speculation, uncontrolled urbanisation, or unregulated alterations, they brought about solutions to the real problems of the times. Moreover, many of these spontaneous and often severely criticised activities were initiated to satisfy the pressing needs of the Jewish community.

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3.5.4.1  Community profile What we should recognise at the outset is that Jewish neighbourhoods were not homogenous, on the contrary, they differed as much as Jewish culture itself at a time. Although some towns and neighbourhoods featured similar qualities, other specific elements did not repeat. The choice of case studies was, therefore, to present a range of communities belonging to different sections of Jewish society. ORTHODOX COMMUNITIES

The largest group of Jews in Poland during the interwar period lived in the former Kingdom of Poland, most of them continuing their traditional lifestyles. Among them, a large group of the assimilated wealthy bourgeoisie contributed to the region’s economic development. Regardless of their income, Orthodox or Hasidic groups usually continued their lifestyles in the neighbourhoods that had developed earlier, during the partition period or previously. These highly urban, orthodox communities cultivated the nineteenth-century ceremonies and customs; the traditions established earlier, in pre-modern, pre-partition Poland flourished. The life of the Jewish society could not, however, remain entirely unchanged in the situation of the transforming state. The already explained term of ‘defensive modernisation’ (Wehler 1987, after Wodziński 2007) applies here. Whereas some of the depictions by prewar historians may seem outdated in the light of the recent research, they still define this internal self-order which remained an underground current and provided reference. For instance, Bałaban (1906, p.521, emphasised by Król 1992, p.453), writing about the historical events, admitted: ‘Subsequent ceremonies such as name-giving, a feast at home, etc., were held just as they are today’. By the same token, Król (1992, p.455) claims that essential factors which influenced lifestyles were religion, beliefs and culture, all of which required necessary facilities: ‘Life in Judaism was very rigidly programmed by religious regulations. After birth, childhood, and the attainment of majority, a Jew was obliged to contract marriage and to have children, who in turn ought to be well prepared to their future roles as wives and mothers or husbands and fathers of subsequent generations’. While the acculturation progressed, the role of religion and family diminished, many women worked, married couples divorced, etc., the ideal (or idealised) framework which provided reference persisted as a paradigm and an inherent element of the otherwise dialectic development. The high context culture also determined many spatial behaviours, and was reflected in the presence of several specialised edifices and the surrounding arrangement of buildings and accompanying spaces. At the same time, various patterns often overlapped, and not only in space. The results of modernisation manifested in human attitudes and behaviours; even a single person could act as a successful industrialist, a factory owner and, at the same time, perform leading functions in the orthodox community – take the example

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of Jacob Lejb Mincberg, who remained the president of Łódź kahal until the German invasion in 1939. Shapiro (1993, p.315) describes him in the following words: ‘In his drive and aggressiveness as both a businessman and a political leader, Mincberg embodied the characteristic nervous energy, creative enterprise and ambitiousness of the stereotypical Lodzer. Mentsh who had built Lodz into the textile centre of the vast Russian empire. A devoted follower of the Gerer Rebbe, Mincberg was at the same time very much of the European businessman’. People with different views and attitudes towards religion and politics were commonly present, not just in a single tenement but also a single family. Usually, adherents of a given rabbi used the same shtiblekh and lived nearby, although, in the same neighbourhood, there could easily be two different sthiblekh and a prayer house of a traditional orthodox group, which gathered opponents of Hasidism (Singer 1966, p.214). While the vast number of historical, demographic and social studies provide an exhaustive picture of Jewish presence in Poland, the descriptions of urban environments often focus only on those aspects of Jewish life which featured the strongest links with the past. The numerous studies concerning the culture of Jewish emigrants from the areas of Eastern Europe deal with the characteristic features of the life in small towns, villages and sometimes even districts of bigger cities, defining them under the same notion of ‘the shtetl’ (Zborowski and Herzog 1995, Ertel 2011). The traditional, or, as it was called starting from the turn of the nineteenth century, the orthodox Jewish culture which was once present in central Poland, represents a valuable case study to illustrate how different cultures interpreted the same space in a distinctive way. ACCULTURATION

The levels of acculturation, education, or belonging to a particular professional or social group, the intelligentsia for instance, or coming from the same location, e.g., Litvaks, who arrived from the Pale of Settlement at the end of the nineteenth century, strongly affected the choice of a place for living. As a result, some quarters where Jews lived revealed a yet more specific character, with meanings only understood by members of a limited group of people. Acculturation, however, was an overarching factor which influenced the lives of individuals. Its impact manifested itself in two ways. First, Jews adjusted their customs to the surrounding culture and progressively polonised themselves, which was prevalent in the rural areas and among poorer and middle-class groups and usually lacked an ideological background. Second, the Haskalah and Jewish Enlightenment movement forced changes based on a strong ideological background. The second thread was far more visible in cities, especially within large Progressive Judaism communities. As Polonsky (2014) proves, the results of the census of 1921, namely the discrepancy between two values: the one on declared religion and the one on

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declared nationality, indicate the level of acculturation. Taking into account the availability of Polish language education, which catered to the majority of Jewish children between the wars, this may be true, as the numbers indicating Jewish nationality were usually much lower than those citing Jewish religion; in the current study, the latter is to be assumed a decisive factor. The majority of observant Jews declared Polish nationality, the fact which by turn facilitated integration, and one which also manifested itself in the form of the spatial environment. As has already been said, it is no longer possible to examine in detail the socio-cultural distribution of the diversified Jewish community, due to the time that has since passed. The most viable manifestations of heterogenous Jewish communities developed in the two biggest cities of the region: Warsaw and Łódź. As Kassow (2014, p.251) claims, ‘Jewish Warsaw was a diverse mosaic: middle-class Polish speakers, Hasidim, Litvak migrants in search of economic opportunity’. In the current book, the heterogeneity has been presented for Łódź, ‘a Jewish metropolis’, and based on the disposition of institutions belonging to the particular fractions of the Jewish society. Usually, these edifices were situated in the core of the area belonging to a given group. The example of Płock, where the oldest Jewish community in this region functioned since the beginning of the 12e century, represented a similar divergence. 3.5.4.2  Community institutions Goldberg-Mulkiewicz (1992, pp.389–398) points out a perception of Jewish heritage in the recollections of Jews who escaped the Holocaust. The plans attached to Books of Memory, drawn post-factum, show elements of the urbanscape both of Jewish and Polish provenience. The authors of these images included all the key landmarks. There were depictions of such buildings and facilities as: a synagogue, churches, monastery, a cemetery (both Jewish and Polish), statues, the town’s well, the town’s market, a town hall, a post office, railway station, industrial plants, both police and fire station, pharmacy, hospital, the house of the local physician, a sports field, park, cinema, and the like. The focus, however, remained usually on typically Jewish facilities: a synagogue, Hasidic prayer houses, prayer houses of various professional groups, a house of a rebbe, Hasidic court, local beit midrash – study hall, yeshiva, ritual bath, kosher abattoir, kosher bakery. Apart from religious institutions, the depictions portrayed community establishments, both social and political, including: an orphanage, hospital, hospice. Less commonly there were also places where youth organisations met, a Jewish library and the offices of Jewish political parties. In some plans, their authors marked all buildings inhabited by Jews. The gentile world was represented by buildings which offered services to the community of a town as a whole. This review indicates the role of religion, which has always been central to everyday Jewish life. The proximity of religious buildings was indispensable, as on the Sabbath day they had to be within walking distance. The

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concentration of orthodox Jews around religious edifices remains a characteristic feature of this religion, though it is not as imperative as it once was (Diamond 2008). The specific form of these buildings, especially referring to the interior layout, was defined by religious regulations. The role of the synagogue and prayer houses and their development through the ages has been extensively described in the preceding chapters. They belonged to the sphere of sacrum and satisfied the community requirements of religious beliefs and study. A synagogue, beit knesset in Hebrew, shul in Yiddish, played an essential role for the diaspora, providing a place of gathering for the local Jewish community. The beginnings of the synagogue can be traced back to the times of the Second Temple; it should be recognised, however, that a synagogue performed a different role. The position of the Temple was unique for the sacrifices performed there that ended when the Second Temple was destroyed in 70 A.D. (Piechotka and Piechotka 2015). The synagogue remained a place of gathering, of study and of religious meetings, it concentrated the religious life of a community. A detailed study on the relations between the edifice of the house of assembly and the surrounding urban fabric for central Poland still awaits to be attempted, similar to the studies on the role a synagogue performed and its placement for Western Europe (Snyder 2013) and for Central Europe28. The role of a synagogue, distinct from that of a temple, influenced the way how the Jewish communities approached it. Regardless of the compulsory postulate of the Talmud that a temple should tower above secular buildings, also in its physical sense (Zwoliński 2004, p.107), its use and local requirements usually made synagogues smaller than Christian churches and often not much greater than the surrounding housing. The edifice rarely dominated its neighbourhood, very often being hidden in a courtyard. Not performing the same role as Christian churches, it did not try to compete with them. Instead, it was traditionally more a place of gathering where Jewish community held all their ceremonies and meetings. With time, the functions of synagogues spread to several separate buildings, distributed around a single court or along a street. The unique arrangement of these buildings, connected to the religious life of a community, usually included the presence of a large internal square and was modelled on the most famous example of Jewish sacral complexes in Eastern Europe, the schulhof of Vilna (Spodenkiewicz 1999, p.30). With the transformations within a religious community, synagogues started acquiring more exposed positions, commonly becoming a landmark in a street’s facade. Often beautifully decorated, they were surrounded by courtyards, with other community buildings grouped around. The appearance of a synagogue changed along with the transformation within Judaism and the development of Haskalah. The monumental synagogues erected by the proponents of the Enlightenment movement – habitually called temples – were usually situated in a way similar to Christian churches – amidst large square, in well exposed spots. The catalogue of buildings situated close to a synagogue comprised mikveh, a house of prayer and a study hall – beit midrash, or

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a private kloyz, religious schools and educational institutions, and a library. Mikveh – a ritual bath, was used for spiritual purification (Rapoport 2014, pp.15–16). Cemetery with funeral home completed the list of essential places serving the religious purposes of traditional Judaism. With the development of the Hasidic cult, the role of the synagogue diminished, ceding some of its functions to multiple shtiblekh, which were places gathering followers of a particular tsadik. The shtiblekh’s location varied from a single rented room in a tenement to a separate building. Often it was just a free-standing hut or a shed in a courtyard, not always in good conditions (Wodziński 2016, p.65). What is worth noticing is that while attitudes towards religion and Jewish tradition were decisive factors in influencing the worldview and everyday habits of individuals in the community, more secular Jews remained attracted by the notion of community. The practices of gathering, spending time and studying together were widespread amongst those who had decided to abandon their religious norms and customs. As Kassow (2014, p.283) puts it: Despite differences in ideology, there were striking similarities between the youth movements. Most had a room, a lokal, which was their local meeting place, and a library. No generation in Jewish history read as intensely and voraciously as the young Jews of interwar Poland The Jewish communities in Warsaw, Łódź, Płock, Radom and many small and larger towns and villages unquestionably left their mark on their architectural landscape. Much of this was a reflection of the material wealth of several of the more successful individuals. Economic prosperity was a way to achieve social status in Jewish society in general, as Zborowski and Herzog (1995) emphasised: ‘the shtetl stereotype of the virtuous man is not the self-denying saint (…)’. The Jewish entrepreneurial spirit is, for instance, visible in the professional structure in pre-war Łódź (Puś 2005). The positive attitude towards economic affluence is also evident in the creed of ‘worship through corporeality’, which allowed the movement of Polish Hasidim to achieve generous patronage within the Jewish mercantile elite, whose way of life, economic prosperity and investments were considered positive in the light of their beliefs (Dynner 2006). Success enabled further investment, and one of the most worthwhile investments was the construction of tenements for lease or to improve the living standards of oneself or one’s family, which happened both in the major cities and, following their example, on a lesser scale in smaller surrounding towns. The traces of Jewish prosperity remained also in the form of manufacturers’ residences and their factories, especially in Łódź. The richer citizens were also obliged to spend money on communal life, charity being a traditional and indispensable element of Jewish identity, fostered both at the level of customs and institutions. Participation in communal funds was obligatory for wealthier members of the community, and sometimes imposed forcibly. Wodziński (2016) describes the way the Bełz shtibl

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in Chełm gabaim (the synagogue trustees) used to collect prayer shawls (talis) of all present during prayers, blocking the entry door and then getting the due money in return from those who owned them. Thanks to exceptional self-organisation and charity, many secular buildings were erected, including schools and the buildings of educational societies, hospitals and public institutions. Most of the studies on the material heritage of Polish Jews focus on the presence of characteristic edifices belonging to this culture (e.g., Rykała and Kulesza 2009, pp.209–210, Wesołowski 2009, Bergman 1991, 2009). Among secular buildings which are listed as traces of the presence of Jews, there are schools and buildings of educational societies, premises of different public institutions, and what remained after former industrial grandeur: manufacturers’ residences, and factories. A closer look at the location of community institutions, both religious and secular, gives us a chance to recognise the spatial distribution of various Jewish groups, which in the current book has been attempted for Łódź. Tenements have seldom attracted attention, even though the prevailing urban structure consisted mainly of this type of building. In the current study, the location of dwellings and properties of the most prosperous Jewish entrepreneurs completes the picture. 3.5.4.3  Transformations of urban structures Whitehand and Larkham (2000) and Vilagrasa (2000) focus their morphological analyses on the process of the transformation of urban structures. They investigate such elements as: scale of transformations, changes of land use, parcellation systems, public spaces, dynamics of building replacements and the agents involved in the implementation of these changes. In this light, the role of Jews in the transformations of urban fabric requires re-examining. The unfounded stereotype attributes the limitation of the activities of Jewish citizens in the adaptation of former layouts to their needs to the lack of deep attachment to place. A real reason could be that governance at the local level remained the domain of Polish or, earlier, Russian authorities. Jews were not allowed to introduce any substantial changes, especially in the plan dimension and in the public realm. Nevertheless, the existing research proves the scale of their agency (e.g., for Łódź, Rynkowska 1970); and it is clear that Jews significantly transformed the parts of towns they lived in. When we overlap the information on the main concentrations of Jews in towns with their plans, and, additionally, we consider the development in its diachronic perspective, it becomes visible that it was the Jewish presence which made the layout of the preceding medieval charter towns grow in their vertical dimension. They usually adapted the former parcellation schemes, and replaced the structures following the contemporary modes of construction. While the medieval past remains in the plans of Polish towns, preserved in the streets and parcellation scheme (Kulesza 2011), the attributing of the

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three-dimensional form of those same settings to the Middle Ages is a misinterpretation, most of them being utterly transformed, starting from the nineteenth century. The urban blocks became replaced with new, masonry structures, e.g., in Brzeziny near Łódź, in Zgierz or in Łódź Old Town. The medieval layout was preserved, but they did not adhere to the medieval appearance of the structures. Wooden single-story family houses were replaced with taller, masonry ones, this way giving the former villages an urban character. The reasons for these transformations included: • • •

the government’s requirements to assure better quality and more representative buildings next to the main commercial areas of a town; the requirements for protection against fire; significant population growth among the Jewish community itself; houses inhabited by Jews often had significant overcrowding, with several people per one single flat.

When constructions were wooden, they often burnt down; this was, for instance, the case of Falenica’s Handlowa Street. These transformations continued until World War I and in the interwar period, with the evolution of the forms from one-floor, single-family, wooden houses to the much more urban form of tenements with several floors. This process is illustrated in the current book with the example of Brzeziny’s main market square (currently Plac Jana Pawła II). Many buildings erected in this period have been preserved; they comprise the general character of these parts of towns, being significantly different from other areas. The transformation processes which affected these neighbourhoods during World War II and continued after, and which obliterated the former idiosyncrasy, prove the influence of utterly different forces, including, amongst others, cultural differences. 3.5.4.4  Analytical methodology Conzenian method (Conzen 2004), developed further by other researchers (e.g., Whitehand and Larkham 2000, Whitehand 2001), approached urban fabric in their plan aspects against the economic and social background, looking for the relations between the town, its inhabitants and the dynamics of its construction (Vernez Moudon 1997, p.4). This methodology belongs to the field of historical geography. The Polish school of urban morphology continues this tradition, as has been emphasised in the methodology section. The analysis of plans against their economic and social backdrop is the starting point of the current research. The development of Modernism as an international style set back the tradition of morphological analyses, which was in opposition to its basic assumptions (Rykwert 2004, pp.4–6). This is one of the reasons why

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architectural research methodology lagged behind. In the current work, I attempt to fill in the gap indicated by Bandini (2000, p.133) and relate the form of urban structures, and particularly the public realm, to their situation based context. In further considerations, I draw upon the theory of perception of the urban landscape by Lynch (1960, 1994), with its five fundamental features: nodes, landmarks, paths, regions, and edges. I use the terminology developed by Lynch (1994), and Lynch & Rodwin (1991), which contains both of the elements of ‘adopted spaces’ and of the system of the space of flows – in other words, of the network of open spaces: streets, squares and pedestrian passages. The subject of the analysis is, first of all, the form of public space, featuring both the plan and its third dimension, represented by sections and views of streets’ facades. Moreover, the sequences of vistas along a path and the character of development are considered. Attention is given to elements such as the series of views, proximity, scale related to human dimensions and the presence of defined, enclosed spaces. The essential features of an urban environment include local colour, textures, volume and character. A comprehensive set of features allowing for the characteristics of physical structures, including culture-related features, which was developed by Hall (1966) and Rapoport (1990, pp.106–107) and already discussed in the methodology section of the current book, was a useful reference. An examination of the character of urban spaces which do not exist in their original form consists of a study of archive photographs and footage. The concept of habitus developed by Panerai et al (2009) assumes that urban structures have the capacity to enhance the repetitiveness of everyday practices, space becomes a record of daily events, which, with time, influences actual future events continuing in the same location. This way, analysis of the current functions of those spaces which have changed little since pre-war times gives us hints on their former uses. The detailed examination of people’s everyday practices and habits against their underlying norms, allowed me to relate features both with regard to urban structures and specific spatial practices and behaviours. This scrutiny should address the following elements: 1 physical features, including distribution, shape and size of forms defining the space; 2 the distribution and behaviour of users of this space, which reflect their social order; 3 the flow of human movement, which finds its reflection in the sociometric layout of a given place. The information layer relates the appearance of urban public spaces to the cultural characteristics of a community. Analysis needs to address the semiotics of urbanscapes in the detailed scale of enclosures, such as streets

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or squares. To answer this requirement, elements of the index key method, drawing upon the writings of Wejchert (1984), have been applied to the geometrical analyses of public spaces. It includes the examination of streets and squares profiles and urban silhouettes. Quantitative parameters describing the form of space have been measured for several case studies located in Łódź and in Brzeziny, such as central angle, corrugation and regularity. In order to automatise this process, the algorithmic method has been applied. The understanding of the relations between the patterns of everyday life and the social habits of a community needs contemporary analytical tools. First, the initial research enabled the selection of cases that featured a high population of Jews. At the same time, they represented different classes and varied significantly, including the way how the structure could be mapped. The type of geometry applied at the scale of the neighbourhood depended on the distribution of individual features; it could be either concise (represented by polygons of urban blocks or singular buildings), linear (streets) or scattered and punctual (loosely dispersed individual buildings or heritage sites). The primary level was a single neighbourhood, with character rendered through analyses of such features as culture-related notions of rhythms and sociometric layouts. The heuristic method of highlighting the elements of urban environments which were essential for a given case has been used. The theory, based on the anthropological concept of meaning, supported the classification and understanding. The quest for its reflection in spatial order as a feature attributed to physical forms of urban structures is central to this approach. 3.5.4.5  Spatial order – research assumptions In the current volume, I examine the situations where different cultures overlapped in space in four case studies of Jewish neighbourhoods in central Poland. The analyses proved differences in perception of spatial order and, as a consequence, the presence of distinctive physical forms. The subjects have been formal features of outdoor spaces, i.e., their scale, rhythms, corrugation of facades, and the like. The overlapping of cultural patterns at the neighbourhood level led to a mixing of aesthetic preferences, which, together with varying economic capacities, expressed themselves in a variety of forms. The adherence to religion groups explains, for example, the presence of decent tenements next to shanty structures, built with the cheapest available materials, e.g., in Łódź Old Town. While constructed and belonging to Jews, Germans or Poles, all these buildings were inhabited solely or in the majority by Jews who preferred staying close to their synagogue and participating actively in the life of a community. This diversity occurred in all Jewish neighbourhoods and was reflected in the form of the facades of streets and squares, with their divergent silhouettes, which contained buildings of all possible heights. This particular feature, which I consider also an expression

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of different aesthetic preferences, will be discussed more in the following case study section referring to Łódź and Brzeziny. One of reasons which needs to be emphasised when considering the redevelopment of Jewish districts, as early as in the second half of the eighteen century, is their assumed disorder. As has been already broadly discussed in the previous chapters, the redevelopment of towns, a part of a broader action aiming at the recovery of the Polish state, was an attempt to strengthen the state and to abandon the obsolete feudal structure. When discussing the urban structures of Jewish districts, most authors continue using features attributed to these settings since the sixteenth century, including: overcrowding, chaotic distribution, fragmentation, parcellation changes, and the like (Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, p.63). Poverty and overcrowding were for all that also present in other neighbourhoods of a similar social status. Marcus (1983, p.231, after Mendelssohn 1989) asserts that the real problem for Jews in the interwar period was Polish poverty and Jewish overpopulation: ‘The Jews in Poland were poor because they lived in a poor, underdeveloped country. Discrimination added only marginally to their poverty’. Not questioning the problems which persisted as a consequence of poverty and overcrowding, a part of this chaos, apparent to those who assess it, may result from a different perception of spatial order. The transformation of the former parcellation, explicit in the plans of towns inhabited by Jews at the turn of the eighteenth century, may have been a cultural issue, an element of the separate social organisation. Next to the apparent disorder which emerged as an expression of heterogeneous lifestyles, economic status and needs within the Jewish society, the character of outdoor spaces was determined by its functions. Hillier and Hanson (1984, p.27) refer to the usage of space, the patterns of behaviour appropriate for different communities as the determinants of the final shape of urban fabric: ‘Throughout the social grouping, a similar family of characteristic spatial themes is reproduced and through its repetition we recognise ethnicity in space. (…) Different types of social formation, it would appear, require a characteristic spatial order, just as different types of spatial order require a particular social formation to sustain them’. Historically, the role of the community – strong, practically independent from the town’s regulations – used to function separately from the surrounding town, even if well integrated into its structure and catering to the needs of a town’s citizens and visitors. This position had its reflection in the urban structure, with interior space within Jewish quarters, seemingly unordered and uninviting to gentiles, for Jews serving as extensions of their dwellings and space of interior circulation, the last observation confirmed with the tradition of eruv, distinguishing private space during Sabbath and holidays. The way space was used changed together with the arrival of Jews, from one more fragmented and linear, into one of a more concentric nature. New connections developed around typically Jewish focal points: synagogue or beit midrash, a market place and place of dwelling. The issues of the location and

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layout of the Jewish quarters analysed in all the discussed case studies has its main attention on two; Łódź and Góra Kalwaria (Ger). A few hypotheses have been made concerning the relation between the established behaviour patterns of a given culture and the urban settings – their habitus. Some of these practices have been continued ever since, even if the community which initially organised the space has long been gone. What has been preserved in many locations formerly used by Jews is their commercial character. The persisting environment favours this thanks to such features as irregularity of streets’ facades, numerous gaps, setbacks and protrusions enriching the edge, all of which provide the opportunity to install stalls, kiosks, and the like. The provision of such spaces encourages people to stop, rest, linger. Formerly, their abundance enabled the location of numerous types of outdoor, commercial furniture. Some retail facilities are still erected in many such spots, continuing the past use. The research by Whyte (2009) confirms the observation concerning attractiveness for passer-byes of elements distributed in the outdoor space. Cullen (2008, pp.103–105) describes this phenomenon using the example of the poultry cross in Salisbury, the function of which was to provide a temporary shelter for pedestrians. In our case, such a role, though less formal, was fulfilled by outhouses and stalls. Their presence facilitated transactions, presentations of goods, etc. In the past, even more equipment enhanced the functioning of lively and well-attended neighbourhoods. Still, however, the remaining elements give hints on the former use. The commercial aspects of Jewish quarters also remain explicit in other specific features. The network of streets, usually denser than in other parts of a town, facilitates the continuity of former uses too. Together with additional passages and gates leading to courtyards, they serve a range of services. Of course, claims based on the holistic picture of past urban environments would be an over-exaggeration. The Jewish life at the time concentrated in three main spheres emerging around the main nodes of everyday life. As has already been said, sacrum –  religious spaces – were represented by a synagogue, house of study, ritual bath, profanum – space of services – concentrated around work – and was represented by a market place, and domicile – in the twentieth century represented by a backyard. The above observations provide the framework for our further considerations in the case studies section. The study of spatial patterns in different cultures and their relations with the material environment is further complemented by the proxemic analysis of scale and spaces for circulation.

Notes 1. Access courtesy of the Topografie Society. 2. The authors quoted the research by Condran and Preston (1994, after Botticini, Eckstein and Vaturi 2016) who studied various ethnic groups in the US in the period 1910–1920. 3. The detailed explanations of the sources of all the given data are revealed in the original research.

Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 169

4. The first to elaborate on the topic of development of the Hasidism in the Congress Kingdom was Schipper (1992) in his book written in the tragic circumstances of the Warsaw ghetto. 5. Polonsky proposes distribution of the Hebrew group among Polish and Yiddish group in order to assess the acculturation levels, however, the percentage may also be interpreted literally, as a declaration of political, ideological views. 6. The Academy of Poznań developed, according to our very limited knowledge, in the midst of the fifteenth century, thanks to the arrival of the prominent German scholar Moses Mintz. 7. Jews were expelled from England in 1290, from France in 1394, from numerous districts in Germany, Italy, the Balkan peninsula between 1350 and 1450, and from Spain and Portugal at the end of the fifteenth century. 8. Sources of data in population charts: http://sztetl.org.pl, GUSRP (1925), Komisja Rządowa Spraw Wewnętrznych i Policji (1827), www.jewishgen.org. Additional sources are listed next to figures. 9. Source: https://sztetl.org.pl/pl/miejscowosci/o/500-ozorkow/113-zabytki-kulturymaterialnej/27915-dzielnica-zydowska-w-ozorkowie, access 12.12.2021. 10. Source: https://sztetl.org.pl/pl/media/86311-synagoga-w-ozorkowie-widok-od-stronyfasady?ref=art&nid=87719, access 12.12.2021. 11. Source: http://ozorkow.info.pl/miasto/miasto-historia-miasta, access 06.09.2016. 12. Kalinowski (1998, p.54) quotes the following plans: Radomsko 1818, Sochaczew 1820, Jeżów 1821, Tarczyn 1822, Przybyszew 1822, Wieluń 1823, Stanisławów, Wolbórz, Sulejów 1824, Wiskitki, Szczerców, Błonie 1825, Góra Kalwaria, Kutno 1826, Piotrków 1827, Grójec 1829. 13. Information on industrial towns and their foundation after Dumała (1988, pp. 110–119); data on the creation of a Jewish community and Jewish population based on the Museum of Polish Jews Virtual Sztetl site, http://www.sztetl.org. pl/, and Słownik geograficzny (…) (1880-1914). Data referring to the year 1827 comes from Rodecki (1830, p.4), except for Ozorków*) data after Tabella Miast Wsi, Osad Królestwa Polskiego, z wyrażeniem ich położenia i ludności of 1827, in 1827 the total population of Ozorków was 3250. Data for 1921 completed with census results. 14. sztetl.org.pl, accessed 08.07.2016 15. ibid. 16. Dąbie, Przedecz, Konin, Brdów, Koło and Turek, Janów and Kluczbork are located outside the territory discussed in this book. The impact of government planning at the time extended to Greater Poland and beyond. 17. Similar houses were also constructed at the turn of the eighteenth and nineteenth century in the private town of Białaczów (Kalinowski 1998, p.58). 18. 1 After Missalowa (1964, p.139), 2 after Dumała (1974, p.227), 3 after Missalowa (1964, p.154). 19. http://www.jewishgen.org/Yizkor/pinkas_poland/pol1_00094a.html 20. ‘In order to prevent the damaging concentration of Jews in Konstantynów, it is established that the municipal office will accept as residents of the town only those who present residency permits signed by the mayor’. – Translation cited after Encyclopaedia of Jewish Communities in Poland 1976. 21. The village was then called Pańska Wola after http://www.jewishgen.org/Yizkor/ pinkas_poland/pol1_00111.html 22. Jędrzej Śniadecki was a professor of the Vilno University. The mentioned words come from ‘Jędrzej Śniadecki jako działacz społeczny. Mowa rektorska wypowiedziana do Akademii dnia 30 czerwca 1938 r. w Teatrze Miejskim w Wilnie ku uczczeniu 100-letniej rocznicy zgonu Jędrzeja Śniadeckiego, in Rocznik Uniwersytetu Stefana Batorego w Wilnie, 1937-1938, p.224, after Bergman (2002, p.90). 23. AGAD, CWW, file No.1410 pp. 95, 96, after Bergman 2002, p.92.

170  Depicting the complexity of Jewish settlements 24. Jadów was one of the towns founded in 1823, after Dumała 1988, p.112. 25. Another exemption was Suchedniów in the East Mining District (outside the area of interest of the current work). 26. After Dzieje żyrardowskich Żydów 1874–1945 http://www.sztetl.org.pl/pl/article/ zyrardow/5,historia/?action=view&page=1, accessed 07.07.2016 27. 4,566 people but only 608 Christians according to the Memorial Book of Kałuszyn, translated and published in jewishgen.org 28. Typology of synagogues of Central and Eastern Europe elaborated by Prof. Rudolf Klein, presented as part of an Exhibition ‘Synagogues of Central and Eastern Europe 1782–1944’ in the Jewish Historical Institute in Warsaw in October 2015.

4

Case studies

4.1 Łód ź (Lodz) The case study addresses the settings where Jews lived in Łódź in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The focus is on the levels of integration and acculturation and how they relate to features peculiar to this culture in the urban structure. The collected data offers a static image of the urban landscape in the interwar period against the temporal dynamics of the Jewish presence in Łódź since the end of the eighteenth century. As has already been stated, Łódź, together with its suburbs and neighbouring towns, was the centre of the nineteenth-century textile industry in Poland and developed from the co-existence of four cultures: Polish, German, Jewish and Russian; each of which played a different role in the town’s growth. This urban organism can be seen, after Guesnet (2015), as a prototype of the modern metropolis, with its blend of cultures and lifestyles. The spatial distribution of these four nations was uneven. While on the whole, the population was mixed, Jewish nationality prevailed in the northern part with the initial nucleus in the Old Town. Jews played an essential part in its development. Analysis of the surviving urban structures in Łódź allows the identification of several threads which can be traced to the wide range of social situations resulting from specifically Jewish lifestyles and mentalities. The section begins with a brief historical introduction, followed by a description of the spatial distribution of Jewish communities of varying levels of acculturation and background. The spatial character is drafted against the changing legal conditions and the development of a town itself. The latter was massive and further strengthened by the growth of suburbs; Bałuty was the one which contributed the most. Based on a review of earlier research on architectural heritage, a study of locations of various types of edifices follows and enables a preliminary identification of the communities across neighbourhoods. Further, I attempt to analyse the distinct ‘Jewish’ character of the places formerly used by Jewish citizens, with the focus on traditional neighbourhoods. The chapter concludes with indications for further research to more fully understand the contemporary urban structure in Łódź regarded as a repository of its previous social content. DOI: 10.4324/9781003204633-4

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4.1.1  History of Łódź Jewry The documents from the chapter house of Wrocław confirm a Jewish presence in Łódź as early as the beginning of the eighteenth century, with no evidence of any non-tolerandis judeorum acts (Friedman 1935, p.23, after Muznerowski 1922, p.54). In 1775, as can be read in the list for the head tax, one Jewish family, consisting of two people, lived in Łódź; they were leaseholder Joachym Zelkowicz and his wife (Friedman 1935, p.23, after Archiwum Główne w Warszawie, Taryfy pogłównego żydowskiego). This information is different to that given by Alperin (1928), who mentions the first Jews only in 1785. The first Jewish families in all parts of the current Łódź, including the adjoining settlements of Bałuty and Chojny, in the initial phase of the town’s development worked as leaseholders of taverns. The town was small at the time and functioned as a place of exchange and services for the surrounding agriculture; its Jewish citizens would have lived in conditions similar to peasants, most likely in the tavern which they were keeping. They initially belonged to the kehillah in Stryków or, later, in Lutomiersk, which meant frequent journeys there. However, the Jewish cemetery in Wesoła Street became a burial place as early as in 1811. In the first period of the development of Łódź it still remained an agricultural settlement, with crops and vegetables cultivated and animals bred. However, among people who dealt with agriculture at this time, we do not find Jewish names. With time, the professional structure of the Jewish inhabitants of Łódź became more varied, with manufacturers and shopkeepers serving the surrounding rural community, as well as Jews who leased taverns in neighbouring villages. Nevertheless, Łódź, a small rural town of medieval provenance, hidden in the surrounding forest, was still comprised of wooden, single-floor buildings. The first synagogue, erected for the kehillah, which started in 1809, was a small building also made of wood. These first structures have not been preserved, and the Nazis demolished the last remnants of wooden houses like those inhabited by the first Jewish citizens of Łódź during World War II (Popławska 1992, p.9). The initially low influx of the Jewish population to Łódź before the end of the eighteenth century was the effect of the economic stagnation (Pus ́ 2003, p.11). This lack of interest continued, even though Łódź remained the property of Wroclaw bishops, and there were no legal limitations for Jews settling there (Friedman 1935, p. 22). The economic development took place initially under Prussian rule until 1806, when Łódź became a government town, and then in the period of the Duchy of Warsaw – under Polish government administration. It contributed to the considerable growth of the population – in the years 1793–1808, it was above twofold: from 191 to 434 persons. In this time, the number of Jews in Łódź grew five times: from 11 to 58 persons (Pus ́ 2003, p.11). The conclusion about the economic development of the settlement as the main factor inducing the Jewish population to settle in Łódź is vital for further consideration (Baranowski 1980, p.140). What is more, the

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regulations of the Constitution of the Duchy of Warsaw, creating the equality of all citizens ‘before the face of law’ did not refer to the Jewish population. Not only was their freedom to move freely limited, but the government introduced an additional policy which aimed to transfer to cities Jews living deep in the countryside. This treatment of the Jewish inhabitants continued in the Kingdom of Poland – from the Congress of Vienna in 1815 until 1862, when Jews were granted full civic rights. Compulsory migrations of former inhabitants of small shtetls and farmlands, who numbered above 30% of the entire Jewish population in the Duchy of Warsaw, became one of the factors which fostered the immigration to cities, among others to Łódź. This also fuelled the Jewish influx to Łódź. The number of Jewish inhabitants in Łódź rose from 98 persons in 1809 to 259 in 1820. The establishment of Nowe Miasto in 1821–1823 by Rajmund Rembieliński launched the development of Łódź as a textile industry centre. The principal octagonal square and rectangular, regular network of large blocks of Nowe Miasto (averaging 230m by 190m in the proximity of Wolności Square) represents Classicist planning at the beginning of the nineteenth century. The plan featured all the typical elements of Classicist design, such as a geometrical framework, regularity, repetitive width of properties and, initially, a repeating house type. Within a short time, further decisions followed. Between 1824 and 1827, plans were made for the industrial settlement Łódka, which extended along the river Jasień, south of the former settlement (Stefański 2016, p.40). Another extension, which took place in 1840, was the creation of Nowa Dzielnica, between the settlement Łódka and the eastern extension of Nowe Miasto (Stefański 2016, p.112). In the initial phase of its development, Jewish settlement was confined to the area of the Old Town. At first, there were no restrictions on their dwelling there, including the central zone; however, with time, the Catholic population raised concerns about dividing Jews from Christians. The situation changed when, on 7th May 1822, the authorities issued the decision on establishing Jewish districts in cities belonging to the government. The authorities of the Mazovian Province initiated this decision as part of the regulation on constructions accompanying the location of the factory settlements (first Nowe Miasto, and then Łódka). In consequence, the decision of the governor of The Congress of Poland of 27th September 1825 established a district for ‘the inhabitants of Moses faith’ in Łódź and obliged all local Jews to move to the appointed zone before 1st July 1827. The zone was laid out in the southern part of Podrzeczna and Wolborska Streets and on the south side of the Old Market (Figure 4.1). The Jewish population at that time numbered 55 families of mostly moderately wealthy merchants and manufacturers. They played a significant role in Łódź’s commerce of textile production and in the development of cottage industry, specifically textile outsourced production. These settlement limitations could be waived for Jews who applied after having satisfied several conditions. Exceptions could be made for those who showed a high income, spoke Polish, French or German fluently, were

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Figure 4.1  The extent of the Jewish zone in Łódź, after: ‘Plan rozszerzenia rewiru z ̇ydowskiego w r. 1841 (ze zbiorów Archiwum Akt Dawnych Miasta Łodzi)’ Map 2 in Friedman (1935) and after ‘Projekt rozprzestrzenienia rewiru na mieszkania dla Starozakonnych w mieście Łodzi w gruntach przez Mieszczan staromiejskich na ten cel przeznaczonych sporządzony w 1859 roku’ Map 3 in Friedman (1935). 1. Locations where Jews could build their houses in 1827, and in 1841, 2 a. the extent of Jewish settlement before the extension of the zone in 1859, b. the extension of the zone after 1859, 3. The pond on the river Łódka, 4. the river Łódka after regulation, 5. pre-war parcellation. I. the synagogue Altshtot in Wolborska Street 20 (1861–1939), Ia. beit midrash, II. the oldest synagogue, Alte Shul, in Wolborska Street 8 (1809–until 1861), III. the first mikveh, IV. the first masonry house constructed in the market square by Kalman Poznański (40s of the nineteenth century), V. house of Jan Andrzejewski with a shop belonging to Kalman Poznański, VI. the first house of Kalman Poznański (1834).

sending children to public schools and did not use ’superficial signs, which so far distinguished the Jewish nation from other citizens’. The latter implied rejecting traditional Jewish clothes. The privilege to choose the place of residence was granted only to persons of high material status, scientists, artists and wealthy merchants (Rynkowska 1960, no 152). In order to settle outside the zone, a significant fortune of 20 000 Polish zloties was required (Rynkowska 1970, p.71). It was also available to Jewish families who had a factory or wholesale warehouse or yarn, or who had acquired a high level of education. Moreover, only two Jewish families could find accommodation in any street outside, including Piotrkowska, despite fulfilling several of the conditions. Additional prohibition concerned the settlement Łódka, where measures were implemented to constrain Jews from buying properties, either houses or parcels. To

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all intents and purposes, the rules restricted Jews from settling outside the zone, and, with the influx of newcomers and population growth, living conditions within the area worsened. Moreover, the Voivodeship Commission interpreted the requirements of the regulations of 1825 in a way which was particularly disadvantageous for Jews. In the document of 1828, they obliged Jewish buyers of properties in the Old Town to immediately replace wooden houses with masonry ones (Friedman 1935, p.52). However, due to limited resources, the replacement could not proceed immediately, and the already existing wooden structures had to accommodate the growing population, which further increased the overcrowding. Economic development was the primary factor attracting subsequent immigrants: in the years 1825–1841, the Jewish population increased fourfold, from 342 to 1359 persons. This resulted in the growth of the inhabitants’ density in the zone and, as a consequence, its enlargement. The first informal extension took place in 1841, when the government committee annotated the project presented by the Mazovian governor Franciszek Potocki. The annotation stated that the Committee ‘confirms that building intended and already begun by the Jewish population in the part of the town of Łódź proposed for spreading of their district, should not be stopped’. The district was then enlarged, including the whole of the Old Town market and the northern part of Podrzeczna and Wolborska Streets, as shown on the plan from 1841. The formal enlargement of the zone took place in 1859, confirmed by a decree of the Administrative Council of the Kingdom of Poland on 12 May 1861. It covered the territories to the east of the Old Market, where four new streets were marked out, as well as parts of the streets: Zgierska, Kos ́cielna and Piotrkowska (currently part of Nowomiejska) and the north side of Północna Street (Figure 4.1). Notwithstanding the overcrowding, at first nobody chose to settle outside the zone, despite the regulations allowing this. This reaction was partly a result of the hostile attitude of artisans, mostly German, who referred to the statutes of Zgierz, where Jewish people were forbidden to settle. In the thirties, only two Jewish families lived on Piotrkowska Street, one of them Ludwik Mamroth, a well-to-do merchant from Kalisz, who, in the 40s, ran a yarn depot in his own house at 193 Piotrkowska Street. Another one was David Lande, also from Kalisz, who owned a foreign yarn depot. In the 1830s, his son continued the family business together with his family in a house at 173 Piotrkowska Street. A further Jewish professional, Adolf Abraham Likiernik, a master dyer, had his workshop in the courtyard of 193 Piotrkowska Street and rented rooms at 107 Piotrkowska Street. He fulfilled all the necessary requirements, referring both to his assets and to education and lifestyle (Rynkowska 1970, p.72). Before 1848, only eight Jewish families lived outside the zone. From 1848 to 1860, a further 40 families received permission, while yet more, 312 Jews, resided in Nowe Miasto without formal approval (Friedman 1935, pp.82–85). The tsar’s proclamation of 1848 facilitated the movement of wealthy and assimilated Jews to Nowe Miasto, although only the actual abolishment of

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all settlement limitations, which took place in 1862, made large scale migration possible. As already stated, on 5 June 1962, Tsar Alexander II signed a ukase defining the rights of the Jewish population. Along with bringing the rights of Jews to access to merchant and artisan corporations in line with others, it liquidated the Jewish zones and cancelled the earlier discrimination against Jews in civil and penal law. Even then, however, Jews still settled in direct proximity to the former zone: in Nowomiejska Street, or next to the New Market (Plac Wolności). The richest looked, however, for a location on Piotrkowska Street, where a few industrial businessmen bought their houses. Amongst this number there were: Samuel Lande (Piotrkowska 7), Adolf Likiernik (Piotrkowska 36), W. Lande and Józef Rosenthal (Piotrkowska 46), Adolf Landau and Majer Ginsberg (Piotrkowska 132) and Szmul Saltzman (Piotrkowska 176) (Rynkowska 1970, p.73). Concurrently to the zone extension in 1853, merchants from Łódź: Szlomo Icchac Bławat and Icchac Birenzweig signed a lease contract with August Zawisza, the owner of Bałuty estate, which, although located outside the administrative borders of Łódź, neighboured it from the north and, with time, became an inherent part of its urban zone. The allotment of the New Bałuty settlement began in 1857. According to Orłowski (1984), ‘its objective was the foundation of a new, industrial settlement which, neighbouring with the Jewish district, would have in it a constant source of cheap and professional labour force’. One could argue with the term ‘industrial settlement’, especially that the same author quotes the statement of the then president of Łódź, Franciszek Traeger, describing the houses, ‘the structure, layout and size of which are conceived as convenient places for craftsmen and merchants’ (Rynkowska 1960, no 130). He thus confirmed the commercial character of the new settlement and pointed at the perfection of the adopted solutions for retail purposes. Initially, August Zawisza hoped that the settlement would be incorporated into Łódź, which the local government refused (Badziak 2017, pp.27–28). In fact, administrators soon found out that the original foundation rules had been obsolete. Therefore, they leased smaller pieces of land than initially planned and deprived of gardens; these properties quickly found lessors among Jewish and German residents of Łódź (ibid, p.26). Soon after, starting from 1865, the properties started being leased in the neighbouring Żubardź colony – the former Żubardź forest, received by Icchac Bławat as enumeration for his engagement in the allotment of Bałuty Nowe (ibid, p.31). The properties there were acquired mostly by Jewish investors. In the report for the gubernatorial government, Traeger stressed the satellite character of the new Bałuty settlement in relation to Łódź, being a prolongation of the town rather than an independent organism, the spontaneity of the new development and its possible competition for Łódź. Both the Nowe Bałuty settlement and Żubardź Colonywere inhabited mainly by poor people, both Jewish and Polish, who earned their living from small-scale trade, home industry and domestic service in Łódź (Pus ́ 2006, p.95, Badziak 2017, pp.26–32). The land properties belonged to all three

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Figure 4.2  Demographic dynamics of the Jewish population in Łódź, up to the 1850s, and after 3. Data for 1809, 1820, 1833, 1844, 1856, 1863, 1869, 1872, 1878, 1881 from Guesnet (1998, p.35, table 3, quoted after Botticini, Eckstein and Vaturi 2016, p.69), 1939 – approximate values after Baranowski (2009).

groups (German, Jewish and Polish), though Germans seldom settled in the neighbourhood. The Jewish district in Łódź, initially restricted to ‘the zone’ was enlarged and with time covered a large part of Bałuty and the north part of the downtown. The enlargement of the territory was a direct consequence of the population growth (Figure 4.2). As has already been stated, the main reason for Jewish immigration was the economic development of Łódź as a textile industry centre (Pus ́ 2006, p. 47), however, political factors also had their impact, especially the change of Jewish status in 1862. Along with the development of industry, Jews migrated in significant numbers to new urban centres from shtetls, with Łódź remaining one of the most popular destination. The immigration of about 10 000 Jews from the northeastern part of the Russian partition – so-called Litvaks, who arrived in Łódź after 1890, fostered the development of commercial contacts with Russia and facilitated export of products to the East. Their arrival indirectly influenced the wealth of the existing residents and its position in the town, allowing them to enlarge their properties outside the district (Puś 2006, p.47). Between 1870 and 1890, the textile industry developed most intensively. The second largest textile factory in Łódź belonged to Izrael Kajman Poznański (1833–1900), whose property was worth as much as circa eight million rubles [20]. Another textile magnate was Oskar Kohn (Aszer Kon) who employed 12 000 workers and produced cotton using the latest technology [1],[2],[3]. Another important factory belonged to Borys and Naum Eitingon [354], [372]. While huge companies employed mainly Poles and Germans, the latter filling high technical posts, Jews worked in small factories, workshops and in commerce, both large scale and retail. It was related to the requirements of Jewish religion, which forbade working on the Sabbath, with the owners of huge factories unable to halt production for two days a

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week in order to celebrate both Sunday and Saturday holidays. This reluctance of employers limited the number of Jewish workers; there were much less than among Poles, and employed chiefly by Jewish firms. In all, the social composition of the Jewish community differed from the Polish one, with the majority belonging to petty bourgeoisie and middle-class burghers. Next to the already listed occupations, several others, with time, became typically Jewish; for instance, most wagon drivers in Łódź were Jewish, their proportion rising over time (Rynkowska 1970, p.64). During World War I, the situation of Jews at first worsened due to the hostile attitude of the Russian army, who perceived Jews as potential enemy agents (Walicki 2009, p.69). Then, during their short occupation, the Germans enlarged the town’s borders, in this incorporating the Bałuty district, and granted citizens more political freedoms. On the other hand, the war brought about an economic crisis, and, too often, the pauperisation of Jewish citizens. The situation of economic stagnation continued through the interwar period, with the Russian markets no longer available for production from Łódź. Only a few of the former large factories survived, many sold out; in this number, the firm of Poznański family, who lost control over their business to the Italian capital. The Eitingon family’s enterprise was an exception, probably due to the international extent of their activities. The firm, which began with fur trading in Russia, during the interwar period, their production was exported to several countries, the USA amongst them, and the firm’s headquarters were in New York. Besides, not many new businesses were started. Jews had to switch to local markets, which together with the severe poverty in Polish society led to general economic stagnation. The demographic dynamics slowed down significantly comparing to the previous period. On the eve of World War II, the Jewish population in Łódź counted circa 233 thousand people, which provided 34.7% of Łódź’s citizens. (Kersz 1999, p.5), Baranowski (2009, p.85) gives a slightly the smaller figure of 231 thousand people, and 34.4% of the total population of the town. 4.1.1.1  Spatial distribution of nationalities in pre-war Łódź The spatial distribution of nationalities in pre-war Łódź (Figure 4.3) was not uniform and changed over time. According to the Municipal Register of 1918–1920 (Grabowski 1922), the population of Moses’ faith occurred ́ . Andrzeja and Przejazd Streets (current names: in the area limited by Sw Andrzeja Struga and Tuwima Streets). The greatest number of Jews lived in the Old Town (statistical unit III – 89%), in the neighbourhood of Pomorska Street (unit V – 78%), in the neighbourhood of Zielona Street (unit VII – 62%) and Dzielna Street (current name Narutowicza Street, unit VIII – 68%), in the North-East part of Bałuty (XVIII – 43%) and in the neighbourhood of Konstantynowska Street (unit IV – ca 50%). A certain

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Figure 4.3  S ociotopography of Łódź at the beginning of the twentiety century, data source: Grabowski (1922). A. Statistical units, B. distribution of the Jewish population, C. distribution of the Polish population, D. distribution of the German population, E. distribution of the Russian population.

180  Case studies

percentage lived in Górna district, in the vicinity of the market place. The extent of the Jewish population for units VII, VIII, XVIII and IV did not exactly match the division into statistical units. As a consequence, the aggregation to bigger units does not allow a description of the effective concentrations of Jews within. Much as the Old Town, the central part of Nowe Bałuty and the north part of Nowe Miasto were inhabited chiefly by a Jewish population, the social characteristics of this group in their level of assimilation varied. Referring to the areas where the share of Jews was the highest, most descriptions of the life of these times mention Polish, Jewish or German owners of tenements, Polish janitors and, primarily, Jewish inhabitants. The spatial distribution of divergent levels of income was clear: the poorest members of the proletariat, minor artisans, and outsource workers lived in Nowe Bałuty, traders and small-scale producers inhabited the Old Town and wealthier merchants, bankers and intelligentsia resided in Nowe Miasto. Another group of merchants lived in Górna district, close to the Górny Market – now the environment of Plac Reymonta, and the beginning of Zarzewska Street (Walicki 2009, p.73). Nevertheless, the mixing of professions and nationalities and the great differences in the degree to which individuals and groups acculturated remained significant. For instance, the intelligentsia and bourgeoisie living in Nowe Miasto were more akin to German citizens with similar profiles than to the poor Jewish orthodox attendees of the synagogues in Wolborska Street or even less affluent proponents of Alexander Zaddiks. The previously mentioned Litvaks, who arrived in Łódź in great numbers after 1890, brought with them wealth which allowed Jews to build their properties far outside the former locations. Before dispersing, the Litvaks, who distinguished themselves from the Polish Jewry with their language – they spoke Russian and a different Yiddish dialect than Polish Jews – and often also material status, constituted an important community gathered around the synagogue at Wolczańska street. Moreover, the Jewish presence was not limited to the above-listed locations; along with time and assimilation, not only did they spread out to the neighbouring streets but some groups were replaced by others and mixing followed. However, this is impossible posteriorly to trace back the exact social situation, we may only sketch some approximation. 4.1.2  Physical structures The activities of the Jewish community have been commonly accepted to have left durable traces in the urban structure. They built important edifices: both religious and secular: synagogues, factories, the palaces of factory owners, banks, societies, hospitals, schools, and theatres, and more common structures: tenements, hosting shops, workshops and housing serving all strata of Jewish society. The long list of elaborations on this topic may seem complete;

Case studies 181

as well as the well-recognised article by Liszewski (1991), for example, Koter and Kulesza (2005) provided a comprehensive review of architecture related to the cultural background of its builders. Researchers have been extensively investigating the architectural heritage of Łódź, including, notably, Stefański (2001), who offers an in-depth study of the construction process in industrial Łódź, Wesołowski (2009) and others. An exhaustive study of Łódź synagogues and prayer houses has been written by Walicki (2000). Stefański and Szrajber (2009) and recently Gengler and Martens (2016) undertook the meticulous task of a virtual reconstruction of the long-gone religious heritage. Rykała (2012, Rykała and Kulesza 2009) wrote several papers and chapters on Jewish heritage, including prayer houses. A comprehensive review of the material heritage of Jewish social organisations has been provided by Badziak and Walicki (2002). We may learn about Jewish elementary schools from a report by Ellenberg (1930) and about the schooling system in Łódź in general from the book by Podgórska (1966). Besides this, several in-depth studies on the history of the Jewish community in Łódź have been published so far, for instance: Friedman (1935), Puś (2003, 2006), Machejek (2009), and many others. The available data on the location of Jewish institutions have been mapped in order to obtain the approximate distribution of the social groups in the town (Figures 4.4 and 4.5a–g., Table 4.1). The analysis has been based on several sources, including these mentioned above. A preliminary approach has already proven that the picture representing the distribution of various groups changed over time. While in the beginning the majority of Jewish citizens stayed inside their zone, with time they gradually moved out, towards Nowe Miasto and Łódka. Not only did the more acculturated groups move to Nowe Miasto, but with time also some from the more traditional community followed suit, to the part of the town customarily called Wilki. In his book on synagogues and prayer houses, Walicki (2000) elaborates upon the congregations who attended many of the religious edifices he describes. His analysis clearly proves the displacement of the richer section of the Jewish community, both acculturated and orthodox. We may assume that the migration trend of the more prosperous Jewry to Nowe Miasto was a result of the much better living conditions there. This process dated back to the first half of the nineteenth century, the period of the Jewish zone, when professionals with sufficient income, a proper education and acceptable attire were formally allowed to settle in Nowe Miasto, but were only rarely granted this right in practice. Having acquired this right, they chose Plac Wolności, the beginning of Piotrkowska Street, Narutowicza Street, Wschodnia Street (at the time Piłsudskiego Street), Zachodnia Street and Zielona Street. Richer merchants and intelligentsia (often acculturated to the German lifestyles of Łódź) and well-established bourgeoisie took more distant and more exclusive locations: Dzielna (now Narutowicza) Street and Spacerowa Street.

182  Case studies

Figure 4.4  D  istribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Łódź. The map includes confirmed, documented and well-known institutions and properties. Symbols used in Figures 4.4–4.11: 1. Buildings and facilities which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played a major role in Jewish life, 2. buildings similar to those in point 1 but demolished during the last 20 years, their exact footprint easy to identify, 3. institutions significant for Jewish life but not having existed for a long time, 4. most recognised Hasidic shtiblekh, 5. distribution of prayer houses, 6. seats of Jewish institutions, 7. theatres, 8. sports facilities (sports fields and tennis courts founded by the Poznański Family), 9. market halls, 10. extent of the urban zone before World War I (as in the map by Kazimierz Jasiński of 1917), 11. administrative borders of Łódź before World War I, 12. administrative borders of Nowe Bałuty settlement, 13. administrative border of Łódź in 1939, 14. railway areas within the borders of 1914, 15. contemporary railway properties.

Case studies 183

Figure 4.5a  Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Łódź. Section 1a.

184  Case studies

Figure 4.5b  Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Łódź. Section 1b.

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Figure 4.5c  Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Łódź. Section 1c.

186  Case studies

Figure 4.5d  Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Łódź. Section 1d.

Case studies 187

Figure 4.5e  Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Łódź. Section 1e.

188  Case studies

Figure 4.5f  Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Łódź. Section 1f.

Case studies 189

Figure 4.5g  Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Łódź. Section 1g.

This preference is confirmed with the depiction of the early morning in the neighbourhood close to the Russian orthodox church in the book by Rabon (1990, p.28). The image, one of many realistic pictures of life in Łódź just after World War I which this book renders, may refer to Widzewska (Kilińskiego), Dzielna (Narutowicza) or Olgińska (Piramowicza) Street: Not far a window was hastily opened and there appeared a blond, disheveled, nineteen year old woman, a sleepy look on her face, her ripe, half-naked breasts exposed. She stood for a while and bathed her upper body in the cold early morning air, then she slammed the window shut. Presumably this was her way of testing the day’s weather. After an interval the door of a round vaulted balcony with a nickel balustrade opened. A man of some fifty years, a chair in his hand, came out on the balcony and sat down. The gigantic lungs inside his massive chest heaved with asthma as he coughed violently. (…) On the other balcony there sat a man with a small, trimmed beard. (…) “Gutten tag, Herr Fischer”, the man on the first-floor balcony called to him in German. “Gutten tag, Herr M.,” the other man replied, taking out a box of pills. (…the conversation continued) half in German, half in Yiddish. Another layer for the analysis of the social profile of Jewish citizens may be derived from residential structures. This method, however, presents obvious constraints. First, when looking at the property register, the results give us only an approximation. Besides, the tenements constructed for rent

NR Description 1 2 3 4 4a 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

‘Widzewska Manufaktura’, ‘Fabryka Towarzystwa Akcyjnego Wyrobów Bawełnianych Heinzel i Kunitzer’, later Oskar Kohn’s factorya Workers’ house of the Heinzel – Kunitzer industrial estate, later belonging to Oskar Kohn Villa of ‘Widzewska Manufaktura Sp. Akc’. Jewish cemetery Mina and Herman Konstadt Pre-burial House Hospital for children founded by the Konstadt Familya Samuel Abbe’s factory Villa of Samuel Brzeziński Wooden summer villa of the Poznański Family (demolished) Villa of the Hersz and Aron Kartowski brothers House of Abram Engel Mechanical weaving mill of brothers Edward and Herman Goldberg (partially demolished) ‘Fabryka Apretura i Farbiarnia’ (factory, finishing and dyer) of Aleksander Damski Residence of Aleksander Damski, 13a – concierg Workers hospital of ‘Towarzystwo Akcyjne Wyrobów Bawełnianych I.K. Poznańskiego’a (14a, 14b) The seat of the St. Moniuszko Singing Society, formerly a church choir at par. St. Joseph – plot of land donated by I.K. Poznanski The building of the former elementary school on the initiative of the Poznanski family Workers’ houses in the industrial complex of Izrael K. Poznański Canteen of the industrial complex of Izrael K. Poznański, later Teatr Popularny (popular theatre), Kino Popularne (popular cinema) Cotton weaving mill in the industrial complex of Izrael K. Poznański Industrial complex of Izrael K. Poznański (some buildings demolished)a

Address al. Piłsudkiego 135/141 Szpitalna 8 and 10, al. Piłsudskiego 112, 112a Konstytucyjna 42c Bracka 40 Bracka 40 Kniaziewicza 1/5 Zgierska 145 Limanowskiego 166 al. Włókniarzy 196 Konstantynowska 28 Rzgowska 76 Przybyszewskiego 92 Drewnowska 77 Drewnowska 77 Drewnowska 75 Ogrodowa 34 Legionów 28a Ogrodowa 24, Ogrodowa 26, Ogrodowa 28 Ogrodowa 18 Ogrodowa 17 Ogrodowa 15 (Continued)

190  Case studies

Table 4.1  Buildings and facilities in pre-war Łódź which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life

Table 4.1  Buildings and facilities in pre-war Łódź which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life (Continued) Description

Address

20a 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46

Factory office of the industrial complex of Izrael K. Poznański Palace of Izrael K. Poznańskia Tenement house of ‘Towarzystwo Akcyjne Wyrobów Bawełnianych I. K. Poznańskiego’ Tenement house of Joska Lejb Gottlieb with house of prayer Tenement house of Chaim Ick and Kaila Hana Sladkowski Tenement house of Gabriel and Mindla Reibenbach Tenement house of Szulim Neumann and Wolf Szejnman Tenement house of Szmul Kaliński The building of the old butcheries of Judah David and Ferka Ginsberg Abram Prussak mechanical weaving mill The tenement house of Fiszel Krell The tenement house of David Jojne Dziubak and Tauba Lakczynska then Zajnfel Festenberg The first Day Shelter for Jewish Children Icek Popowski’s tenement house Tenement house of Ezra and Sura Szykier Josek Gotlieb’s house Tenement house of Szlama Ber Regensberg Tenement house of Aron Dreihorn and Jesek Lejb Gotlib Tenement house of Izrael Cinnamon The house of Zygmunt Jarociński Jewish community seat Tenement house of Gottlieb (Bogumił) Zimmermann, later of Maksymilian Leinveber Moszek Weiss’ tenement house Dawid Singer’s tenement house Tenement house of Szmul Lejb and Henendel Weintraub Tenement house of Szaja and Chana Wiślicki School for girls

Ogrodowa 15 Ogrodowa 15 Gdańska 1 Zgierska 32 Zgierska 30A Zgierska 16 Zgierska 10 Drewnowska 2 Wojska Polskiego 2 i 2a Kościelna 6 Jakuba 10 Franciszkańska 30 Smugowa 4 Zachodnia 53 Północna 1/3 Nowomiejska 9 Nowomiejska 10 Nowomiejska 6 Nowomiejska 4 Nowomiejska 3 Plac Wolności 6 Plac Wolności 2 Pomorska 4 (Średnia 2) Pomorska 6 Pomorska 8 (Średnia 6) Pomorska 10 Pomorska 16 (Continued)

Case studies 191

NR

NR

Description

Address

47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72

Seat of the Jewish community (since 1936)a in the premises of palace complex of Karol Gebhardt ‘Towarzystwo Kredytowe Miejskie’ (Town’s Credit Society) Tenement house of Icek Stillerman and Zachary Hermann Zalcman’s tenement house, a shtibl of Hasidic Jews from Izbica Tenement house of Moszek Klejnehrer Tenement house Tenement house Tenement house Tenement house of Moszek Klejnehrer Josek Gotlib’s tenement house Tenement house House of prayer of Aleksander Hasidim a Tenement house of Moszek Szereszewski Tenement of the Joint Stock Society (Towarzystwo Akcyjne) I.K. Poznanski Theatre TUR The house of Henryk Szmalc (Schmalz) Tenement house of the Miciński Family Tenement house of Izrael Luxemburg Tenement house of Szlam Flatto Towarzystwo Akcyjne ( joint-stock company) Tenement house of the Cotton Products Joint Stock Company of I.K. Poznański Tenement house of Szmul Bernhajm Tenement house of Jakub Windman Mordka Bendet’s tenement house School of Icchak Kacenelson a Tenement house of Abram Wiślicki

Pomorska 18 Pomorska 21 Pomorska 20 Solna 1, Pomorska 22 Solna 6 Solna 5 Solna 8 Solna 7 Solna 10 Solna 9 Solna 12 Zachodnia 56 Zachodnia 71 Legionów 15 Legionów 21 Legionów 26 Legionów 28 Legionów 29 Legionów 30 Legionów 32 Gdańska 12 Gdańska 11 Legionów 37a Legionów 54 Próchnika 43 Próchnika 46 (Continued)

192  Case studies

Table 4.1  Buildings and facilities in pre-war Łódź which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life (Continued)

Table 4.1  Buildings and facilities in pre-war Łódź which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life (Continued) Description

Address

73

Próchnika 42

74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85

‘Żydowska Męska Szkoła Powszechna im. Hermana i Miny Konstadtów’ Jewish public school for boys of Herman and Mina Konstadt a Tenement house of Jankiel Wolf Zilberszac Tenement house of Henoch and Hilda Wiślicki Tenement house of Abram Icek Salomonowicz Tenement house of Józef Nissen and Estera Bajla Lubińscy Towarzystwo Społeczno-Kulturalne Żydów ( Jewish Social and Cultural Society) Corner Tenement house of Sim Praszkier and Abraham-Majer Gildesheim Tenement house of Abram Dudak Manteuffel Hotel Hotel Bristol (part of building) Tenement house of Kochański and Kutas Tenement house of Josef Monic Tenement houses of Izrael Senderowicz and Izrael and Liba Senderowicz (85a)

86

Tenement house of Chaskiel Rozenblum a

87 88 89 90

Tenement house of Szymon Srebrnik Corner Tenement house of Hersz and Chana Szatan Tenement house of- Moszek Dawid and Ryf ka Perlmutter One-story house of Moszek Litmanowicz, Szmul Frenkel Ryf ke Ruchle Litmanowicz, Szlam and Chana Brigiel Gimnazjum żeńskie (grammar school for girls) of Jaszuńska-Zeligman ‘Towarzystwo Pomocy Biednym Chorym Bikur Cholim’ (Society for poor sick aid Bikur Cholim a Tenement house of Wolf Wilhelm Reicher Reicher’s synagoguea

91 92 93 94

Próchnika 40 Próchnika 35 Próchnika 25 Próchnika 23 Wólczańska 4 Próchnika 16a Próchnika 15 Zachodnia 83 Próchnika 11 Piotrkowska 8 Piotrkowska 10 Piotrkowska 12/ Rewolucji 1905 2 Piotrkowska 14/ Rewolucji 1905 1 Rewolucji 1905 5 Rewolucji 1905 13 Rewolucji 1905 15 Rewolucji 1905 17 Rewolucji 1905 18 Rewolucji 1905 19 Rewolucji 1905 28 Rewolucji 1905 28 (Continued)

Case studies 193

NR

NR

Description

Address

95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116

Jakub Rozen’s tenement house Tenement house of Wanda Micińska a Tenement house of Boruch Hercberg and Jakub Rappaport Tenement house of Zelman and Hinda Salomonowicz Tenement house of Chaim Bławat Tenement house of Antoni Jeziorski, after Goldman Abram Lubiński’s tenement house Tenement house of Józef Zand Tenement house of Bechtold Family Tenement house of Zand Family House of the Belin family Tenement house of Icek Piotrkowski Weaving mill of Majer Max Schroter Abram Geliebter’s tenement house Tenement house of Jakub Joskowicz Palace of Karol Poznański a Dom Tańca Offenbachów (Offenbahns’ ballroom) Moszek Offenbach’s tenement house Tenement house of the Laufer Family Tenement house of Samuel Filon Cohn Tenement house of Chaja Kępińska Towarzystwo Akcyjne Manufaktury Wełny „Saksonia’’ ( joint-stock company of Saksonia factory) of Władysław Baruch, later the property of Dawid Prussak Jakub Kohan’s tenement house Tenement house of Josek Przygórski The remains of the former factory of Mordka Fuchs Palace of Maurycy and Sara Poznańskia

Rewolucji 1905 29 Piotrkowska 16 Piotrkowska 15 Piotrkowska 18 Piotrkowska 17 Piotrkowska 20 Piotrkowska 19 Piotrkowska 21 Piotrkowska 24 Piotrkowska 23 Piotrkowska 25 Piotrkowska 28 al. 1 Maja 31/33 Gdańska 33 Gdańska 37 Ogrodowa 32 Wolczańska 5 al. 1 Maja 2 al. 1 Maja 7 al. 1 Maja 5 al. 1 Maja 1 Więckowskiego 43/45

117 118 119 120

Żeromskiego 23 Wieckowskiego 48 Wieckowskiego 37 Więckowskiego 36 (Continued)

194  Case studies

Table 4.1  Buildings and facilities in pre-war Łódź which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life (Continued)

Table 4.1  Buildings and facilities in pre-war Łódź which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life (Continued) Description

Address

121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130

‘Żeńska szkoła religijno-świecka Beis Jakow’ (religious and secular school for girls Beis Jakow Tenement house of the Nasielski family Tenement house of Fajwel Grinfeld Tenement house of Fajwel Grinfeld House of Moszek Bławat Tenement house of Markus Silberstein ‘Państwowy Teatr Żydowski Scala’ (public Jewish theatre Scala) ‘Szkoła żydowska im. Pereca’ (Perec Jewish school) Gecel Cygelberg tenement house Moszek-Lejb Helman’s tenement house

Więckowskiego 32 Wieckowskiego 28 Wieckowskiego 23 Wieckowskiego 25 Wieckowskiego 24 Więckowskiego 19 Więckowskiego 13 Więckowskiego 13 Zachodnia 91 Więckowskiego 7 (Cegielniana 26) Więckowskiego 10 Więckowskiego 5 (Cegielniana 28) Więckowskiego 3 Więckowskiego 4 Piotrkowska 29 Piotrkowska 27 Jaracza 1 (Cegielniana 37) Piotrkowska 36 Piotrkowska 33 Piotrkowska 37 Piotrkowska 40 Jaracza 3 (Cegielniana 39)

131 House of August and Izydor (Icek) Baruch 132 Tenement house of the family Brandweiman, Chaja-Ruchla and Perla 134 135 136 137 138

Sulia Belin’s house Tenement house of Dawid Lejb and Maria Kohn Bank house of Wilhelm Landau Astoria café, building property of Wilhelm Maischetz (Marczewski) The Lipszyc family house, Mordka Szmul and Ruchla

139 140 141 142 143

Tenenbaum family tenement house Tenement house of Icek Joskowicz Tenement house of Jakub Szmulowicz Tenement house of Silbersteins a Tenement house of Moszek and Frymeta Rogoziński

(Continued)

Case studies 195

NR

NR

Description

144 Tenement house of Monat Zalman Nusen 145 The Ojzer Milgrom tenement house 146 147 148 149 150

Tenement house of Dobranicki and Rotbard Majer Kestenberg’s tenement house Tenement house of Majer Kestenberg House property of Silbersteins Tenement house of Chaname and Mindel-Gitel Brzeziński and Rywen and Ruchla-Łaja Kapelusznik

151 The Rozenblat brothers’ tenement house 152 Tenement house of Mojżesz Kałuszyner 153 The house of Aron Elbinger and Zelman Kon Tenement house of Herszik and Szprynca-Laja Srebrnogóra Tenement house of Juda Salomonowicz G.K. Kiper’s Palace The apartment building of Michał Kipper Salo Baruch’s factory Tenement house of Aron Gantz Hochstein’s girls school Tenement house of Mikołaj Rosenblum, branch of Riga Commercial Bank; since 1912 – Hochstein School 162 Tenement house of Jozef Hersz Kowal 163 School of Józef Ab (demolished)a 164 Steam spinning and weaving mill of Naftali Hersz Poznański 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161

Address Jaracza 6 (Cegielniana 38) Jaracza 7 (Cegielniana 43) Jaracza 8 Jaracza 10 Wschodnia 51 Wschodnia 59 Jaracza 11 (Cegielniana 47) Jaracza 15 (Cegielniana 51) Jaracza 18 Jaracza 28 (Cegielniana 60) Lipowa 20 Zielona 25 Gdańska 38 Gdańska 42 Gdańska 54 Zielona 17 Zielona 13 Wolczanska 23 Wólczańska 21 Zielona 10 Wólczańska 27 (Continued)

196  Case studies

Table 4.1  Buildings and facilities in pre-war Łódź which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life (Continued)

Table 4.1  Buildings and facilities in pre-war Łódź which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life (Continued) NR

Description

165 Tenement house of brothers Cudek and Natan Herszenbergów and Wolf Halbersztadt 166 Tenement house of Mieczysław Pinkus

Wólczańska 20 Zielona 10/ Wólczańska 18 al. Kościuszki 1 al. Kościuszki 3 Wólczańska 14 Zachodnia 105 Zachodnia 107 Zachodnia 109 Zielona 9 al. Kościuszki 4 Zielona 6 Zielona 5/7 Zielona 3 Piotrkowska 45 Piotrkowska 43 Piotrkowska 46 Piotrkowska 50 Piotrkowska 52 Piotrkowska 49 Piotrkowska 51 Piotrkowska 53 Piotrkowska 55 Piotrkowska 58 Narutowicza 4 (Continued)

Case studies 197

167 Tenement house of the Pinkus Familya 168 ‘Fabryka Wyrobów Wełnianych Halberstadt i S-wie’ (Halberstadt and Sons factory of woollen cloth), since 1913 Herszenberg and Halberstadt 169 Woollen cloth factory of Dawid Prussak 170 Dawid Prussak’s tenement house 171 House of Dawid Prussak 172 Tenement house of Dawid Prussak 173 Tenement house of Prussak Family 174 Palace of Anna and Jakub Hertz a 175 Tenement house of Rozalia and Icek Aurbach 176 Aaron Konisberg’s house 177 House of Szaja and Hania Wiślicki 178 House of Szaja Wiślicki 179 Tenement house of Oskar Kohn 180 Tenement house of Józef Rosenthal and W. Lande, then Fryferak Miller 181 The Friszmans’ tenement house 182 Chana and Szapsa Eisner’s tenement house 183 Tenement house of Osher Kohn 184 Skład towarów (storehouse) of I. K. Poznański 185 Tenement house of Herman Konstadt ‘Pod Atlasami’a 186 Tenement house of Herman Konstadt 187 Tenement house of David Israel Freind 188 Tenement house of Berek Konig

Address

NR

Description

Address

189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209

Szapsa Eisner’s tenement house Tenement house of Jida Majer Zeler Tenement house of Szmul and Musze Urysohn Residence house of Salomon Raicher Solomon Reicher’s tenement house Tenement house of Józef Mendel Friedman Tenement house of Chaim Mordka and Gersz Auerbachs Tenement house of Dawid Tempel Tenement house of Abraham Dudak Aron Schlesser’s tenement house Villa of Maurycy Frankel Samuel Bornstein’s tenement house Tenement house of Abram Weinberg Savoy Hotel, built by Solomon Ringer Tenement house of Szeps family Tenement house of Fiszel Herszkowicz Tenement house of Mincberg Family Tenement house of Markus Kohn Stowarzyszenie Artystów i Zwolenników Sztuk Pięknych (Society of artists and adherents of fine arts) Tenement house of Hersz Nuchen Epsztein The tenement house of Juliusz Vergau, then property of Szaja Rosenblatt – a wool spinning mill in the yard Hotel and Teatr Victoria, from 1911 the Casino cinema owned by Samuel Faust Tenement house of Szaja Rozenblatt Hazomir Society secondary school Tenement house of the Hirszberg Family

Narutowicza 6 Wschodnia 69 Narutowicza 16 Narutowicza 28 Narutowicza 28 Narutowicza 30 Narutowicza 32 Sienkiewicza 4 Sienkiewicza 6 Sienkiewicza 18 Sienkiewicza 26 Traugutta 9 Traugutta 12 Traugutta 6 Piotrkowska 70 Piotrkowska 66 Piotrkowska 59 Piotrkowska 61 Piotrkowska 71 Piotrkowska 69 Piotrkowska 65

210 211 212 213

Piotrkowska 67 6 Sierpnia 4 al. Kościuszki 21 al. Kościuszki 19 (Continued)

198  Case studies

Table 4.1  Buildings and facilities in pre-war Łódź which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life (Continued)

Table 4.1  Buildings and facilities in pre-war Łódź which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life (Continued) NR

Description

214 Tenement house of Dawid, Ari and Naftali Bukiet 215 Tenement house of Josel Icek Lewstein

Address al. Kościuszki 13 Wólczańska 37, 6 Sierpnia 9 Wólczańska 39 al. Kościuszki 23/25

(Continued)

Case studies 199

216 Józef Hersz Kowal’s House 217 ‘Towarzystwo Wyrobów Trykotowych i Dzianych Hirszberg Jakub i Wilczyński Ludwik’ (society of tricot and knitted cloth of Jakub Hirszberg and Ludwik Wilczyński), since 1921 Spółka Akcyjna ( joint venture company) 218 Industrial complex of Filip Lissner, later the property of the Hirszberg and Wilczyński enterprise (some Wólczańska 45/47 buildings demolished) 219 Juda Salomonovich’s modernist tenement house Gdańska 74 220 Apartment house and cantor with warehouse of Joseph Lvov Gdańska 79/81 221 Villa of Helena Brodzka Gdańska 79 222 Ritual bath a Gdańska 75 223 Bank house of Maksymilian Goldfeder a Piotrkowska 77 224 Tenement house of Chaim Wolf Lehman Piotrkowska 79 225 Tenement house of Jakub Friszman Piotrkowska 81 226 Tenement house of Moszek Działowski Piotrkowska 76 227 Factory complex of wool cloth of Jakub Szmulowicz Sienkiewicza 25 228 Tenement house of Manasze Bławat and Hersz Machnicki Piotrkowska 82 229 Tenement house of Fiszel Wjkselfilsz Piotrkowska 92 230 The house of Berek Grzywacz Sienkiewicza 35 231 Hirszberg Orphanagea Północna 38 232 Ochronka im. Anny i Jakuba Hertzów (Anna and Jakub Hertz Orphanage)a Północna 39 233 Jewish hospital of Izrael and Leona Poznańskia Sterlinga 1/3 234 Talmud Tora School of Craftsa Pomorska 48 235 Wolf Góralski’s factory Pomorska 38

NR

Description

236 Dom Ubogich Konstadtów (House of Poor of Konstadts)a 237 Gynecology and obscentrics clinic of Bielszowscya 238 Weaving factory in the complex of ‘Fabryka Wyrobów Włókienniczych Jakuba Lando’ (Factory of textile products of Jakub Lando) 239 ‘Przędzalnia wełny zgrzebnej M. Tykociner i S-ka’ (weaving mill of coarse wool of M. Tykociner and Society), since 1908 of Markus Rzepkowicz and Leona Monczka 240 Gimnazjum Towarzystwa Żydowskich Szkół Średnich (grammar school of the Society of Jewish Secondary Schools) 241 Factory building of ‘Fabryka Wyrobów Pończoszniczych Rosenfeld Mozes i Syn’ (Factory of stockings of Moses Rosenfeld and Son) 242 Factory of Lajb Mitlin and Majer Góralski 243 ‘I Gimnazjum Męskie Towarzystwa Żydowskich Szkół Średnich’ (First grammar school for boys of the Society of Jewish Secondary Schools)a 244 ‘II Gimnazjum Męskie Towarzystwa Żydowskich Szkół Średnich’ (Second grammar school for boys of the Society of Jewish Secondary Schools)a 245 Goldfeders’ affordable flats for the poor a 246 ‘Społeczne Polskie Gimnazjum Męskie’ (Social Polish grammar school for boys) 247 Cotton weaving mill of Mordka Borensztajn, Izrael and Szaps Rzechot 248 Wokshop of Eliasz Trylnik 249 Factory of Perec Marguelies and Dawid Wolman (demolished) 250 Residential complex of Karol (Kalma) Reisfeld 250a Lodge in the residential complex of Karol (Kalma) Reisfeld 251 Factory building of the industrial complex of Majer and Chaim Halpern 252 Factory of Izaak and Aleksandra Lourie 253 Sierociniec Przytulisko (Przytulisko Orphanage)a 254 Villa and money lending office of Leon Rappaport 255 Tenement house of Noech Jakobson

Address Pomorska 54 Sterlinga 13 Pomorska 75 Pomorska 77 Anstadta 7 Pomorska 72/74 Pomorska 83/85 Kamińskiego 21 Kamińskiego 22 Pomorska 92 Pomorska 105 Wierzbowa 18 Wierzbowa 20 Rewolucji 1905 69 Rewolucji 1905 67 Rewolucji 1905 67 Rewolucji 1905 82 Rewolucji 190578/80 Rewolucji 1905 66 Rewolucji 1905 44 Rewolucji 1905 42 (Continued)

200  Case studies

Table 4.1  Buildings and facilities in pre-war Łódź which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life (Continued)

Table 4.1  Buildings and facilities in pre-war Łódź which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life (Continued) NR

Description

Address

256 257 258 259 260 261

Tenement house of Mojżesz Konchin Tenement house of Moryc Tauberg Tenement house of Reinhold Finster Mendel Zilbersztajn’s tenement house Tenement house of Izaak Olszer or Chaim Majer Weintraub Meachanical cotton weaving mill of Beniamin Goldblum, since 1919 ‘Mechaniczna Fabryka Wyrobów Pończoszniczych’ (mechanical production of stockings factory) of Kalman Lipman and Samuel Taśma Tenement house of Fajwel Salomonowicz Tenement house of Izrael Olszer ‘Spółka Akcyjna Manufaktury Wełnianej Stiller i Bielszowski’ (woollen manufacture join-stock company Stiller and Bielszowski) Villa of Arnold Stiller Villa of Edmund Stefanus Tenement house of Leonard and Olga Agater ‘Fabryka Wyrobów Wełnianych’ (wool cloth factory) of Jakub Kestenberg Palace complex of Jakub Kestenberg Jakub Icek Olszer’s tenement house Tenement house of Szmul Hubel Tenement house of Israel Rosenblatt Tenement house of ‘Jakób Fuks i S-ka’ ( Jakub Fuks and Society) enterprise, then of Abram Sztajnsznajder, later of Mojżesz Gorfein ‘Towarzystwo Akcyjne Wyrobów Wełnianych’ ( joint-stock company of wool cloth) of M. A. Wiener Tenement house of Wolf Markusfeld Urban villa of Cyla and Herman Kalisz, Villa of Jakub Wajnberg Factory of David Fabrykant and Szaja Rosenblatt Fajwes Goldberg’s tenement house, ‘Magdalena’ Venereal Hospital

Rewolucji 1905 31 Włókiennicza 22 Kilińskiego 33 Jaracza 29 Jaracza 37 Jaracza 40

262 263 264 265 266 267 268 269 270 271 272 273

Jaracza 45 Jaracza 47 Jaracza 56 Sterlinga 26 Jaracza 62/64 Plac Dąbrowskiego 4 Plac Dąbrowskiego 2 Jaracza 53 Uniwersytecka 18 Jaracza 78 Jaracza 80 Jaracza 83 Wierzbowa 48 Tramwajowa 15 (Continued)

Case studies 201

274 275 276 277 278

Piramowicza 2 POW 17/ Jaracza 43 Jaracza 52

NR

Description

279 Fabian Goldberg’s tenement house – Municipal Childcare Station, Outpatient Clinic of the Sanitary and Customs Office, later the ‘Maria’ Venereal Hospital 280 House of Chaim Ichel and Frajda Tyller 281 ‘Szkoła Zgromadzenia Kupców’ (School of merchants’ assembly) 282 Villa of Maria Lange, since 1922 of Felicja and Jezejasz Kestenberg 283 Tenement house of Henryk Szmulowicz (front residential building, factory building in the courtyard) 284 House of Joel Beer 285 Tenement house of Izaak Baugold 286 Factory hospital of Silberstein Family/ after ‘Przytułek dla Starców i Kalek Łódzkiego Chrześcijańskiego Towarzystwa Dobroczynności’ (asylum for the elderly and disabled of Łódź Christian Charity Association) 287 Tenement house of Abram and Dorota Rozenstrauch, ‘Szkoła Handlowa Zgromadzenia Kupców Miasta Łodzi’ (Commerce School of Merchants Assembly of Łódź) 288 Tenement house of Jankiel Krakowski and Anszel Tenenbaum 289 Tenement house of Franciszek Chełmiński, later Wolf Wizner 290 Tenement house of Abram Lubiński 291 Tenement house of Maurycy Frenkiel 292 Tenement house Benjamin and Perla Lesman 293 Jankiel Dawid and Małka Dessau’s tenement house 294 Abram Gotlib’s tenement house 295 Bernheims’ tenement house 296 ‘Gimnazjum Żeńskie Towarzystwa Żydowskich Szkół Średnich’ (grammar school for girls of the Society of Jewish Secondary Schools)a 297 Tenement house of Icek Jakub Olszer 298 Tenement house of Icek Bilander 299 Tenement house of Salomon Leder

Address Tramwajowa 13 Tramwajowa 11 Narutowicza 68 Narutowicza 59 Narutowicza 57 Narutowicza 53 Naruowicza 49 Narutowicza 58/60 Narutowicza 41 Narutowicza 69 Narutowicza 37 POW 28 POW 23 POW 27 Składowa 14 Składowa 12 Piramowicza 10 Piramowicza 6 Piramowicza 4 Piramowicza 3 Piramowicza 5 (Continued)

202  Case studies

Table 4.1  Buildings and facilities in pre-war Łódź which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life (Continued)

Table 4.1  Buildings and facilities in pre-war Łódź which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life (Continued) NR

Description

300 Tenement house Mosze Kurca, Jewish Women’s Gymnasium of the Association of Secondary Schools in Łódź 301 Tenement house of Icek Szulem Lubiński 302 Rachmil Lipszyc’s Fancy Scarves and Shawls Factory 303 Tenement house of Rachmil Lipszyc 304 Mendel Leib Brisk’s tenement house 305 Tenement house of Abram Perlmuter and Abram Ritterband 306 Private orthodox school 307 Tenement house of Rachmil Lipszyc 308 Icek Inselstein’s tenement house 309 310 311 312 313 314 315 316 317

Piramowicza 7 Piramowicza 9 Piramowicza 11/13 Narutowicza 44 Narutowicza 42 Narutowicza 40 Kilińskiego 50 Kilińskiego 48 Kilińskiego 45 (Widzewska 44) Kilińskiego 41 Kilińskiego 43 Kilińskiego 47 Kilińskiego 49 Narutowicza 36 Kościuszki 39 Andrzeja Struga 4 Piotrkowska 99 Piotrkowska 96 Tuwima 6 Tuwima 30 Piotrkowska 107 Piotrkowska 109 Piotrkowska 111 (Continued)

Case studies 203

318 319 320 321 322

Abram Besser’s tenement house Moszek Nechem Russ’ tenement house Samuel Meier’s tenement house Perec’s School – the first seat Tenement house of Mendel-Lejb Brisk House of the firm ‘Serejski i Birnstein Tenement house of Mendel and Małka Lubińscy Tenement house of Szaja Goldblum Samuel Czarmański’s silk ribbons factory, after 1910 the seat of the Łódź branch of Siemens and Halske, 1938–39 Spółka Akcyjna Hiszberg and Birnbaum. In the yard, Aaron Orkisz’s linen and poplin weaving mill (founded 1920) Tenement house of Emma and Samuel Czamański Wolf Szereszewski’s tenement house Tenement house of Salomon Bharier (Charier) Mordka Helman’s tenement house Tenement house of Lejzer Dawid Rosenthal

Address

NR

Description

Address

323 324 325 326 327 328 329 330 331 332 333 334 335 336 337 338 339 340

Tenement house of the Brothers Dawid and Lejb Klajman Tenement house of Jakub Wojdysławski Edward Heiman-Jarecki tenement house Tenement house of Janasz Warszawski and storehouse Tenement house of Szmul Bornstejn The house of Estera and Lewek Krykus Tenement house of Szymel and Helena Wileński Kamgarn spinning mill by Natan Koppe Tenement house of Szmelke and Ryf ka-Dwojra Plucer aka Pilicer Factory of Natan Koppel, then Chaim, Kagan Łajam and Dawid Basiewicz (one building demolished) Tenement house of Chana and Mindel Brzeziński and Rimen and Ruchla Kapelusznik Mendel Dobranicki’s tenement house Tenement house of Lejbuś Lewek Jakubowicz Fabryka wyrobów wełnianych (woollen cloth factory) of Maksymilian Schiffer (Schyffer) Villa of Maksymilian Schiffer (Szyffer) Chaim Wiślicki’s factory Fiszel (Fischel) Karnowski’s plant Weaving mill of Jakub Kwaśner and Józef Lindenfeld, ‘Spółka Firmowo-Komandytowa’ (limited partnership) Kwaśner and Lindenfeld Factory ‘Fabryka Spółki Akcyjnej Wyrobów Bawełnianych’ (Cotton cloth factory of joint-stock company) of Szaja Rosenblatt Tenement house of Józef Lajzer Lehman Tenement house of Rachmil Bronowski Tenement house of ‘Tomaszowska Fabryka Sztucznego Jedwabiu’ (Tomaszów Factory of Synthetic Silk) Tenement house of Wojdysławski Family Tenement house of Icek Grossleit

al. Kościuszki 56 Piotrkowska 123 Piotrkowska 125 Piotrkowska 114/116 Piotrkowska 120 Piotrkowska 126 Sienkiewicza 41 Sienkiewicza 61 Sienkiewicza 63 Sienkiewicza 63 Sienkiewicza 52 Rooswelta 7 Piotrkowska 145 Gdańska 132 Wólczańska 127 Gdańska 138 Piotrkowska 167 Gdańska 156

341 342 343 344 345 346 347

Żwirki 11/13 Żwirki 36/38 Piotrkowska 192 Piotrkowska 200 Piotrkowska 203/205 Piotrkowska 212/214 Piotrkowska 211 (Continued)

204  Case studies

Table 4.1  Buildings and facilities in pre-war Łódź which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life (Continued)

Table 4.1  Buildings and facilities in pre-war Łódź which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life (Continued) NR

Description

Tenement house of Abram Icek London Tenement of Kazimierz and Stanisława Monitz Tenement of Chaim Szik ‘Fabryka Towarzystwa Akcyjnego Wyrobów Bawełnianych i Wełnianych (factory of joint-stock company of cotton and woollen cloth) of Markus Silberstein a 352 Tenement house of Henryk Birnbaum 353 Weaving mill of Markus Silberstein, earlier of Henryk Birnbaum (demolished)a

348 349 350 351

Piotrkowska 220 Piotrkowska 224/226 Radwańska 7 Piotrkowska 242/250 Piotrkowska 258/260 Piotrkowska 258/260, Sienkiewicza 171 Sienkiewicza 82/84 Wigury 21 Tylna 4/6 Kilińskiego 177 Kilińskiego 169 Targowa 61/63 Kilińskiego 89 Kilińskiego 78 Kilińskiego 93 Kilińskiego 82 Kilińskiego 88 Dowborczyków 8 Dowborczyków 17/19 (Continued)

Case studies 205

354 from 1919 the buildings of the Włókiennicza Spółka Akcyjna N. Eitingon i S-ka, previously some of the buildings belonged to the Winkler and Gaertner Knitted Products Factory 355 ‘Markus Silberstein Spółka Akcyjna Wyrobów Wełnianych i Bawełnianych’ (Woollen and cotton cloth joint-stock company of Markus Silberstein) (partly demolished)a 356 ‘Przemysł Wełniany – Salomon Barciński i spółka’ (cotton industry – Salomon Barciński and company) (partly demolished)a 356a Villa of Samuel Barciński 357 Factory of stockings and mittens of Alban Aurich, later the factory of cotton wool and wadding of Łapp Abram Lejzorg (partly demolished) 358 Villa of Oskar Kon 359 Jankiel Szereszewski’s tenement house 360 Tenement house of Szmul Berek Słomnicki 361 Tenement house of Chaim Szyk 362 A modernist tenement house of Mojżesz Szmul Bronowski 363 The Manasse and Nechany Kalecki tenement house 364 ‘Przędzalnia Bawełny Taumann Moryc Spółka Akcyjna’ (cotton weaving mill of Taumann Moryc, joint-stock company) (partly demolished) 365 Villa of Ferdynand Finster, later Teodor Finster

Address

NR

Description

366 ‘Łódzka Manufaktura Pluszu Dywan Wschodni Finster Teodor’ (Łódź factory of plush ‘Eastern Carpets’ of Teodor Finster), since 1935 Spółka Akcyjna ( joint-stock company, founded by J. Fial and W. Lucker 367 Tenement house of Moszek (Mojsier Aron) Peter 368 Berek Nauhaus tenement house 369 The house of Majer Chaim Weintraub 370 Grossman tenement house, Moszek Lejzor Grossman, then Moszek Lajb Katz 371 Ejtingon Brothers Factory – since 1925 (one building demolished)a 372 Weaving mill in the complex of the former factory of ‘Włókiennicza Spółka Akcyjna N. Eitigon i S-ka’ (textile joint-stock company of N. Eitigon and Society)a 373 Industrial complex of Zygmunt Jarociński 374 The factory of Abrach M. Warszawski, later the Factory of Woolen and Semi-Wool Products A.M. Warszawski i Sons 375 Glassworks GEHA – Uszer Fiszman, then Majer Fiszman 376 Jakub Aron Grunstein’s factory, then Setam firma z o.o. Przemysł Pończoszniczy (Hosiery Industry) by Maksymilian Kon and Dawid Rabinowicz 377 Mozes Klajman’s factory 378 House of J. Prusicki and J. Bender 379 ‘Mechaniczna Fabryka Pończoch’ (mechanical factory of stockings) of Mozes and Jankiel Seidenwurm 380 I.K.Poznański’s company house 381 Company Bracia Chabańscy, Windman i S-ka Przemysł Bawełniany, Kazimierz Józef Arkuszewski, Abram Aron Chabański i Mordka Hiter Windman 382 Factory of Herszenberg and Halberstadt 383 Dyehouse of Juda Geldblum 384 Frenkel Chaskiel’s tenement house 385 Sender Gutman’s factory

Address Dowborczyków 17/19 Kilińskiego 104 Kilińskiego 116 Kilińskiego 120 Kilińskiego 127 Dowborczyków 30/34 / Targowa 35 Targowa 35 Targowa 28/30 Przędzalniana 20 Nowa 16 Jana Matejki 9 Kopcińskiego 31 Narutowicza 93a Pomorska 161 Jerzego 22 Jerzego 14/16 al. 1 Maja 121 Legionów 122 Legionów 86 Pogonowskiego 5/7 (Continued)

206  Case studies

Table 4.1  Buildings and facilities in pre-war Łódź which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life (Continued)

Table 4.1  Buildings and facilities in pre-war Łódź which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life (Continued) Description

Address

386 387 388 389

Tenement house of Jankiel Dębiński Samuel Bornstein’s tenement house ‘Dom dla Sierot’ (orphanage) founded by Markus and Teresa Silberstein a Berel Frank Factory

390 391 392 393 394

Weiss and Poznański Weaving mill House of Hersz Klajnman Weaving mill of Jozef Frenkel Industrial estate of Baruch Anszel Gliksmane ‘Fabryka Wyrobów Wełnianych’ (factory of woollen articles) of Markus Kohn and the house of Markus Kohn Factory of Mordka Mendel Cohn Tenement house of Jakub Joskowicz Residential complex of Karol Bennich/ Konstadt Foundation Abram Lifszyc Wool Products Factory The house of Chaim Bezbrody or Szyldwach and Fajga Lejzer Tenement house of Aron Weingarten Tenement house of Juda Mazurkiewicz Tenement house of Juda and Rywka Mazurkiewicz Tenement house of Lewek Lewkowicz Tenement house of Moszek Wizner Tenement house of Maks Landau ‘Fabryka Wyrobów Bawełnianych i Wełnianych Braci Zajbert’ (factory of cotton and woolen cloths of the brothers Zajbert, since 1922 ‘Przemysł Włókienniczy Bracia Zajbert, Spółka Akcyjna’ (Textile Industry Zajbert Brothers, Joint-Stock Company) Tenement house of Psachia Katz

Pogonowskiego 17 Więckowskiego 49 Pogonowskiego 25 6 Sierpnia 65 (Benedykta 74) 6 Sierpnia 80 6 Sierpnia 49 6 Sierpnia 47 Łąkowa 4 Łąkowa 3/5

395 396 397 398 399 400 401 402 403 404 405 406 407

Kopernika 53a Piotrkowska 271 Wólczańska 243 Stefana Skrzywana 6 Piotrkowska 309 Piotrkowska 294 Sieradzka 4 Rzgowska 3 Rzgowska 2a Rzgowska 6 Przybyszewskiego 9 Praska 5/7 Przybyszewskiego 47/49 (Continued)

Case studies 207

NR

NR

Description

408 Tenement house of Dawid and Frajda Łęczycki 409 Factory of Brothers Jakób and Maks Płockier 410 Factory of Izydor Pantel and Symsie Pytowski 411 Przędzalnia Bawełny (cotton weaving mill) of Adam Osser Buildings and places which no longer exist A Altshtot synagoguea B Wilker Shul synagoguea C Ezras Izrael synagoguea D Ohel Jakov synagoguea E First synagoguea F Dajcze Shul synagoguea I Prayer house J Prayer house K Beit ha midrasha L Tanfani Halls M Grand Theatre Sellina N Synagogue of Łódzkie Towarzystwo (Łódź Society) Bikur Cholim a O Cinemas: Urania, Czary, later a Jewish Theatre P Łódzkie Żydowskie Towarzystwo Dobroczynności (Łódź Jewish Charity Society) R Seat of the Jewish congregation S Sports fields and tennis courts of Łódzki Klub Sportowy (Łódź Sport Club), property of the Poznański Family T Mikveha U First masonry house in the Old Town Bałuty synagogue – prayer house and ritual batha V W Shop of Kalman Poznanski Z First house of Kalman Poznanski a  Buildings and places which are mentioned in the text.

Address Przybyszewskiego 51 Łomżyńska 3 Łomżyńska 8/10 Przybyszewskiego 85–91 Wolborska 20 Zachodnia 56 (70) Wolczanska 6 Gdanska 18 Wolborska 8 (Dworska) Spacerowa 2 Piotrkowska 145 Piotrkowska 284 Wolborska 20 Lutomierska Legionów 12/14 Plac Wolności 10 Jaracza 2 Zachodnia 40 Zachodnia 78 Srebrzyńska near Włókniarzy Zgierska 27

208  Case studies

Table 4.1  Buildings and facilities in pre-war Łódź which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life (Continued)

Case studies 209

occasionally changed ownership, and not always within the same ethnic group. There were some exceptions, known under the names of their proprietors, e.g. the ‘Pinkus’ tenement [167] located opposite the ‘Progressive’ Synagogue in Spacerowa Street [F]. More importantly, however, the public living there usually consisted of tenants of various ethnic origin and the culture they represented depended on the profile of the neighbourhood rather than on the cultural profile of the owner. Most descriptions of Jewish life in Łódź in pre-war times, mention Polish, Jewish or German owners of tenements, with just Polish janitors and mainly Jewish residents. An analysis of the culture-related profile of the inhabitants is still an open field of study. The contemporary renovations should take its results into account and reflect any physical artefacts discovered in the remodelling of individual tenements and even whole blocks. The more so that, as Schlör (2008, p.224) notes, the ‘(…) specific practices and rituals pertaining to Jewish law (creating or abolishing an eruv, the Sabbath "border"; spending the week of Sukkot in a hut on the balcony or on the roof of one’s house) take place in the built environment of a city; (…)’. In the Jewish heritage map, several exemplary tenements have been noted based on the list of heritage objects protected by Polish Heritage Register or intended for protection by local plans of urban development1. 4.1.3  Community institutions – religion and education 4.1.3.1 Synagogues The first synagogue in Łódź was erected in 1809 in Wolborska Street, east from the Old Market, as a simple wooden structure [E] (Stefański 2009, p.33). It soon became insufficient for the fast-growing Jewish population of Łódź, however, due to financial limitations, its replacement was possible only in 1859, when the construction of a masonry synagogue in Wolborska Street started more to the east [A]. Regarding its oriental provenience, the studies on the Jewish religious architecture of Łódź have linked traditional religious Judaism with the presence of oriental ornamentation in the facades of religious edifices, such as the redeveloped synagogue in Wolborska Street. Koter and Kulesza (2005, p.275) elaborate on its ‘extraordinarily rich oriental architectural form with numerous ‘Mauritanian’ accents’. The temple’s principal portico, located in an elevated break and framed with several columns, was topped with a horseshoe-like arc and covered with a sculptured canopy. Similar geometrical ornamentation also appeared on the frame above the entrance and in the building’s quoins, on the frieze topping the upper part of the facade and in the crowning cornice2. An attic with a motif of a five-pointed star crowned the building. The facade was painted with white and dark horizontal stripes. According to Stefański, the ‘orientality’ of the building served the most traditional, orthodox community of Łódź Jews (Stefański and Szrajber 2009, pp.62–72). Next to the synagogue, on its left, the gate opened to a vast interior yard, which extended as far as Ż ydowska Street,

210  Case studies

where another entrance was located. The community beit midrash adjoined the yard [K]. In 1875–1878, at Zachodnia Street 56 (now 70), Daniel Dobranicki built another synagogue for the traditional community [B]. The edifice, named Wilkeszul from the customary name of the neighbourhood (Wilki), erected as a private prayer house, soon took over some of the activities of a communal synagogue (Stefański 2009, p.34). Although built in a classical style, it also featured horseshoe-like arcs over the doors and windows. Its presence and popularity prove the migrations which took place at this time from the Old Town to the aforementioned neighbourhood. The most prestigious of the synagogues of Łódź was the ‘progressive’ temple, built at the junction of Zielona and Spacerowa (now Kościuszki) Streets in 1881–1887 [F] (Stefański 2009, pp.28–30). The eclectic style of its architecture was based mostly on German Romanticism with elements of Renaissance revival and Mauritanian style. According to K. Stefański (2009, p.71), two trends in decorating religious buildings: oriental and occidental, may be distinguished: those Jews supporting assimilation chose Western, European construction traditions, rather than those of Oriental provenience. The position of this landmark building in one of the most prestigious streets of Łódź enhanced its grandeur and confirmed the material status of Jewish business owners who were members of the Progressive Judaism movement (Koter and Kulesza 2005, p.275). Another synagogue in Łódź, ‘Ohel Yakow’, was located at Gdańska Street 18, in the courtyard behind the current side-buildings [D]. During World War I, it became recognised as a Zionist centre. We may, however, learn from archive documents that Zionists also used the synagogue in Wolborska Street, where it has been confirmed they tried to propagate their ideas (Walicki 2000). A separate synagogue was constructed at Wólczańska Street 6 [C] for the community of Litvaks, who, directly after their arrival from the Pale of Settlement, clearly distinguished themselves from the existing Polish-Jewish population. Not only did they speak Russian and had extensive business contacts in that country, but they also brought to Łódź significant capital, which, with time, enabled massive Jewish investments. The eclectic architecture of their synagogue, for which a construction permit was issued in 1899, may be described as sumptuous and traditional. One more synagogue that catered to the needs of the orthodox Jewish population of Bałuty was a prayer house and ritual bath located at Zgierska 27 [V] in the vicinity of Bałucki Market (Robacha 2021). The complex started in 60s of the nineteenth century and lasted until 1940. At first wooden buildings of the mikveh got replaced by the masonry structures in 1885; it also hosted the beit midrash. The wooden building of the synagogue was renovated in 1925–1927; modernisation continued until 1935. It included the replacement of wooden walls with masonry ones. The building facade was very simple; the only decoration included simplified arcs over the doors and windows and the round window with a star over the main entrance3.

Case studies 211

Apart from the larger edifices, the Jewry of Łódź gathered for prayers in numerous prayer houses, of various capacities, often located in private houses. Some of these served only the local neighbourhood, while others gathered supporters of a given religious or, in later times, political fraction. Among the most recognisable was that used by the Hasidim, followers of the tsadik dynasty of Aleksandrów Łódzki, their prayer house was located at Zachodnia Street 56 [58]. The most intensive development of Łódź fell into the period when the majority of Hasidim dynasties had already developed. The two most active in Łódź were the Alexander and the Sochatchev proponents. However, other groups were also present, for instance, the furniture preserved from pre-war times by the contemporary Jewish community at Pomorska Street 18 [47] comes from the Kock followers’ prayers house. The role of Aguda and proponents of Gerer Rabbi also grew with time, which was explicit in the composition of the kahal authorities. We may learn a lot about who attended particular prayer houses from the documents of Jewish communities carefully elaborated by Walicki (2000). It is clear, for instance, that Hasidim commuted to their shtiebelekh from far more distant locations than the attendees of other more traditional prayer houses (Walicki 2000). They must have been spread over a larger area with no specific concentrations. Different organisations, in this number charitable ones, also had their own prayer houses. For instance, the Łódź Jewish Society of Poor Sick Care ‘Linas Hacholim’s’ synagogue, located in Plac Wolności, at number 10, in the courtyard [N], hosted regular members’ meetings. An insight into the addresses of the society’s board available for 1929 and 1933 (Badziak and Walicki 2002, pp.145–146) shows that most members lived in Nowe Miasto or in more distant locations. According to Rykała (2012), there are no comprehensive data on all Łódź prayer houses and their distribution; still, some approximations are possible. The exact location of all groups requires further clarification, possibly based on a study of the congregations of the various prayer houses. The most recognised list of prayer houses so far was published by Walicki (2000), his elaboration contains over 150 places of cult, a list which, as the author admits himself, remains incomplete. The map of Jewish heritage included in the current book presents the locations of prayer houses redrawn from the map by Rykała (2012), which was based on research by Walicki (200) and extended with further locations. It demonstrates the actual spread of the Jewish community, including neighbourhoods on the outskirts, next to main roads and market places, e.g., in Rokiciny. Moreover, a number of heders and prayer houses existed in Bałuty suburbs, among them several Hasidic shtieblekh, of which only a few were formally registered. Walicki (2016, p.150) reveals a list of such illegal prayer houses4. During World War II, the Nazis destroyed all the major synagogue edifices. Only a prayer house for 42 worshippers belonging to the Reicher family, located in a courtyard at Rewolucji 1905 Street 28 [45] (formerly Południowa Street) survived. Additionally, most of the smaller prayer houses buildings do not exist anymore, demolished either by the Germans during World War II

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or post-war redevelopment, or have been adapted for different purposes, and it is practically impossible to locate them anymore. Many of them were indistinguishable from their neighbouring structures, being built from similar materials to the huts and sheds in the courtyards. The description by Asch (1967, p.443) reveals one of these quarters of ‘the God of the poor’ in Bałuty: In the court stood a little edifice made of new planks with a shingled roof. There lived the poor occupants’ “God.” His dwelling was just as wretched as theirs; nor was it any more distinguished by cleanliness. The shelf where the Torah was kept was curtained off with a strip of cheap cloth. On the wretched Almemor burned a candle in a broken candlestick. Copies of the Talmud lay about on tables, and just as the other houses were filled with the clanking of hand-looms and the whirring of sewing-machines, so here could be heard all day the gray monotonous sing-song of poor Bible scholars, impecunious free-meal Talmudists and lugubrious Jews, that spoke of hopelessness

4.1.3.2  Religious facilities Next to the synagogues and prayer houses, The Jewish community required other essential amenities, ritual baths among this number. The first ritual bath in Łódź was located next to the river Łódka, though its exact location is unknown (Banner 1938, p.14). In 1844, a new wooden bath was opened at Wolborska Street 55 (its original number) [T] and soon required renovation. After 1865, a few private baths started functioning in Łódź, competing with the community one. In 1857, efforts were made to open a bath for more progressive Jews on a site behind the property at Podrzeczna 83. At the end of the 1880s, another bath was constructed at Zachodnia 58 and donated to Synagogue Supervision in 1911. The modern bath at Gdańska 75 [222], planned since 1911, was finally opened in 1925. It was intended for the traditional Jewish community (Badziak and Walicki 2002, pp.214–221). 4.1.3.3  Jewish educational facilities Some light may also be shed on the distribution of social groups within the Jewish population of Łódź based on an analysis of the profiles of Jewish schools at elementary and secondary level. We may assume that the children who attended these schools used to live in the proximity. While, in the 20s of the nineteenth century, a few Jewish pupils attended public schools, after the German arrival and strong Prusification of elementary education, the percentage of Jewish students dropped to a maximum of three percent. Instead, Jews sent their children to traditional heders, where they pursued the traditional model of Jewish religious education (Ellenberg 1930), while richer families engaged private teachers to educate their children. This situation

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remained unchanged until 1865, when the first elementary school for children of Moses’ faith opened in Św. Jacob Street, attracting many more Jewish boys (Ellenberg 1930, Badziak and Walicki 2002, pp.116–117). At the end of the 1860s, the school moved to Solna Street. This private street, which had been laid out as a shortcut between Średnia and Północna Streets by Samuel Saltzman, a wealthy merchant and Hasid, a proponent of the Kock and later of Izbica tsadiks, with time became a centre of traditional Jewish education. In 1882/1883, a Jewish elementary school for girls opened (Podgórska 1966, p.110), followed, in 1891, by a second elementary Jewish school for boys. In 1900, the Konstadts family founded another school at Zawadzka Street 42 [73]. By 1912, there were 12 schools for Jewish children in Łódź, with 44 teachers and 2156 pupils (Badziak and Walicki 2002, p.121). Puś (2003, p.145) lists 15 more significant heders, most of them in Nowe Miasto; nevertheless, the number must have been greater as not all schools were formally registered. Around 1905, along with the demands to open schools in the native languages of the ethnic groups, Jews were required to have elementary education in Yiddish. As a follow-up to these needs, the first Yiddish school in Łódź was opened at Sienkiewicza Street 22 by the Education Society (Szul un’ Fołksbildung Ferajn) – an organisation established in 1916 by Israel Lichtenstein (Spodenkiewicz 1999, p.57). Moreover, to facilitate education for children who spoke no language but Yiddish, Bund organised two primary Medem schools and a Grosser kindergarten in Bałuty. In Medem schools, first-grade children were taught in Yiddish and later some lessons in Polish were gradually introduced (Spodenkiewicz 1999, p.56); one of these schools was located at Plac Wolności 3. Recognising the political necessity to cultivate the language of the Jewish masses, the left wing Poalej-Syjon opened Borochow school – another establishment using the Yiddish language (Spodenkiewicz 1999, p.57). The first Talmud-Tora elementary and crafts school for poor Jewish children was opened in 1873 by Rabbi Majzel at the junction of Wolborska and Północna Street (Puś 2003, p.152). It was later moved to Jakuba 6 (Spodenkiewicz 1999, p.39). Spodenkiewicz (1999, p.39) also lists two other schools named Talmud-Tora, which was a traditional name for Jewish religious schools, at Aleksandrowska 13 and Brzezińska 23. In 1889, the Committee of the Progressive Synagogue initiated a Talmud Tora – a Jewish vocational school – in the building at Zachodnia Street 20 (now 40). The institution’s name continued the traditional Talmud Tora, a school for poor boys with a religious profile, although its programme introduced more secular elements than its counterparts. In the beginning, the establishment also contained an orphanage (Badziak and Walicki 2002, p.35). Since 1899 co-managed by the Łódź Jewish Charity Organisation Society – ŁŻTD (Łódzkie Żydowskie Towarzystwo Dobroczynności), the school moved in 1901 to a specially constructed building at Średnia (Pomorska) Street 46/48 [234]. From 1906 it was governed by the Łódź ‘Talmud Tora’ Society. In 1916 an elementary school was founded, complimentary to the gymnasium. In 1921, the

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organisation changed its name to the Society of Education and Popularisation of Technical Knowledge – TSzOWT (Towarzystwo Szerzenia Oświaty i Wiedzy Technicznej), which much better reflected its programme than the former one, traditionally associated with religious education. With time, both the elementary and gymnasium school for boys developed, and an industrial school was created, which from 1924 had two main parts: a mechanical gymnasium and a weaving faculty (Badziak and Walicki 2002, pp.35–49). Jewish secondary schools did not start until the first years of the twentieth century, along with the Society of Jewish Secondary Schools (1912). On their initiative, the 8-class school belonging to David Rabinowitz at Magistracka 7 (now Kamińskiego Street 21) [243] was transformed into the first Jewish gymnasium (Puś 2003, p.153). In the final years before World War I, a Hebrew kindergarten was started by the poet Icchak Kacenelson at Cegielniana ( Jaracza) Street 4, with a Hebrew elementary school being created later. Between the Wars, I. Kacenelson ran a Hebrew gymnasium at Zawadzka (Próchnika) Street 43 [71] (Puś 2003, p.153). The same society also ran a gymnasium at Magistracka (Kamińskiego) Street 22 [244] and a gymnasium for girls in Olgińska (Piramowicza) Street at number 6 [296]. The well-recognised gymnasium for girls of Józef Lajb Ab opened in 1910 at Spacerowa (al. Kościuszki) Street 29, moving in 1921 to Zielona Street 8, later Zielona 10 [163] (Baranowski 1980). Several other schools are listed on the map of Jewish heritage (Figures 4.4 and 4.5a–g.), a more in-depth discussion goes far beyond the framework of this current book. 4.1.3.4  Conclusions and discussion All in all, most of the above-listed schools functioned in Nowe Miasto, with the Old Town and Bałuty hosting traditional religious heders, Talmud-Tora traditional schools for poor boys and the first elementary schools going back to the times of the zone and then relocated. Spodenkiewicz (1999, p.35) also mentions public elementary schools for Jewish children called szabasówki, closed on Saturdays, but without giving their exact location. In the interwar period, thanks to the introduction of compulsory elementary education (since 1919), new, free, Polish public elementary schools were erected, which may have attracted some of the Jewish population, for instance, the one in NowoMarysińska (now Staszica 1/3) Street. The distribution of schooling establishments, especially at the elementary level, further confirms the already noticed phenomena. At the beginning of the twentieth century, up to World War II, the Old Town, Bałuty and, to a certain degree, the most northern part of Nowe Miasto directly neighbouring the Old Town, hosted the most religious and traditional section of Jewish society. By the same token, the presence of more advanced education opportunities in Nowe Miasto reflected the gradual raising of living conditions and social status there. Poor people living in Bałuty did not send their offspring to secondary schools at all, after a few years of attending heder’s, boys entered journeyman apprenticeships.

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Spodenkiewicz (1999, pp.36–51) provides a more comprehensive review of the state of Jewish education in pre-war Łódź. Writing about the establishment of Kacenelson’s school at Zawadzka (Próchnika) Street 43, he elaborates, among other things, on the development of Zionist education in Jewish milieus (p.45). While the schools of the Society of Jewish Secondary Schools had teachers of mostly Polish-Jewish provenience, many coming from Galicia, Kacenelson’s school was a family one, conducted by former Litvaks. Regardless of the previous separation, because initially Litvaks created a closed group, not integrating with other Jews, very soon, at the beginning of the twentieth century, their goals started to come into line with the ones of more established Jewish groups. The spatial distribution of Zionism reflected the influence of this thread. While Bałuty, a district inhabited by poorer groups, became a natural ground for leftist ideals: Bund, the left wing of Poalej-Syjon and the Communist party addressing these needs, Zionism spread, to a greater or lesser extent, through all the Jewish population. Another phenomenon, noticeable when looking closely at the profile of schools, was the progressing Polonisation, especially in the period between the World Wars. Spodenkiewicz (1999) discusses the Polish profiles of several secondary schools, and also cites interviews in which his interlocutors recalled their positive attitude towards the Polish language and culture acquired from both their education and colleagues. The three leading Jewish political parties attempted to maintain Jewish identity: Agudas, looking from the religion and tradition stands, Bund – supporting the improvement of the Jewish masses’ living conditions without emigration – and Zionists, proponents of an independent Israeli state. 4.1.4  Healthcare and charity institutions 4.1.4.1  Healthcare institutions Until the 1870s, the only medical care which Jews could access were the few physicians employed by the Synagogue Supervision. The situation changed in 1882 when the first temporary hospital for Jews started in Drewnowska Street thanks to the financial aid of Izrael Poznański. Another hospital which catered to the needs of workers of the Poznański factory opened in 1892 at Drewnowska 75 [14], in a specially constructed building. The hospital, from 1925 financed by the municipality, was transformed into the Public Municipal Hospital of Saint Joseph. The Łódź Jewish Hospital of Israel and Leona Poznański at the corner of Nowo-Targowa (now Sterlinga) and Północna Streets [233] was opened in 1890. At that period, this part of town was still distant from urbanised areas, but it neighboured the newly created Helenów Park. Before World War II, the hospital was extended with a new wing along Nowo-Targowa (Sterlinga) Street (Badziak and Walicki 2002, pp.51–67). The institutional care for the mentally ill began in 1908 when the first temporary asylum was opened in Wesoła Street, next to the old cemetery.

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A psychiatric hospital was built in Radogoszcz, next to the road to Zgierz (Badziak and Walicki 2002, pp.90–91). The construction work lasted until the outbreak of World War I and continued through the interwar period. Mothers and children healthcare became available in 1897, when the Łódź Jewish Hospital of Poznański opened a maternity and gynaecological ward. In 1910, next to the ŁŻTD, a section for the care of poor new mothers was started (at Zielona 10). Thanks to the initiative of this new section, a maternity and gynaecological clinic was opened at Mikołajewska (Sienkiewicza) Street 83 (Badziak and Walicki 2002, p.89). In 1927, the clinic moved to a new hospital building at Nowo-Targowa (now Sterlinga) Street 13 [237] (Badziak and Walicki 2002, pp.149–153). By the outbreak of World War I, a Jewish Hospital for Children had been erected at the corner of Kniaziewicza and Zgierska Streets, thanks to the Konstadts’ foundation [5]. In 1921 the hospital was transformed into the Public Municipal Hospital in Radogoszcz (Badziak and Walicki 2002, p.109). The previously mentioned Łódź Jewish Society of Poor Sick Care ‘Linas Hacholim’, created in 1907, continued the tradition of the earlier committee of care to the poor and sick Jews in Łódź of the same name (which started in 1883). Among its first activities was the vaccination of poor Jews against smallpox, which took place in a dwelling at Średnia Street 2. In 1910, a maternity clinic for poor Jewish women was started, which was earmarked for transformation into a maternity care ward. In 1922, the Private Maternity Asylum of Jewish Society of Poor Sick Care ‘Linas Hacholim’ was registered, and erected a building at Południowa Street 19 (Badziak and Walicki 2002, pp.134–136). At the same time, there were at least two other Jewish societies who traditionally cared for the sick and impoverished: ‘Bikur Cholim’ [92] and ‘Linas Hacedek’ (Badziak and Walicki 2002, pp.128–129). Bikur Cholim was started in 1881 (afterwards it became a section of ŁŻTW in 1901 and restarted as an independent society in 1908). It collected funds from its members and secured health care, medicines and food for people in need. In 1908, the society bought real estate in Kały, close to Łodz, with the aim of building a summer health care institution there (Badziak and Walicki 2002, p.139). The sanatorium, opened in 1909, had its headquarters in Łodź at Ciegielniana Street 57 (now Jaracza Street 21). The seat of the society was located at Ogrodowa Street 11. The sanatorium reopened in 1915 and, after 1916, treated patients throughout the year. Rebuilt after a fire in 1919 and afterwards extended, the establishment worked until World War II. Apart from this, the society provided health services and food to the needy in the north district. It worked parallelly to the First Municipal Medical Centre for Poor Patients (Badziak and Walicki 2002, pp.136–147). Another organisation which catered to the poor was the Bałuty society ‘Miszmores Hacholim’ located at Aleksandrowska Street 6 (Walicki 2016, pp.160–161). In 1927–1930, the Hospital of Łódź Healthcare Fund was founded in Łagiewnicka Street in the middle of Bałuty, not far from Bałucki Market.

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This was the largest healthcare institution in this part of town, serving the general population of Łódź. 4.1.4.2  Charity organisations The activities of the Łódź Jewish Charity Organisation Society, ŁŻTD (Łódzkie Żydowskie Towarzystwo Dobroczynności), included philanthropy. In order to accomplish its remit, five distinct zones were created, which may give us some hints on the distribution of the needy: 1 Bałuty itself; 2 starting from Bałuty to the south till Średnia (Pomorska) and Konstantynowska Streets; 3 to Benedykta (6 Sierpnia) and Krótka (Traugutta) Streets; 4 to Św. Anna (Mickiewicza) and Główna (Piłsudskiego) Streets; 5 the remaining part of the town (Badziak and Walicki 2002, p.78). Since most poor Jews lived in Bałuty, the first zone required the hiring of specialist social workers; Jews living there could also get free health services and medicines. The tasks of social workers included the verification of individual pleas and the organisation of social aid. In the beginning, until 1902, the society met in a rented place at Cegielniana 17 (now Więckowskiego 1), then moved to rooms of the Society of Salesmen (Towarzystwo Subiektów Handlowych) at Długa (Gdańska) 45. Finally, the society relocated to their own buildings at Zachodnia Street 20 (40). There, also in 1902, they opened a, so-called, workhouse, where, for modest wages, poor people could find employment manufacturing simple items such as blouses, paper bags, and the like. The enterprise lasted only till 1906 because it did not prove economically viable (Badziak and Walicki 2002, p.86). Another service started by ŁŻTD was a loan fund which offered interest-free loans to small merchants and craftsmen (Badziak and Walicki 2002, p.87). Further charity institution was a soup kitchen in Św. Jakuba Street 13, which offered subsidised, mostly free, meals to poor Jews since its beginning in 1892. In 1902 it resettled to Zachodnia 20 and became especially popular during World War I. Also during the First World War, the Committee on Aid for the Homeless and Poor started, which served meals at several sites in the town. Besides this, at Św. Jacob Street 13 an asylum for homeless Jews was started, which, in 1902, moved to Stodolna (Zachodnia) Street 3 and finally, due to financial problems, had to close in 1907. A small asylum for disabled Jews functioned between 1902 and 1914 at Zachodnia Street 20 (Badziak and Walicki 2002, pp.88–89). In 1902, at Średnia (Pomorska) Street 96 (now 92), an institution named ‘Cheap Flats for Poor Jews’ was started. Its parcel of land for development extended to Źródłowa Street along its west side (the current location of Wierzbowa Street). By 1900 the institution had constructed a 3-storey building in Średnia Street for ‘Cheap Flats Funded by Maksymilian and

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Anna Goldfeder’ [245] (Badziak and Walicki 2002, p.92). In 1893 Herman Konstadt started the ‘House of the Poor in Łódź’ (Dom Ubogich w Łodzi) at Średnia 54 [236] (Badziak and Walicki 2002, p.104). In 1918, the institution merged with the Łódź Jewish Shelter for the Elderly, with very similar objectives, into the Łódź Society for the Care of the Elderly. Until the outbreak of World War II, the society maintained a few establishments: part of a house at Główna (Piłsudskiego) Street 34 and two villas in Tuszyn-Las. Additionally, the building at Średnia 54 was redeveloped and extended to accommodate more residents (Badziak and Walicki 2002, pp.207–213). Another initiative in the last will of Herman Konstadt was an asylum for deprived persons who once lived on welfare. While the foundation responsible for this institution acquired a property at Wólczańska Street 243 with a large villa, the actual launch of the asylum was interrupted by the outbreak of World War II (Badziak and Walicki 2002, pp.122–125). One more organisation which dealt with poor Jewish children in Bałuty and in Łódź was the Society for the Aid to Poor Jewish Children in Łódź and in Bałuty, created in 1912. The Łódź Jewish Society for Orphan Care (ŁŻTOS Łódzkie Żydowskie Towarzystwo Opieki nad Sierotami) at Północna Street 38 was inaugurated in 1907. Initially, its seat was at Długa (Gdańska) 45. At Tramwajowa 15 the society started an asylum for Jewish girls in 1909. Before this, the same place hosted an orphan house financed by the Silberstein family. Another orphanage was located at Północna 38, next to Hellenów Park and its construction entirely funded by the Hirszberg family [231]. Since 1924 the society also had its own sanatorium in Kały. Hertz Daycare for Girls was at first located in rented rooms in Zachodnia then relocated to two houses in Długa (Gdańska) Street, numbers 14 and 15. This establishment, supervised by Synagogue Board, was initially financed from voluntary contributions by affluent Jewish families. The building of the daycare sponsored by the Hertz family, with municipal participation in the acquisition of the land, was opened in 1901 at Północna Street 37/39 [232] (Badziak and Walicki 2002, pp.164–173). The same building also hosted a nursery: The Nursery of the Jewish Religious Community, organised by the Society for the Protection of Jewish People’s Health (TOZ Towarzystwo Ochrony Zdrowia Ludności Żydowskiej). In 1895, an orphanage for Jewish children at Zakątna (Pogonowskiego) Street 25 [388] opened, wholly financed by Silberstein, controlled by the family and by Synagogue Supervision. In 1904, the institution moved to Tramwajowa Street 15 and then, in 1909, to Południowa (now Rewolucji 1905 r.) 66 (Badziak and Walicki 2002, pp.179–180). In 1918, kahal initiated another orphanage for Jewish children at Zawadzka (Próchnika) Street 53. Later, it moved to Południowa (Rewolucji 1905 r.) 66, the property becoming the possession of the Łódź society ‘Shelter’ for Jewish Girls at Południowa 66 [253] (Łódzkie Towarzystwo ‘Przytulisko’ dla dziewcząt wyznania mojżeszowego) (Badziak and Walicki 2002, pp.183–185).

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The ‘Children’s Misery’ society, started in 1911 and at first located at Wólczańska 95, organised multifply aid for Jewish children, distributing food and clothes, providing health care and directing them to schools of various levels. The society also maintained a vocational school. In 1918 it managed an orphanage and schools: elementary and vocational, and also a canteen for pupils and other children. In 1929, thanks to a donation from Matylda Heyman, the society bought a property at Hrabiowska (Proletariacka) Street 28 and afterwards extended the house there to accommodate the institution. The organisation functioned till the outbreak of World War II (Badziak and Walicki 2002, pp.186–193). The first shelter for Jewish children at Smugowa Street 4 started as a daycare institution in 1898, which was located in a rented building at Cegielniana Street 61 (now Jaracza 43). At the beginning of the twentieth century it moved to Solna Street 12. The Landau family participated in the financing of this establishment, and in 1904 a special building for the shelter was opened at Smugowa Street 4 thanks to the Landau’s foundation (Badziak and Walicki 2002, pp.193–200). In 1885, a shelter for Jewish girls opened thanks to Ernestyna Ginsberg, using rented rooms. She also intended to found an asylum for Jewish widows and female disable persons at Średnia (Pomorska) Street 105, opposite to the cheap flats for Jewish families founded by Goldfeders. However, due to an extended inheritance procedure, it was not possible to open the asylum. The building constructed for this purpose served as a Polish gymnasium for boys from 1926, mostly attended by Jewish assimilated youths. Another form of charity was the organisation of summer camps for Jewish children. In 1894, the Silberstein family bought a property in Lisowice where, on a plot of land called Krzyżówka, a colony of wooden houses was erected to host summer camps for Jewish children. From 1893, the camps were organised, not only in Krzyżówka but also on the property of the Poznański family in Nieznanowice, Kamieńsk, Lutomiersk and Ciechocinek. In 1907, the, initially, Committee of Summer Camps transformed into the Society of Summer Camps for Jewish Children. After World War I, their activities were continued by the Society for the Protection of Jewish People’s Health (TOZ) (Badziak and Walicki 2002, pp.200–205). 4.1.4.3 Conclusions In all, the multiplicity of initiatives which dealt with charity in Łódź confirms the common belief that traditions of philanthropy and self-organisation within the Jewish community remained firm. Looking at the spatial distribution of documented institutions, however, a feature that strikes one is that most were located in Nowe Miasto, so in the area where the charity givers lived. Only a few activities took place directly in the poorest Jewish districts. While for the organisations of healthcare and children’s care this may be easily justified by sanitary conditions, institutions such as day care

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must have served children living in their proximity. This may be, on the one hand, explained by the reluctance of orthodox Jews to use the facilities of a more progressive profile. However, on the other hand, it also meant that the poorest Jewish children were deprived of care and supervision, and also that many of them had to work, helping their parents in workshops from very early childhood (for instance as noted in the book on Jewish Bałuty by Rabon 2016). There may have also been other organisations led by the Jewish religious community itself and documented only in its records, not registered in Polish sources. 4.1.5  Jewish business and housing typology and distribution 4.1.5.1  Jewish enterprises An analysis of the spatial distribution of Jewish businesses which functioned in Łódź between the 1820s and World War II (Figures 4.4 and 4.5a–g.) demonstrates their high dependency on the legal framework and economic situation of the country. While in the beginning, until 1862, most Jewish firms opened in the zone or nearby, as soon as the restrictions were lifted, Jewish enterprises expanded outside. At first, the most desired location was Piotrkowska Street, where most firms had their representatives or showrooms. During this period, thanks to the activities of credit societies, many masonry structures were constructed in the courtyards of Piotrkowska Street, most of them as side buildings hosting textile production businesses of various sorts. A significant number of them belonged to Jews, for instance, the biggest wool spinning mill at Piotrkowska 65, which was the property of Szaia Rosenblatt in 1876. With time, along with the development of industrial production, Jews were attracted to Łódka, which offered better conditions for such firms. In this group there were the firms of Barciński [356] and Silberstein. Referring to the latter as an example, the first investment by Markus Silberstein was his general store at Nowomiejska 7 (1863). The Silbersteins also had a house at Piotrkowska 40 [142] (1872), a wool and half-wool fabric weaving mill at Piotrkowska 244–248 [351] and a cotton spinning mill in Pusta (Wigury) Street [351] (now Mera-Poltik). Besides, the family took over and redeveloped the factory of Birnbaum at Piotrkowska 258–260 [353] (Badziak and Walicki 2002, p.178). The complex of industrial buildings distinguished itself against the backdrop of still mostly wooden, single-floor weavers’ houses in the south part of Piotrkowska Street. Another early example may be Wilhelm Ginsberg, who co-owned a weavery and a spinning mill at Św. Emilii (Tymienieckiego) Street 16/18. He also leased a small wool weavery in a building belonging to Geyers (White Factory), and another factory at Piotrkowska 264/266. In 1865 he bought a property at Nowy Rynek (Plac Wolności) 8, where his family lived and a general store was located (Badziak and Walicki 2002, p.222).

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With the arrival of Litvaks at the end of the nineteenth century, Jewish economic potential grew and expansion became feasible. Nevertheless, the majority of Jewish enterprises chose their location in the environs of Plac Wolności, and most had their shops along Piotrkowska Street. After the closing of Russian markets after World War I, many firms changed ownership, and but a few maintained or developed production. In the new situation economic preferences, such as proximity to railways and cheap land for construction influenced decisions on choice of location. Jews could also buy up former German businesses, which happened for instance in the case of Oscar Kohn and Widzewska Manufaktura [1]. The typical settlement pattern of the period of intensive development of the textile industry applied to all Łódź enterprises. Usually an entrepreneur built his family house or even several residences, often accompanied by a park, in direct proximity to their firm, or at least not far from it. The Poznański family, the richest of the Jewish factory owners, erected all four of their palaces within the same neighbourhood [21], [110], [120]. Most distant from their enterprise in Ogrodowa Street was the palace of the Hertz family at Spacerowa 4 [174]. Another common form of residential structure were the family houses of a residential and utilitarian character, hosting the dwelling of the owner and services such as a shop selling products from the factory, an agency, or offices. Some of these edifices were very elaborate and richly decorated, resembling palaces, for instance the bank house of Maksymilian Goldfeder at Piotrkowska Street 77 [233], built in 1887. Another building of a similar type was the well-known apartment building of Herman and Mina Konstadt at Piotrkowska Street 53 [185], with characteristic figures of Atlases holding up a protruding bay window on the first floor. On the ground floor there were the offices of the company’s owner, the remaining space being rented as luxury shops. Jewish entrepreneurial spirit was also expressed in the arrangements of tenements and smaller buildings which housed workshops and an abundance of shops. The workshops of varying sizes ranged from several to just one room. Even in the case of paupers, a workshop was often located in the very same chamber where the whole family lived (Spodenkiewicz 1999, p.27). The most popular form of earning one’s living among Jews, especially in Bałuty, but also in the Old Town, was cottage industry; home workers engaging in tasks such as weaving, sewing, and the like. Some of these workshops, apart from family members, often employed a few apprentices or a journeyman; however, the scale of such enterprises usually remained very small. Rosenfarb (2000, p.44) describes a walk of the main heroine along a typical street in this part of town at the end of the nineteenth century: Binele continued to walk a slow leisurely pace through the squalid, packed streets of Bałuty. (…) She stopped at the stalls in the gates and along the walls of houses. Small mirrors, brushes, and combs were on display on tables in the stalls. She bought herself a bagel and chewed on

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it as she peered into the huts through the windows. The rhythmical clipclop of the weavers’ looms, a pleasant sound of wood against wood, mingled with the loud rhythmic hum of the sewing and knitting machines that issued from everywhere. 4.1.5.2  Residential development In the development of residential buildings in Łódź from the beginning of its industrial period until the outbreak of World War II Popławska (1982, p.94) distinguishes several phases. At first, in the 20s of the nineteenth century, single-floor rental buildings fulfilled two roles: of both a dwelling and a workshop. This type of craftsmen’s houses still prevailed at the beginning of the second half of the nineteenth century, with a few exceptions of two-floor buildings (Popławska 1982, p.94). In this initial period of Łódź’s development, Jews lived in the zone in the Old Town, totally constrained from settling outside. With the arrival of new people, attracted by new industrial prospects, and population growth, the overcrowding became insupportable. The densities were very high; sometimes several families had to stay in a single, one-chambered flat. Several of the properties in the zone still belonged to Poles who were not forced to move out, which worsened the situation even more. Most of the Jewish population could not immediately afford the compulsory erecting of masonry houses. This led to the situation of incredible overcrowding in the already existing wooden houses in the zone, which Jews, similarly to other citizens, inhabited in the beginning. Even up to the 40s of the nineteenth century Jewish dwellings remained mostly wooden – Podolska (2010, p.15) attributes the first masonry house in the Old Market to Kalman Poznański. Starting from the middle of the nineteenth century, in the Old Town, the main commercial district of Łódź, masonry, two-floor buildings were erected, which hosted shops and flats for rent (Popławska 1992, p.19). The buildings constructed there in the fifties and sixties of the nineteenth century were far more modest than in the industrial settlements, their forms also more varied: in number of floors – one, two or three – and in sizes. Usually, the new buildings respected the assigned construction lines. They had five windows’ axes, and the most common sizes were 15 × 13 × 8 metres or 15 × 13 × 10 metres. A thoroughfare entryway was located symmetrically in the centre, and the construction took the whole width of the parcel. Roofs were gable, double pitched ones. Unadorned window frames with lintels and a balcony supported by cast-iron cantilevers in the central axis of the second floor completed the picture. Shops, located in the front part, often very narrow and of great depth, without a feature window, were often connected to the chamber which contained the flat of the merchant, usually situated in the side or rear section of the ground floor. Any remaining rooms which faced backyards as well as those located above used to be rented as dwellings. The stairs which led to the upper floors were located in the back section of a building or took

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a side part of the entry hall. The layout of rooms on the first floor used to be symmetrical and repetitive. The entrance corridor opened onto four chambers, which could be separate entities or two flats of a pair of rooms each. The most striking feature was the absence of any auxiliary service space, such as an additional interior entry hall, interior corridor, kitchen or bathroom. The rooms, each with separate flues, could be connected and rearranged into flats of different layouts. This was even easier taking into account the lack of interior water or sewage systems. A stove or an oven could be easily arranged in nearly every room, excluding small entry chambers or storage areas, if there were any. The room located above the gate, in the front part of a building, usually very long and narrow, was equipped with a balcony, which emphasised the axial character of the facade’s composition (Popławska 1992, p.19). More two-storey buildings were constructed in the 60s of the nineteenth century. These contained rooms for rental, flats and shops. Equally, in the 1870s, single-storey houses still prevailed or were unified into small two or three floor buildings, hosting shops on the ground floor and rooms for rent on the upper floors (Popławska 1982, p.94). In all, in the 60s, 70s and 80s of the nineteenth century a typical house in Łódź was one of three floors, with a seven-axes, symmetrical facade, emphasised with a cast-iron balcony in the middle of the second floor, and with an entrance gate beneath the balcony. Above the main cornice, dormers were often designed. While the facades of the 60s usually had limited quantity of detail, they later became richly decorated (Rynkowska 1970). The houses of factory owners in the 1870s still resembled those which belonged to artisans, and only in the 1880s did they start to be built on a larger scale and become richly decorated (Popławska 1982, p.94). In his analysis of residential development in Warsaw, which very much referred also to what happened in nearby Łódź, Krassowski (1978, pp.27–28) points to the significant growth in the sizes of dwellings in the period 1862–1882; the most common type had five rooms or more, having said that, many one-room flats were also constructed. The average size of dwellings at this time was 3.3 rooms. In the next decade, the standard dropped and newly built dwellings counted on average a measly 1.1 rooms, but growth resumed at the end of the nineteenth century. During the period from 1880 to 1914 the differentiated residential structures reflected the social diversity and wealth of their inhabitants. Popławska (1982, pp.94–95) distinguishes: • • • • • • •

tenement houses; apartment buildings of a very high standard; family houses of residential and utilitarian character, hosting the dwelling of the owner and services; residences of factory owners, of diversified forms; villas with apartments for rent – such as those erected in Mayer’s Passage; workers’ houses; low standard tenement houses.

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Tenement and apartment buildings, of various standards, represented the most generic type, of three or four floors, consisting of a front part with two spans and side wings of one span, linked to the main building. The gate was positioned in the axis of the central part, the staircase – in a gap at the yard side. In the period from 1858 to 1928, the most relevant guidance in the Kingdom of Poland which influenced the actual form of tenement houses were fire regulations limiting the width and length of a yard to a minimum of 9.14m (Krassowski 1978, p. 34). The standard width of a building plot in Łódź, following the parcellation of Nowe Miasto, was fixed at 21m. The great depth of the blocks, in the period before the development of Łódź serving as fields, led to extremely long and narrow parcels. In blocks neighbouring Piotrkowska Street parcel dimensions were 21 by 260 metres or 21 by 280 metres (Popławska 1982, p.95). From the 1890s, masonry street-facing buildings started to be erected on a larger scale than before, giving way to a new, far more urban character of the main street (Rynkowska 1970, p.117). With time, Jews acquired more and more properties in the north part of Piotrkowska Street; transactions within this group were also not unusual. For instance, in 1881 Szmul Rosenow bought the property at Piotrkowska Street 16 which formerly belonged to Wanda Micińska [96], and already housed a three-storey tenement with rear wings. One more apartment building, also owned by Wanda Micińska, at Piotrkowska Street 14 [86], was acquired in 1885 by Moszek Bławat and afterwards by Chaskiel Rozenblum. In the middle half of the eighties of the nineteenth century a majority of the houses on Piotrkowska Street between the New Market and Dzielna Street were Jewish properties (Rykała 2012). The tenant population remained mixed, with many Poles among them (Rynkowska 1970, p.119). Tenement houses contained flats for rent of a diverse standard. In more modest buildings, the layout of rooms was not uniform, and adjustments were also facilitated due to the lack of sanitary facilities, which were located outside: either in the yard, in rear wings or accessible from the landing of a staircase. In high standard tenements, each floor contained two flats, both taking half of the front building and a part of a side-building. Each flat had two staircases, a ‘refined’ one at the front and a ‘service’ one which led to a back entrance and, often, more modest flats in rear wings. This layout grew popular, although not unified; depending on the specific equipment, the standard could be classified into one of several categories according to the requirements of the Łódź Credit Society. A typical bourgeois flat, such as the one described by Krassowski (1978, pp.35–36), consisting of a number of rooms of different specified functions, had many variations; the more so that this type of flat used to be built until 1914. Jews and Poles inhabited flats of exactly the same layout, which were designed by the same architects and often neighboured each other, even within the same apartment building. The size and standard of a dwelling differed along with social status. Similarly, the position in the economic

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hierarchy influenced the accommodation’s vertical location in a tenement house, with the apartments on the first floor the most desired and, therefore, the most expensive. A typical flat belonging to a middle-income family consisted of several rooms, of which one was usually larger and played the role of salon or parlour. Other places of specific functions were a dining room and the bedroom of the parents. Besides this, an apartment also included a kitchen and entry hall; sometimes there were also separate children’s bedrooms. Otherwise, children slept in the rooms already listed, younger ones in their parents’ bedroom, older ones in other chambers, a maidservant slept in the kitchen and a doorman in the entry hall (Krassowski 1978, pp.35–36). In Jewish flats one of the most impressive rooms was used by the master of a household as a study and contained an extensive and highly valued library, including, most importantly, a collection of sacred books. If a family were poorer, then the bookshelf stood in a common room where all other activities took place. We should not forget that the typical layout of dwellings in tenements of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth century was very flexible. What was once used as a salon could be easily converted into a library or office space, and so forth. Contemporarily, many of these flats successfully serve as offices of lawyers, accountants, and the like, or various workshops. The current renovation works taking place in Łódź should enable us to be more aware of possible traces of former inhabitants, especially in attics and the less visited parts of buildings (Goldberg-Mulkiewicz 2003, p.147), where remnants of, e.g., former sukkot huts may have been preserved. As Krassowski (1978, p.27) claims, in the period between the World Wars a fundamental change in the layout of tenement dwellings took place, which was a result of several factors. Firstly, the location of building on a parcel changed. Secondly, thanks to technology and the popularisation of elevators, apartments on the highest floors could become more in demand. Besides this, along with the development of urban life and recognition of its problems, which gave way to new attitudes like the desire to live in peaceful conditions, apartments in other parts of a lot than the front became more attractive. Another important factor was the construction of sewage and water system, which gradually enabled the introduction of sanitary facilities to individual apartments. 4.1.5.3  Poorer housing The rapid population growth which followed industrialisation resulted in an abrupt increase in demand for lodgings. At the same time, an insufficient housing construction market led to a lasting disproportion between the number of new dwellings and the number of incoming citizens. Whereas the nobility, proprietors, state and municipal officials and intelligentsia owned, depending on their social hierarchy and wealth, larger or medium-sized appartments, the most common dwelling of a working family was a one-chamber flat. Only better-remunerated workers with higher qualifications could afford

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two rooms. While the differences in housing conditions among intelligentsia were significant, workers’ families all lived in flats of a similar size, with one chamber as the standard solution. During this period of intensive growth, the scarcity of disposable income which factory workers could spend on their accommodations led to the higher share of small flats in the general number of newly constructed ones. What prevailed were one or two-chamber dwellings of a standard adjusted to the limited income of their potential tenants. The demand for larger and better-equipped apartments, with, in consequence, a higher rent, was much smaller. This situation lasted from the beginning of the nineteenth century until the onset of World War II (Karpińska 1993, p.173). The low-quality tenements, such as those erected in Kamienna (now Włókiennicza Street), contained one or two-chamber flats accessible from a common corridor. Usually, their front facades contributed to the street’s facade; moderately decorated, they looked like other, grander tenements. Toilets were located outside, in small, wooden structures in courtyards (Popławska 1982, p.60). Cheaper flats for rent were also available in rear buildings: a cross-building and side wings, which developed behind most tenements. Often, the one-storey manufacturer’s houses from the initial period of the town’s development were accompanied by much higher masonry rear buildings; as Stefański (2016, pp.228–229) claims, this way of building was typical for Łódź. The interwar period brought an even lower standard dwelling, although there were exceptions and many flats erected then still had several, even a dozen, rooms (Krassowski 1978, pp.27–28). The limited construction market affected housing supplies, which, in consequence, led to a massive overpopulation of dwellings with several family members staying in one single chamber, e.g., in 1918, 56.7% of the total population of Łódź lived in such flats. The situation changed with time, the rate of single room dwellers first dropping to 52% in 1921 only to rise to 59% in 1931 (Karpińska 1993, p.174). The highest density rates referred to workers’ housing, for instance in Łódź in 1931, 81.5% of the population inhabited overpopulated dwellings, and 40.8% lived in extremely congested ones, with over four people per chamber ( Jaskółowska 1976, p.170). 4.1.5.4 Bałuty The rapid development of Łódź as a textile industry centre also affected its neighbouring territories, in this number, Chojny and Bałuty, the latter, a suburb, which until World War I administratively belonged to Radogoszcz but in all essence functioned as a part of the Łódź municipality. In 1910, the population of Bałuty numbered 97 000 people, of which 52 000 were Catholics, 21 000 Evangelicals and 20 000 Jews. The separate spatial zones they inhabited were characterised by their prevailing Jewish or Polish population (Walicki 2016, p.150), the neighbourhood in proximity to Pfeiffer Street (Pieprzowa) described by Rabon (2016) represented a Jewish one (Figure 4.6). Jews who

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Figure 4.6  C  entral part of Bałuty district – an analysis of the form of the public realm. Section 2a. 1. Street facades, 2. the administrative border of Łódź before World War I, 3. landmarks, 4. prayer houses according to Rykała (2012), 5. Jewish cemetery in Wesoła Street, 6. buildings’ layout based on German maps of 1939, source State Archives of Łódź, 7. plot borders 1939, 8. buildings 2000, 9. plot borders 2000.

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lived in Bałuty belonged to the Łódź religious community and actively participated in its life. A so-called ‘industrial settlement’, Bałuty covered 146.4 ha, there were 55 streets there and 2 800 buildings – in this number 800 wooden or half-wooden houses5. The construction methods, along with the renting of flats in the second floors of wooden buildings led to periodic fires; the fire danger was very high. Dylik (1939, p.122, after Walicki 2016, p.162) distinguishes only a few concentrations of masonry houses in the central part of main streets going out from Łódź: Zgierska, Brzezińska and Limanowskiego. Besides this, he pointed out the presence of single-floor houses with steep roofs and large dormers in the axis of the entrance facade which could be found in Krótka, Zgierska, Brzezińska, Młynarska Streets and close to Bałucki Market. According to the same description, the remaining area was built with two-floor, wooden ‘tenements’ resembling the masonry ones in Łódź, however, much cheaper, and at the same time hugely overcrowded. An urgent issue was the lack of water and sewage systems; instead, wells and water carts served as sources of water, and all sewage was disposed of directly into open ditches. While Łódź planned the construction of water and sewage systems according to the plans by Lindley (the construction works being largely completed before World War II), Bałuty could not afford such investments. Buildings in this poor suburb used to be dilapidated, close to falling down, being built of cheap materials and never properly maintained. The district faced enormous overcrowding and poor sanitary conditions, streets had no pavements nor lighting at night, and there were places where even street gutters were missing (Friedman 1935, p.94). Moreover, the rubbish dump was located within the suburb, in Dworska Street, which further worsened the hygienic situation. Poor living conditions, congestion, which in Bałuty was much higher than in Łódź, and a lack of proper sanitary standards led to frequent epidemics, which took its toll in particular amongst younger children. Bałuty, which grew as an extension of Łódź Old Town, performed several economic functions (Walicki 2016, p.155): • • •

provided lodgings for Łódź’s workers; catered to the needs of the poorest social groups in terms of basic services; hosted manufacturers working within the framework of a tolling system coordinated by Łódź enterprises.

Citizens living there hoped that incorporation to Łódź would improve their situation; however, the Russian administration refused for years for fear of increasing the numbers of workers in the town (Friedman 1935, p.94). Furthermore, the incorporation of densely built and demanding large expenses land in Bałuty Nowe and Żubardź Colony was not viable from the point of view of the municipal authorities of Łódź, who looked for unbuilt areas to erect new houses there. Therefore, in 1898 the City Council which considered the extension of administrative borders of Łódź did not include

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these territories in proposed documents (Bazaniak 2017, p.53). Finally, the President of the Caesar German Police M. von Oppen, decided to join the mentioned areas to Łódź in 1915, during the German occupation. The final procedure, including the satisfaction of all the formal real estate requirements, extended until 1935 (ibid, pp.61–67). 4.1.5.5 Conclusions – distribution of various groups within the Jewish community Bałuty, together with the Old Town, housed the poorest and the most traditional section of Jewish society. It became one of the main destinations of the massive Jewish migrations from shtetls to new urban centres, Łódź included, over the course of the nineteenth century. Such a concentration allowed the preservation of some of the qualities of this former ‘face to face community’, where everyone was known by name and nickname and assigned a role and place in the communal world (Kassow 2007, loc.163). This community mostly inhabited the initial area of Jewish presence in Łódź, in ‘the district for the inhabitants of Moses’ faith’ (Rynkowska 1960, no 152). At least at the beginning of the development of industrial Łódź, in the first half of the nineteenth century, the core part of the Jewish district, which covered the shtetl-like structures of the Old Town and central part of the Nowe Bałuty settlement and Żubardź Colony, represented a distinct, socially isolated population. With time and the gradual expansion of the Jewish community to Nowe Miasto, a much more heterogeneous community developed. The profile of the community who lived in Nowe Miasto was also not unified and changed over time. The delimitation of the area of traditional Jewish culture raises controversy, and its spatial development is often overlooked. At first, it was constrained to the zone; with time, the area grew to cover the central part of Nowe Bałuty and Colony Żubardź. After 1862, the first migrants to Nowe Miasto belonged to the wealthy bourgeoisie, though others followed later. It seems that between the World Wars, the area of the traditional Jewish core overlapped with the common perception of the extent of the Jewish district in Łódź. It comprised the Old Town and the adjacent part of the former Nowe Bałuty settlement, enclosed by Pomorska and Legionów Streets, also including the Factory of I.K. Poznan ́ski, its closest surroundings and parts of Zachodnia and Nowomiejska Street. Spodenkiewicz (1999) highlights Dzika (Narutowicza)/Zielona Streets as at the edge of the zone where the Jews constituted the majority of the population. Moving further south, a Polish/ Jewish mix could be encountered. The south part of the territory where Jews lived lines up with the extent defined by analyses of statistical data of the beginning of the period between the World Wars (Grabowski 1922), shown in Figure 4.3. A large group also lived in the proximity of Górny Rynek. The community of Litvaks initially gathered around their synagogue in Wólczańska Street 6, but, thanks to the resources at their disposal, spread

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throughout the town, mixing with other Jewish families. Spacerowa Street developed the role of the most highly-regarded avenue in Łódź, where the wealthiest families built their palaces. The neighbourhood of Dzika (now Narutowicza) Street was known for its intelligentsia. Modern day citizens of Łódź with a higher level of historical consciousness believe that the area extends to Zielona and Narutowicza Streets. They are aware of the presence of its more acculturated Jewish population in the direct neighbourhood of the pre-war edifice of the progressive synagogue (Dajcze szil), which once stood on the corner parcel of Zielona Street and Aleja Kościuszki (former Zachodnia Street). At first, the prosperous bourgeoisie attempted to adopt the behaviour of German citizens, following the example of the German Haskalah movement. After Poland had regained its independence, acculturation into Polish society took over, with a secular Jewish identity growing in parallel, as has already been mentioned. More assimilated groups spread all over the centre; some individuals, affluent and in pursuit of the best economic opportunities, picked sites for their activities regardless of the constraints of the cultural environment. Notwithstanding the acculturation and assimilation processes, along with the gradually developing antisemitism, the spatial distribution of Jewish neighbourhoods influenced their perceived safety. The districts: Widzew, Chojny and the proximity of the garrison at Konstantynowska Street or of the Hallera Square seemed dangerous to Jewish citizens. The parks Sienkiewicza or Poniatowskiego – safe on weekdays – could be dangerous on Sundays or during holidays, especially on Corpus Christi or on the 3rd of May – the anniversary of the adoption of the Constitution of 1791 (Spodenkiewicz 1999, p.22). The Jewish community of Łódź featured a distinct and closed character and defined culture. Surrounded by the transition zone of assimilation, it provided an environment that remained stable and did not generate conflicts over a long period of time. It may still serve today as an example to follow of the co-presence of many different cultural groups. The social equilibrium developed thanks to an intermediate, socially heterogeneous transition zone in which the level of assimilation increased and where the traditional religious orthodox practices and habits were diluted. The distribution of ethnic and cultural groups has been the subject of many studies since the research by Park, as described by Gottdiener and Hutchison (2006, pp.155–180). In as much as the ‘folk society’ (Redfield 1947) characterised by its homogenous and usually high context culture remained, the increased heterogeneity resulted in more urban neighbourhoods. The latest research on the allocation of distinguished social groups in cities (Rankin 2010, 2011) confirms Redfield’s (1947) theses concerning the necessity of mixed, urban-specific transition zones between ethnic groups, instead of distinct borders, as a condition of stability. Additionally, the research by Ladányi (2001) proves that whereas the concentration of ethnically different groups favours social exclusion, the presence of an intermediate transition zone enables integration.

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In all, contemporary studies on segregation and integration processes in our globalising world confirm the necessity of high context, homogenous cores and intermediate, mixed transitions zones as factors of social stability. Varied social patterns and ethnical heterogeneity became suitable for contemporary urban society (Schnell and Benjamini 2001). The spatial distribution of ethnic groups in Łódź at the beginning of the twentieth century tended towards this model. The case study of the Jewish presence in Łódź confirms all of the above observations. 4.1.6  Characteristics of the urban structure The area of the consistent concentration of Jews, in both the Old Town and the most urbanised part of the former Nowe Bałuty settlement, is referred to as one of an essentially Jewish character, for example, by Bonisławski (1998). This is where the initial influx of Jews to Łódź was directed and, as a result, these neighbourhoods preserved many features of Jewish life in small towns and villages described as  ‘the shtetl’ (Zborowski and Herzog 1995, p.34). The most important was the previously mentioned ‘face-to-face’ character of small communities (Kassow 2007, loc.404). These settings were often described as having a distinct ‘Jewish’ character, though referring this attribution to urban structures only would be an oversimplification. A large part of this atmosphere was due to the people who lived there, their activities and the arrangement of urban furniture which suited these activities. In addition to the architectural details of religious edifices discussed heretofore (after Stefański and Szrajber 2009), several discernible features of urban settings could be associated with a ‘Jewish’ character. Although a substantial chunk of the pre-war atmosphere is long gone, some elements have remained and can still be distinguished through analyses of the remnant forms of the nineteenth-century structures and public spaces coming from pre-war times. The study indicates the presence of a set of features commonly encountered in areas inhabited by Polish Jewry. Beyond these zones, the unique atmosphere was diminished. However, some characteristics associated with Jewishness concerned also the area of Nowe Miasto – though as a consequence of the level of acculturation and assimilation of the society living there, mixing of different groups, social status and wealth, and changing habits and occupations, the character of spaces dissolved too. The criticism based on aesthetic criteria, for its most part expressed by non-Jews, prove the differences in aesthetic perception. Further substantial redevelopment of areas inhabited by Jews confirms it too. The German authorities of Litzmanstadt extensively redeveloped the area during World War II. In the post-war period, Polish authorities continued the redevelopment further. Settings, which were once perceived useful and appropriate, later were considered ugly and deserving demolition. Of course, this negative assessment was partially justified because it was based on such features as poverty, dirtiness, odour, and the like, which, in turn, stemmed from the

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social status of its inhabitants and a lack of material resources required, for instance, to build a sewage system. Other attributes such as chaos, mess, clutter, and others could be, at least partly, only a matter of perception and based on stereotypes. However, even these later alterations, which diluted most of the former atmosphere, did not utterly destroy the image of these places, which remains present and allows for the reading of the past citizens’ activities and habits. When analysing the form of public spaces, the impact of the residents was first reflected in the more temporary elements of spatial development, the semi-fixed features using the terminology by Rapoport (1990), such as the sociometric layout of the interiors of urban quarters, advertisements, and the arrangement of street furniture. The fixed features (ibid.) came next. In what follows, we will examine how various aspects of the Jewish presence in Łódź affected the still-remaining urban structure. 4.1.6.1  Parcellation and transformations of urban structures The parcellation in the Old Town was of medieval provenience and dated from the period when the charter was granted to the then village by King Władysław Jagiełło (Koter 1984). The main streets, their directions and tracing were, on the one hand, an effect of the pursuit to connect, in one straight line, the main settlement units of the Kingdom of Poland. On the other hand, they revealed an effort to retain the structure of settlements, property divisions and the configuration of the terrain. Koter (1984) writes about using the route of the Łódka river, and of the no longer existing bridge on the Jasien ́ river when laying out the road to Piotrków, and about taking into consideration the central part of the former village with the market and the church (Koter 1984, p.55). The only investment which altered the network of streets of medieval provenience (Koter 1984) in the Old Town at the beginning of industrial Łódź was a street joining Zachodnia and Stodolniana Streets, leading from its junction with Podrzeczna and across a bridge over the river Łódka (Stefański 2016, pp.124–125). Moreover, on the occasion of the second enlargement of ‘the zone’, further streets were added: Aleksandryjska, Ś w. Jakuba, Jerozolimska and Franciszkan ́ska (Rynkowska 1960, no 154) (see Figure 4.7). Bławat and Birenzweyg proposed a new concept of development of Nowe Bałuty when the initial proposal of the industrial settlement proved obsolete. The plan was drawn in 1858 by the surveyor Borowiecki (Badziak 2017, p.26). The new concept included much smaller properties than initially agreed. Gardens were to be much smaller too (1–2 morgi), and finally they were not assigned at all. The layout of the main streets in the central part around the Bałucki Market and Bazarowy Square and also the original scheme of the parcellation was simple. This adherence to the former character is symptomatic; abrupt changes of the previous street network and its replacement with brand new layouts did not take place. Describing the allotment of land in Nowe Bałuty undertaken by the administrators, the then president of Łódź,

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Figure 4.7  Old Town – an analysis of the form of the public realm. Section 2b. The sociometric layout of paths and alleys has been presented on the backdrop of the reconstruction of the formerly-existing quarter between Nad Łódką Street, Stodolniania Street and Północna Street in Łódź. The quarter, inhabited mainly by Jews, was demolished by Germans in 1939. The reconstruction has been done for the purpose of the making of a large-scale model of the quarter by a team of the Museum of the History of the City of Łódź: Michał Gruda, Adam Brajter, Bolesław Polewczyk, modelling team: Bartosz Michalski, Sebastian Matusiak. 1. Main confirmed commercial paths, 2. remaining internal paths, hypothetical, 3. location of gates in tenements, 4. unconfirmed gates, 5. street facades, 6. administrative border of Łódź before World War I, streets, 7. distant landmarks, 8. landmarks, 9. other significant locations, 10. prayer houses according to Rykała (2012), 11. river Łódka, 12. buildings’ layout based on the model reconstruction 1939, 13. buildings’ layout based on German maps of 1939, source State Archives of Łódź, 14. plot borders 1939, 15. buildings 2000, 16. plot borders 2000.

Traeger stated: ‘they laid out the squares and markets preserving the directions and shape of former ones, according to the character of the town’ (Rynkowska 1960, no 154). The streets in the remaining area and further parcellation in the central part of the settlement were spontaneous, devoid of any control. An example of this is Ciesielska Street, built by its owners to service the properties which were located there (Sygulski 2006). Analyses of the transformations of the street layout and built structures of Łódź Old Town makes it clear that the arrangement of the medieval village was adjusted to the needs of nineteenth-century reality without significant changes to its design, through only the replacement of buildings. Popławska (1992) illustrated the process of the gradual replacement of development, using the example of Łódź tenement houses. Whereas her graphical analysis referred to apartment buildings in Piotrkowska Street, in Nowe Miasto,

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the process which took place in the Old Town followed a very similar path, with wooden street-facing buildings gradually being replaced with masonry structures and side buildings added behind. Often, these wooden building fell apart, and the only structures left on the lot were massive rear wings, fulfilling different functions: from workshops and storehouses to tenements. In Conzen’s terminology (2004, pp.68–71), this kind of transformation represents the first phase of ‘an adaptive, burgage cycle’. The adjustment to local conditions manifested itself in the activities of the great factory-owners as well; when comparing the layout of workers’ houses constructed by Izrael Kalman Poznański with workers’ houses built by Karl Wilhelm Scheibler, the difference is clear. The estate erected by the Jewish entrepreneur fits into the previously defined urban settings with their perimeter blocks, while the latter used a barrack pattern of an orderly and repetitive character. 4.1.6.2  Street network Descriptions, frequent in literature, indicate the presence of narrow, ‘winding’ back-streets in Jewish neighbourhoods. These accounts, however, are not entirely justified. More on this may be revealed from Bałuty, with the street network in the central part laid down in a way which continued the medieval parcellation, and the following extension developed as a result of a spontaneous, bottom-up process. Walicki (2016, p.151, after Dylik 1939, pp.129–130) quotes one of the accounts of pre-war Bałuty: Just behind a border of the former Old Town we notice narrow and winding Krótka Street, the character of which was typical for streets in Bałuty, both when it comes to plan and buildings (…). For, what strikes in this district, is the ambiguity and randomness of plan, expressed in a convoluted layout of primarily narrow streets, which often enough come up to the dead end (…). This remains in relation to a wild, arbitrary parcellation, done by private entrepreneurs in the area independent from the municipality of Łódź. Friedman (1935, p.94) also speaks about ‘still winding and tight back-streets (…) sad witnesses of the unusual history of origins of Bałuty’. This opinion, most likely stemming from contemporary views on urban planning grounded in a Classicist approach, has been often repeated since. While the contrast of the spatial dimensions between the public realm in Bałuty and Łódź was evident, some elements of the above opinion seem to be based on stereotypes. First, apart from a few examples, the above-mentioned winding streets are rare in the plan of prewar Bałuty. Dead ends are hard to find, at least in the central section of the suburb inhabited by Jews. The streets are just narrower than in other parts of Łódź, the blocks are much smaller, and the prevalence of poor quality structures is significant. The parcellation adopted the pattern of the previous fields, with side streets perpendicular to main ones, introduced at reasonably regular distances, defined

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by plot sizes, to enable access to individual parcels. Only a few short streets joining the parallel pieces in the middle of larger blocks certainly deserved their characteristics of winding and circulating, in this group: Ceglana and Niecała Streets. The resulting pattern is strictly utilitarian, designed in its essential part as bottom-up without any presumed plan, though not chaotic. Narrow streets remained for the most part straight, even if the network of passages and tighter shortcuts and alleys enabled circulation outside the formal public space and the street facade had a curvy line with exposed yards. The breaks in the lines of frontages surrounding most of the blocks enriched the original network of streets with additional passages, nooks and small squares (example Figure 4.8); they complemented the formal sociometric layout and permitted circulation inside the area. The factual network of connections was thus richer than the one contained in publicly accessible streets.

Figure 4.8  The appearance of one of the passages joining the Old Market and Nad Łódką Street. Sketch based on a historical photograph courtesy of Adam Brajter, a member of the Society for Heritage Protection, Łódź Division.

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The dense network of alleys, nooks, passages and pedestrian ways, including informal passages through private properties, is a characteristic feature for the whole of the discussed area –in the part of Nowe Miasto inhabited by Jews, the number of such linkages is also higher than elsewhere. Some passages connected with further spaces through open gates or doors in tenements, this way, given the sequence of internal connections, one could circulate in the quarter without going out to the surrounding streets. The dense network of passageways within urban blocks in Łódź reflected the close social connections within the Jewish community. This observation is based on research into relations between the characteristics of a given society and its sociometric layout (Hillier and Hanson 1984, pp.53–66), as explained in the methodology section. This feature may be qualified as temporal because it was, to a large extent, shaped by the residents themselves; they did not build fences between backyards or kept gates open. In the area of the Old Town and Bałuty, where there was little acculturation and the Jewish community retained a more ‘faceto-face’ character, this feature was stronger, and only faded when this former abundance of social relations vanished. In fact, the tradition of maintaining such informal passages was still present in Łódź downtown after World War II, and some local citizens still remember elongated backyards interconnected which served as a network of complimentary connections. In the area of Nowe Miasto inhabited by orthodox Jews, there were more such junctions than elsewhere, but, along with acculturation, these backyards lost their former social functions. This observation is consistent with how Hillier and Hanson (1984, p.27) refer to the usage of space, identifying the patterns of behaviour common to different communities as determinants of the final shape of urban structures. Hillier and Hanson (1984, p.27) introduced the concept of the social logic of space to underline the relationship between patterns of movement and the physical environment. The analyses of urban structures, including the social spaces of squares and markets, streets, passages and nooks provide a relevant perspective. The patterns differed throughout the urban area – their overlay with the distribution of communities representing various cultures indicates the correlation. Their concentrations and mixing provided occasions for both: isolation and mutual relations. 4.1.6.3 Proxemics Other important considerations for the analyses of urban structures are the scale and dimensions of outdoor spaces. According to the proxemics approach, developed by Hall and his successors (Hall 2009), encounters are key to analyses of the ways how different cultures use space. As explained in the methodology section, Hall (2009) posits a direct correlation between interpersonal distances and other features of individuals and communities and the way how they shape their physical environments. Descriptions of crowds in the literature (for example in Singer 2010) and photos of the Ashkenazi Jewish population (for instance in Bonisławski and Keller 2002) suggest this community

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had a smaller interpersonal distance than other ethnic groups then living in Łódź. The forms of the urban fabric in the Jewish district reflected this shift of scale. Usually, streets – except for the main ones – and passages were narrower than in other parts of town. This narrowness of streets and backyards, along with numerous slight turns and directional differentiation, provided the notion of concavity; they closed the viewers’ perspective in both a perceptual and felt sense. These factors favoured direct physical interaction and encouraged personal encounters. By the same token, the form of streets’ facades enhanced meeting opportunities through their irregular configuration and breaks in the lines of facades. They both increased the amount of border space where people could stop. Activities were not constrained by the tightness of pavements, even on comparatively wide thoroughfares such as Zgierska or Łagiewnicka. Analysis of old photographs shows that the streets’ profiles there have remained unaltered to our times, except where open gutters were removed. Their centre was taken by traffic, mainly consisting of horse-drawn waggons and droshkies; from 1898 in a few streets there were also tramways. The space of larger streets seamlessly joined with those of smaller alleys and passages. This interconnectivity and protruding of activities into adjoining locations and their coinciding there with other activities was a feature specific for the spatial arrangement in this part of town. The three primary spheres of Jewish everyday experience, as defined in the introductory chapter, overlapped in space, however, not necessarily in time. The domain of sacrum focused around the Alte shul – the old synagogue in Wolborska Street, the beit midrash and adjacent courtyard, which, with time, gradually shared its role with the remaining four synagogues and numerous prayer houses. Other necessary Jewish religious facilities, in this number ritual baths, completed the picture. The realm of profanum, focused around daily labour in the marketplace, in shops and workshops, overlapped very strongly with the third domain, of domesticity, represented by the backyard. 4.1.6.4 The adjustment of urban structures to their function, utilitarian character The neighbourhood in the central part of the Old Town and Bałuty, extending until Plac Wolności, was all taken up by different sorts of commerce, both indoor shops and warehouses and outdoor markets, it would not be an overstatement to talk of a ubiquity of commerce. This feature repeats in all the depictions of this part of town since its development as a textile industry centre; for instance, Flatt (1853, p.113) emphasises the commercial character of the Jewish district located in the Old Town and statistical data support this observation. Based on the registry data in the ‘Czas’ calendar of 1913 and the list of enterprises in the publication ‘Przemysł i handel Królestwa Polskiego’ (Pus ́ 2006, p. 58), in 1913 there were 4 050 shops and trading companies in Łódź. In this number, the Jews owned circa 80% of transport and

238  Case studies

freight companies, including branch offices engaged in businesses in Russia, of which 74% belonged to Jewish entrepreneurs. In other branches of commerce, Jews owned about 60% of shops and textile warehouses and 50% of stores with stationary and technical products (Pus ́ 2006, p. 58). The arrangement of space reflected its commercial use. Friedman (1935, pp.57–58) portrays the Old Market, which served as a marketplace until the 20s of the twentieth century: The small, poky space was heaped high with piles of merchandise… the intensive movement, most of all on fair days, both residents of the town of several thousand, local peasants and merchants from other cities were huddling together, buying and selling. The space for commerce was not limited to the main square or main squares only; this function of public space protruded everywhere: into nooks, alleys, in the smaller squares and the streets neighbouring the main square, also inside surrounding tenements. It was apparent thanks to the profusion of advertisements, visible both in streets and in courtyards. The assortment of goods was abundant; one could buy or sell nearly everything. The reflection of these former situations may be found in many depictions of these spaces, for instance, in an interview with Lajb Praszkier (Spodenkiewicz 2007, p.35): One should have seen the old town, its poverty. The pulse of life. The trade. The warehouses. On Łagiewnicka and Pieprzowa streets. There was also a huge market called Jojne Pilicer Square, where baking shops were. In the area between Wolborska 20 and Wschodnia 2, there was Szachermark. There you could buy used suit or old shoes, resoled and refurbished, which would fall apart after two weeks. Junk. Further there were shops with poultry. As it was very crowded there, they built another shop on the corner of Północna streets. On the opposite site, which is an empty square now, they would sell fish. Just next to it, there were stalls with herring. You would never imagine how much herring there was. Everybody would have 10 to 20 barrels; herring and other fish, whatever you wanted. In the middle of the nineteen twenties, the central part of the Old Market was converted into a square for recreation, which got its most common name, Froim Luzer gurten, from Efraim Łazar Zelmanowicz, a Bund leader and Town Councillor, who argued for this transformation. Its other name was tapgurten from tap – embrace (Spodenkiewicz 1999, pp.29–30). Besides leisure activities, the workers used to hold mass meetings there. The marketplace was moved to Bałucki Market; however, the commerce remained, both in surrounding tenements and streets. Apart from open-air, public markets such as

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Szachermark – a flea market, and a fish market northwards from it, there were also special commercial passages like the one at Ogrodowa Street 3, which started from the double gate in the tenement at Ogrodowa 3 and extended until the river Łódka. Also, the Gehlig brother’s brewery at the corner of Ogrodowa and Zachodnia Streets was, in the 1930s, adapted to commercial functions. Commercial spaces – trade halls, were likewise available in the estate of Dobranicki at Nowomiejska Street 19 and consisted of several courtyards with open passages enabling internal circulation (Figure 4.7). The reconstruction of quarters demolished by Germans in Łódź’s Old Town, containing the places mentioned above, has shown a part of the town which served entirely as a commercial node. Subordinated to the function of commerce, the layout of internal passages, galleries, squares, open markets, and former industrial halls adapted to the needs of buying and selling, extended through several urban blocks, from Bałucki Market until Plac Wolności or even further. The arrangement of outdoor space fit the human scale. The limited dimensions of places favoured direct physical interactions. The complication of wall shapes facilitated the presentation of goods; niches enabled the location of numerous outdoor, commercial furniture: stalls, kiosks, stands and displays. The presence of this outdoor equipment attracted passers-by and fostered their stopping and attention. The tightness of some places, their apparent chaos could hinder concentration and ease of perception by new-comers, and could, in turn, facilitate transactions profitable for sellers (but not necessarily for buyers). Several features of this neighbourhood answered the contemporary requirements of successful commercial space design. The first one was the density of the network of paths which enhances pedestrian footfall; it was identified by Jacobs (1992) as a condition that facilitates the functioning of all kinds of services, especially commerce on the ground floor of buildings. Here, the abundance of internal passageways and alleys enriched the network. Second, the form of pre-war facades and shape and arrangement of pavements answered the requirements defined by Whyte (2009) for spaces which would encourage contacts and foster relations. Gehl’s remarks (2010, p.69, p.150) which refer to smaller, more intimate spaces with diversified edges as more favourable for establishing relations, found their confirmation here. Despite the severe destruction and demolitions of the war and post-war periods, the widening of some streets, and the intensive car transit, the former Jewish district, in its preserved sections, continues the pre-war commercial traditions. This notion of continuation of situations inscribed in urban fabric: habitus, has been preserved thanks to the form of urban structures. The wide variety of building types, styles and materials reflected the range of situations taking place in these neighbourhoods. Buildings were adjusted to needs, some of them grand and impressive, many constructed in a temporary way of the cheapest materials. Lack of resources was the reason for their frequently poor technical state. In cases when intended development

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did not comply with regulations, the objective was achieved through bribery or other means (Spodenkiewicz 1999, p.29). There were very few regulations regarding a building’s height and construction materials (Rynkowska 1960, no 152). Temporary structures, often in a deplorable state, backed directly onto the sumptuously decorated tenements of wealthy merchants. The extremely rapid growth of Łódź itself and the lack of sufficient construction policies and development control contributed to this situation. The overall lack of homogeneity – as urban structures developed in response to current economic needs – could be considered a feature characteristic of Jewish communities in general. The analysis of urban form based on the method developed by Lynch reveals the presence of several landmark objects. In this number, religious edifices: Saint Mary’s Church in Plac Kościelny and the Alte Shul in Wolborska Street assumed the role of distant landmarks, others, such as the market hall in Bazarowa Street or the butchers’ shops in the Old Market, served a more utilitarian function. Specifically in the case of religious edifices, it is clear that their importance differed between religious groups; Jews focused more intently on their own faith. However, the high and remarkable silhouette of one of the oldest churches in Łódź must have been recognised from afar. The main nodes: the Old Market, the New Market, Plac Kościelny, Bałucki Market all played their assigned roles in the semantic system of the users of the district, both locals and visitors. The network of paths covered publicly accessible streets, with the complementary network of passages, throughways and semi-private backyards (example Figure 4.9). Not all of them were available for everybody, with some passages known to local inhabitants only. The analyses of districts overlap with the formerly described distribution of different social groups; in this particular neighbourhood, the more remote parts of Bałuty had a more residential and working-class image than the direct proximity to Plac Kościelny, Bałucki Rynek and the Old Town with their explicitly commercial character. 4.1.7  Qualitative analysis – the case study An analysis of the forms of facades has been performed based on the index points method defined in the methodology chapter, which enables quantitative assessment of such parameters of facades as regularity, corrugation and variations. The case study pertains to two areas located in Łódź, Poland. One of them is Zgierska Street, which is in the Old Town in the former ‘Jewish district’. As has been explained above, in the nineteenth century the district was home to a multiethnic society, in which orthodox Jews constituted a majority. These settings were usually portrayed as possessing a distinct ‘Jewish’ character; this notion being evoked by the form of public spaces, different than in other parts of the city. In the section of the street which we are focused on the prewar facade has been largely preserved. The other area of interest is the Old Market in Łódź, located in the same neighbourhood. The subject of analysis, in this case, is its past appearance, before the demolitions of World War II and later. The study used an approximate 3D model, constructed based on archive photographs.

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Figure 4.9  Courtyard. Sketch based on a photograph by Włodzimierz Pfeiffer courtesy of the State Archives in Łódź

Another site examined for reference was one of the workers’ houses built in Plac Zwycięstwa by the prominent German industrialist Karol Scheibler for employees of his textile factory, and the first villa of this entrepreneur, located on the other side of the same square. An important traffic route, Aleja Piłsudskiego, later cut through the square, yet the remnants of the cultural heritage have remained intact. Another piece of the south facade of Aleja Piłsudskiego, close to Kilińskiego Street, also almost preserved in its prewar state, has been examined as well. Table 4.2 showcases the examples of the regularity analysis. The regularity parameter has served to define the rhythm. In the case of Zgierska Street it is close to 0.5, and in the case of Plac Zwycięstwa and al. Piłsudskiego is approximately 0. These values confirm the observation that the rhythms of facades in the neighbourhoods belonging to the traditionally religious Jewish culture were less regular than in other parts of the town. The second case is a regular one as opposed to the first. The square was conceived as a

242  Case studies Table 4.2  The analysis of regularity: τ – the regularity parameter, r – a single shift, w – width of a single wall, n – the number of index points for a given wall West side of Zgierska Street

n

r [m]

w [m]

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 rn σ

1.59 9.80 14.72 13.55 10.77 10.93 11.48 11.05 9.68 9.30 5.56 0.05 9.04 4.46

16.37 6.73 22.03 19.48 20.47 19.31 19.71 20.26 21.59 18.72 26.64 21.97 19.44 4.70

East side of Zgierska Street

τ

0.46

N

r [m]

w [m]

1’ 2’ 3’ 4’ 5’ 6’ 7’ 8’

5.81 17.15 16.15 9.41 9.10 8.92 7.78 2.96

35.71 34.49 11.26 23.04 23.74 24.43 19.88 18.24

9.66 4.82

23.85 8.11

South side of al. Piłsudskiego between Kilińskiego and Targowa Streets τ

0.41

n

r [m]

w [m]

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

0,18 2,29 0,99 2,9 7,26 11,07 2,12 3,1 1,94

21,62 18,76 22,85 17,88 17,94 19,66 21,87 20,72 26,14

3,54

22,27

τ

0,16

single design, with a repetition of identical workers’ buildings. The regularity parameter for the entrepreneur’s villa and factory on the other side of the square is also close to 0. We may assume that in this case the designer made the decision to choose this kind of solution as appropriate in these settings. In the case of al. Piłsudskiego, the adoption of the standard tenement width of 21 meters, however, with severe modification, gave a regularity parameter value circa 0.16. The further analysis has been performed on a reconstruction of the former appearance of the Old Town in Łódź (Figure 4.10), located in the very heart of the former so-called Jewish quarter, not far from the first location analysed. A model in Sketchup has been built based on the archive photographs of the settings. The geometrical data have been acquired directly from this model. Analyses of regularity and of central angle have been performed. In order to automate the process of analysis, Grasshopper for Rhinoceros 3D, a wellknown and widely recognised parametric modelling system, has been used. The value of corrugation has been considered as well. The numerical values have been collected and rearranged in Table 4.3. The summary values of central angle, corrugation and regularity are emboldened. The corrugation of walls of the Old Market was once substantial, which, in comparison with the current setting, makes a significant difference. Similarly, the regularity feature has changed substantially. Before the value used to range from 0.01 for the west facade with Marconi’s butcher’s hall in neoclassicist, so highly regular, style, to 0.34 for the south one, while the current facades, constructed after World War II in socio-realism style, are very regular – the overall value is close to 0.

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Figure 4.10  The Old Market in Łódź – a reconstruction of its state before World War II.

The semi-automatic analyses have enabled us to work with a large amount of data and thus have been an improvement over the methods developed previously. Moreover, the application of an algorithmic method of analysis enables easy comparison of the parameters for various settings. This has allowed verification of the chosen mathematical apparatus and its validation. Table 4.3  The analyses values for the reconstruction of the Old Market in Łódź: corrugation, central angle, regularity North facade West facade East facade South facade Corrugation (φ)

0.003623 0.009263 0.013601 0.00796

0.101632 0.22144 0.13674

Average corrugation 0.0086118 Central angle (α) 0.217827 0.192346 0.259558 0.185947

0.153271 0.134396 0.083026 0.143964

Average values Regularity (τ)

21.391969 1.274003 0.891403 3.035771 2.653172

12.0462 0.237062 0.098132 0.335194

Average values

0.103669

0.007883

0.014923 0.264982 0.558645 0.830679 0.841983 0.506262 1.078754 0.585175 0.233878 0.17665 0.153952 0.258512 0.163747 0.143275 0.141501 18.16452 0.028775 0.893457 2.577649 3.06436 2.686072 7.255301 5.978173 0.22197

0.163982 0.289413 0.380535 0.437859 0.452478 0.47934 0.341997 0.363658 0.236677 0.197135 0.157785 0.173245 0.189091 0.191368 0.146875 18.45967 1.652843 1.497418 1.420905 4.331363 8.04802 6.223592 1.241455 0.339451

 

0.27767889  

17.5155888  

0.16824325

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4.2 Brzeziny The region of Brzeziny is one of the oldest settlement areas in central Poland, the first traces of human activities near the Mrożyca river coming from prehistoric times (Nowak, Rosin, Wiklak 1997, p.28). In the fourteenth, fifteenth and sixteenth century, Brzeziny belonged to the Łęczyca castellany in Łęczyca province (Nowak, Rosin, Wiklak 1997, p.32). The town, located on the oldest public road in this region, which joined the Baltic and Russia and went through Toruń to Lwów, was first mentioned in the early years of Władysław Dobrzyński’s rule in Łęczyca; a document of 1332 refers to its town’s status. Researchers do not confirm the exact date of the town foundation; it was, however, recognised as the end of the thirteenth century (Herman 2014). At a later time, roads joined Brzeziny with Zgierz, and, further on, with Silesia, as well as with Rawa Mazowiecka and Radom, and Piotrków and Kraków. According to tradition, the parish must have already been operating in the first half of the thirteenth century, the first mention of the parish church of Saint Cross coming from 1440 (Nowak, Rosin, Wiklak 1997, p.43); the town was located next to a functioning market village and church. In 1452, the Lasocki family became the town’s owners. In 1539, the Szydłowiec suburb was founded as a separate town (Figure 4.11), its exact placement still not fully confirmed. In the second half of the sixteenth century, the population of Brzeziny amounted to circa 3000–3500, with about 500 residential buildings. In the sixteenth century, Brzeziny became a famous centre of textile manufacture. Besides, its citizens dealt with brewing and commerce, thanks to regular fairs and markets. Several times did diseases and wars decimate the population, and the wooden structures burn down. The worst situation took place during the Great Northern War; the part of the town in the Szydłowiec suburb was demolished and never rebuilt. Local legends recall stories about a prosperous and flourishing settlement named Krakówek, which had once been where Brzeziny is now situated (Arnekker 1924, p.9). These stories, documenting the numerous ebbs and flows of the settlement, are confirmed by archaeological research, which discovered traces of past structures in the river valley, both from the medieval period and more modern times (Herman 2014). At the end of the eighteenth century, the town had seven bridges over the Mrożyca river, with two others located nearby. In this number, three bridges served the three major trade roads; they lead from Łęczyca, Łowicz and Rawa Mazowiecka. By 1831, the number of bridges had grown to 18 (Woźniak 1997, p.203). In 1791, 16 streets in the town were paved; but by 1820, this figure had fallen to four, and many of these were in a poor state of repair of the earlier surfaced road (Żerek-Kleszcz 1997, p.78). In 1815, Izabella Ogińska founded the latest part of the town, Kolonia Lasocin, with the objective of attracting German cloth makers. This decision started a period of intensive development of the textile industry (Arnekker 1924, p.11). The settlement, which consisted of typical wooden buildings with masonry chimneys, was

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Figure 4.11  Development of Brzeziny since the thirteenth century. Maps have been redrawn after Bergman (1983). I. Town at the end of the thirteenth century – hypothesis: 1. hypothetical location of the borough at the end of the thirteenth century, 2. parish church at the end of the thirteenth century – hypothesis, 3. development, 4. main roads, 5. local roads, 6. Mrożyca river. II. Town during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries: 1. borough or fortified manor, 2. Churches: (1) parish church founded in 1321, since 1370 of the Elevation of Holy Cross, (2) church of Holy Spirit – wooden, fifteenth century, 3. development, 4. main roads, 5. local roads, 6. Mrożyca river, 7. market place. III. Town in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries: 1. manor, 2. churches: (1), (2) – as above, (3) church of Saint Anna, (4) church and monastery of Reformists, founded in 1627, 4. manor’s property, 5. manor’s farm development, 6. manor’s farm property, 7. church property, 8. squares and markets, 9. development, 10. main roads, 11. local roads, 12. Mrożyca river. E1. location of Szydłowiec settlement after Żerek-Kleszcz (1997). IV. Town in the eighteenth century: 1. manor, 2. churches: (1), (2) as above, (3) church and monastery of Reformists, masonry, finished 1727, (4) church of Saint Anna, wooden, 1719, 3. synagogue, wooden, before 1792, 4. manor’s property, 5. manor’s farm development, 6. manor’s farm property, 7. church property, 8. squares and markets, 9. development, 10. main roads, 11. local roads, 12. Mrożyca river, 13. Italian garden next to the manor.

246  Case studies

Figure 4.12  Jewish demographic dynamics in Brzeziny (after Arnekker 1924, p.17).

accompanied by an evangelical church. Development progressed quickly; in 1795 there were a total of 200 families, including Jews, and 148 houses, including four masonry ones (Arnekker 1924, p.12, after Szelewski 1851, p.5), while in 1818, the number of cloth makers had grown to 80 and six years later to 194 (Arnekker 1924, p.12, after Słownik geograficzny vol.I). Soon, however, in the middle of the nineteenth century, the wares of Brzeziny’s manufacturers lost out in the competition with the development of industrial production in nearby Łódź (Arnekker 1924, p.14). In 1853, when Brzeziny became a government town (Woźniak 1997, p.198), its citizens subsisted on agriculture, crafts and labouring. Until the middle of the nineteenth century, most of the buildings in Brzeziny remained wooden, except for the parish church, buildings belonging to the Lasocki family and one or two buildings in the market. For many years, the prevailing wooden structures remained a distinct feature of Brzeziny; the situation started changing only in the 80s of the nineteenth century. In 1904, 23% were of masonry construction; in 1913, this had grown to 27.1% (Woźniak 1997, p.207). In 1921, the total population was as high as 10 633 people; ten years later, the number had reached 13 045. The number of Evangelicals diminished from 11.1% to 9.0%. The chart in Figure 4.12 presents details of the demographic dynamics (after Arnekker 1924, p.17). 4.2.1  Jewish settlement in Brzeziny The Jewish settlement in Brzeziny was never restricted by the privilege de non tolerandis Judaeis. At first, in the Middle Ages, Jews came from central and western Europe, looking for protection from persecution. This influx was further complemented with newcomers from Ruś (Rykała and Kulesza 2009, p.204). The exact date when Jews arrived has not been confirmed; the document of 1547 already reported a Żydowska Street (Nowak, Rosin, Wiklak 1997, s.54). The Jewish cemetery in Brzeziny, similarly to the one in nearby Przedbórz, dates from the sixteenth century (Rykała and Kulesza

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2009, s.207). The tax register of 1564 listed just two Jews, while in 1775, the register listed 16 houses inhabited by this ethnic group. According to Żerek-Kleszcz (1997, p.118), the oldest document recording a Jewish presence in Brzeziny comes from 1736; it concerns the court issue the voivodeship government raised against the municipality due to unpaid taxes. The Jewish citizens’ register of 1764 listed 203 people living in Brzeziny and its proximity, which accounted for 7% of the general population. They practised the following professions: fair leaseholders, tailors, hat makers, pretzel makers, butchers, tavern keepers, snuff makers and brewers. The following years brought a fall in the Jewish population, which was reversed in the nineties of the eighteenth century, after the January uprising. In the second half of the nineteenth century, Jews accounted for nearly half of Brzeziny’s overall population. Their main economic activities covered cattle trade, peddling of clothes during fairs and in nearby villages, and smallscale merchandising. The two largest waves of Jewish influx to Brzeziny took place first between 1890 and 1896, which was related to the immigration of tailors from Russia owing to the government’s repressions, and second, the period between 1905 and 1914, caused by the outbreak of revolution in Russia and pogroms in Ukraine. These movements were massive, for instance, in 1907, 8500 Jews arrived, which was 21% of the town’s total population at that time (Arnekker 1924, p.18). In all, in the period 1893–1909 the Jewish population share grew 5.1%, from 49.9% to 55%. Along with the arrival of Jews from Russia, the tailoring industry grew. Starting from 1886, Jewish tailors opened the first two workshops. Soon, they began exporting their products, trousers at first, to Warsaw and very shortly to Russia. With time, they also produced waistcoats, then vests; Brzeziny very quickly became a centre of production of ready-to-wear men’s clothes for the Russian market. A peculiar feature of the organisation of work was its focus around storehouses. Shopkeepers, usually wealthy merchants, invested some capital and were able to manufacture and stock products. They owned tenements in the town which hosted a shop where clothes were stored. Either they worked alone or gave work to external workshops, a practice which later became common (Arnekker 1924, p.15). With time, a unique organisation of work developed, with a rigorous hierarchy of three social groups: shopkeepers, foremen and workers. The last group consisted of several specialised subgroups, which resulted in the learning of the trade; there were apprentices, journeymen and handymen. Besides this, there also functioned several specific professions, which remained more or less interdependent: tailors, hole punchers, cotton wool makers, cloth cutters and bookkeepers – the last two subgroups employed by shopkeepers. Whole families were engaged in the profession, children starting from the age of 7 also worked as apprentices or handymen. Tailors and handymen were very often female, in situations where the amount of work grew, everybody sat down and helped – typical home duties like cooking or caring for younger siblings were then fulfilled by children. Arnekker (1924, p.21) gives

248  Case studies Table 4.4  Statistics on the share of professional groups in the general number of tailors in Brzeziny in 1921 (Arnekker 1924, p.21) Specification

Number of individuals

Shopkeepers Cutters of cloth Book-keepers Cotton wool makers Foremen Journeymen Apprentices Handy women Tailors Hole punchers Total

50 9 5 34 248 450 248 248 27 10 1329

the following statistics on the share of each group in the general number of tailors in Brzeziny in 1921 – Table 4.4, the numbers are much smaller than in prewar times when circa 600 foremen worked in Brzeziny (Arnekker 1924, p.35). The annual production before World War I was as high as 570 000 outfits, consisting of a vest with camisole and trousers, and 200 000 overcoats (Arnekker 1924, p.35). The postwar production (1922) diminished and amounted to circa 36% of the prewar production of outfits and 28% of overcoats. The wagons which were stationed in Żydowska Street (now Bojowników Getta Street), regularly travelled to Łódź and back; they used to bring fabric and forms for trousers and vests, which were then quickly completed by several manufacturers and returned to Łódź (Spodenkiewicz 1999, p.29). Tailoring firms in Brzeziny exported their products to England, Holland, Denmark, Belgium and France, and even as far as Tel Aviv (the firm of Jakob and Abe Hersz Sułkowicz), and Egypt (the firm of Lew Brothers). These businesses had their retail stores in the town; the biggest one, at Sienkiewicza Street 5, belonged to the Sułkowicz brothers (Wachowska 1997, pp.302–303). When World War I broke out, with the Russian markets no longer available, the tailoring industry collapsed, and many Jewish citizens left Brzeziny. Both before World War I and after, the work of Brzeziny tailors was interrupted by frequent halts due to market failures and the bankruptcies of shopkeepers. During these breaks in production, tailors had to live on their savings, usually meagre, waiting until the next period of prosperity, which led to extreme poverty for many workers. Nineteenth-century Brzeziny was a small community; its social life revolved around the family, neighbourhood and professional matters. Religion also played a major role, with several churches and religious communities catering to the needs of its citizens. The distribution of different cultural groups in the town remained stable; Jews lived in the proximity of Żydowska Street (now Bojowników Getta Street), in the area limited with Górki Street (now

Case studies 249

Mickiewicza Street), Lasocki Street, Reformacka Street and St. Anna Street. The income from tailoring allowed them to erect several masonry tenements in the area surrounding the central square. As a consequence of the war, Brzeziny lost its town hall, and school buildings were demolished. The local authorities admitted the need for new pavements, the construction of a stadium, a power plant and transmission infrastructure for the local industry, modernisation of the marketplaces and a railway to Łódź. The major markets took place in the central square, smaller fairs and markets were held in St. Anna’s square. In 1928, the fairs all moved to St. Anna square, and in 1939 a new marketplace was opened on the outskirts, in Słowackiego Street (Wachowska 1997, p.294). Jews took an active part in the town’s social life; during the elections to the local council in 1919 they received 11 mandates, while Poles got 12 mandates and Germans one (Wachowska 1997, p.283). The next cabinet had the same composition and the one after that, in 1929, consisted of 10 Poles, 13 Jews and 1 German; in 1934 Poles received 17 mandates (ibid.). 4.2.2 Chronological stratification and characteristics of built structures The initial analysis was inspired by the project Manhattan Timeformations (McGrath 2008, pp.164–192), which presented the development of Manhattan’s urban structures over time. A distribution of Brzeziny heritage buildings in space and along the time axis (Figure 4.13) shows the

Figure 4.13  C  hronological stratification of the heritage buildings in Brzeziny, the period of construction displayed in the Z axis of the drawing. Dates of construction of individual buildings after Bergman (1983, board number 7).

250  Case studies

concentration of nineteenth-century tenement houses in the section inhabited by Jews. This analysis makes it clear how Jewish economic prosperity transformed the formerly mostly wooden built structures of the town into a much more urban environment at the turn of the nineteenth century (Figure 4.14). While the layout of streets remained unaltered, the activities of Jewish

Figure 4.14  H  eritage buildings in Brzeziny – period of construction. Dates of construction of individual buildings after Bergman (1983, board number 7). 1. Buildings erected in the fourteenth to eighteenth century, later rebuilt between 1850 and 1882, 2. buildings of the eighteenth century, 3. buildings built in the eighteenth century and no longer existing, 4. buildings built between the end of the eighteenth century and 1850, 5. buildings built between the end of the eighteenth century and 1850, no longer existing, 6. buildings built between 1850 and 1882, 7. buildings built between 1850 and 1882, no longer existing, 8. buildings built between 1882 and 1914, 9. buildings constructed between 1882 and 1914, no longer existing, 10. buildings constructed between 1918 and 1939. I. synagogue, Ia. house of the rabbi, II. Evangelical church, III. church of the Elevation of Holy Cross, IV. Reformist church and monastery, V. church of Holy Spirit, VI. church of Saint Anna.

Case studies 251

entrepreneurs utterly changed the actual image of this part of town. Masonry three or four-floor tenements were built thanks to an influx of money after the arrival of Russian Jews who initiated the outsourced production of male attire. These edifices distinguished themselves from the surrounding, often wooden structures. Flats located there not only served the family of the entrepreneur but were also offered for rent. The funds spent on construction did not usually go beyond the available budget, which, especially in the case of tenements for poorer people, meant building in the cheapest possible way. At the same time, however, real estate prices and the wealth of some citizens allowed them to erect tenement houses with richly decorated facades of substantial volume. As a result, the heights of a street’s facades varied considerably, this differentiation adding to the irregularity of the plan. Moreover, both the size and volume of buildings were used very effectively, with no unnecessary space; often different functions overlapped, and synergy of use occurred. As a result, uneven silhouettes of a street facade remained well justified, a building’s size was adjusted to its use and to the economic capacities of its investor. The parcellation of the central part of Brzeziny, only slowly transformed since medieval times, featured small, diversified widths of construction lots: starting from circa 9m with median values of 15 m. These values changed along each single street, which gave them a varied appearance, further enriched by the presence of multiple gates and entrances. When analysing historical photographs, we see the changes which took place over time, with wooden structures gradually being replaced with masonry tenements with facades undoubtedly inspired by Łódź architecture, though far more modest. When looking at the structure of dwelling (Table 4.5), the typology of apartment buildings defined by Popławska (1982, pp.94–95) for Łódź applies only partially here. The two available types were tenements and low standard tenements, the second category prevailing. Even the highest social layer of the tailoring society – the shopkeepers – could not easily afford to live in larger apartments. Sewage and water systems were not available in Brzeziny until after World War II. As a rule, a building’s ground floor hosted shops, offices and workshops, while the upper floors accommodated people. Even when a flat was larger, different activities overlapped: family, work and studying rarely used separate spaces. There were, however, many exceptions; in the case of poorer craftsmen, the same single-roomed dwelling hosted both a workshop and the living space of the family. Often, small children played or cried next to their parents who were working or dealing with housework. Sometimes the same room also contained several looms or sewing machines. Apprentices or employees worked there, some of them using a piece of floor to sleep at night. During the war, circa 15 tenements and 20 smaller residential buildings were burnt down. Moreover, around 150 buildings were damaged, the latter on the town’s outskirts. This damage was not repaired until long after the end of the war. As a consequence, tailoring production was often left without

252  Case studies Table 4.5  Sizes of dwellings dependent on the trade of people working in the tailoring industry in 1921, after Arnekker (1924, p.64) Dwelling consisting of Size of dwelling

Category of tailors Shopkeepers Cutters of cloth Bookkeepers Workshop owners Foremen Journeymen Handymen Tailors Hole punchers Cotton wool makers Apprentices Total

1 kitchen 1 kitchen 1 kitchen 1 kitchen 1 kitchen 1 kitchen 1 kitchen Total or 1 and 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and 5 and more room room rooms rooms rooms rooms than 5 rooms

-

8 3

-

18 4

11 2

-

3

2

-

5

5 -

3 -

50 9

-

-

-

5

-

-

-

12

-

-

247 100 13 20 10

2

7

1

2

29 34 4 3 2

165 52 8 5 4

40 11 1 3 3

10 3 1 -

11

8

-

-

-

-

-

19

91

260

84

31

11

5

3

485

-

3 2 1

a place to continue. Tailors worked in a total of 485 dwellings (1921), which provided 23% of the total number of dwellings in Brzeziny. The lack of available places led to the use of partially demolished houses, even without repairs; sometimes, one wall was missing, and a flat was accessible directly from a street. Another consequence of the insufficient quantity of dwellings was enormous overcrowding. Not only did the hygienic conditions in the extremely overcrowded tailors’ dwellings not satisfy basic requirements, but the situation was further worsened due to lack of ventilation facilities and closed windows in winter. Cases of carbon monoxide poisoning from coal-heated irons were common, especially among children who operated these tools. Many Jewish workers died of pneumonia due to constantly breathing bad quality air. Arnekker (1924, p.66) compares the amount of air necessary for normal breathing per single person (10m3) with the volumes from 4 examples of workshops in Brzeziny – Table 4.6. The content proves the catastrophic living and working conditions of this group; they were additionally confirmed with data on the very high mortality rates among Jews in Brzeziny – twice as high as among the town’s Christian population (Arnekker 1924, p.66).

Case studies 253 Table 4.6  Working conditions in four examples of tailors’ workshops in Brzeziny, minimum breathing volumes for numbers of working people versus actual rooms’ volumes (Arnekker 1924, p.66) Number of working people

Volume of a workshop in m3

Minimum necessary norm in m3

5 7 7 4

34 33 37 43

50 70 70 40

4.2.3  Religious edifices. Other activities The religious life of the Jewish community in Brzeziny was satisfied by a sacral and kahal complex, located at first on the north side of the main market (current address Plac Piłsudskiego 12,13). It consisted of a synagogue (Figure 4.15), hospital, ritual bath, house of rabbi, and beit midrash. The first wooden synagogue, which was built at the end of the eighteenth century directly onto the market, burnt down in 1875 ( Jabłoński 1997, p.545). In 1893, a new masonry one, ‘in Mauritanian style’, was erected in Żydowska Street (Woźniak 1997, p.213). A monumental edifice on a square plan, with three naves, is believed to have been inspired by the architecture of the synagogue of Vienna (Bergman 2004, p.156). Renovated in 1925, the building

Figure 4.15  Sketch of the synagogue in Brzeziny based on a historical photograph courtesy of the regional museum in Brzeziny.

254  Case studies

was demolished by Germans in 1939. Additionally, prayer houses of all the major Hasidim dynasties were to be found in Brzeziny:  shtiblekh  of Ger, Aleksander, Grodzisk, Ostrowiec and Radzyń gathered their followers. Hasids were also active in community life and attended the main synagogue (Berg 1962). The proximity of Łódź and the close cooperation with business partners there led to the exchange of ideas and spread of lifestyles. Not only did Jewish life in prewar Brzeziny have its focus upon traditional Jewish values and religion, but the modern trends already present in Łódź, became popular here as well. For instance, starting from the 20s of the twentieth-century, sports became popular (boys played a lot of football) (Rosenberg 1962). There was also a Yiddish theatre, a library and political and secular social life flourished6. All these activities shared spaces with other spheres of Jewish life; some of them, like sports, shared facilities with other ethnic groups. 4.2.4  Analysis of the sociometric layout, proxemics The market square, the centre of the Jewish district, once fulfilled the function of the principal commercial space of the town. The extensive network of paths converged in this spot. They included pedestrian connections which used winding passages and alleys with open gates enabling pedestrians to shorten their way. The incompleteness of perimeter walls, which surrounded urban blocks, opened small-scale annexe spaces, further enriching the original street networks with numerous passages, small squares and nooks. Their twisting edge added to the complexity of the outdoor space. Space for commerce was not limited to the main square. This function was omnipresent, with citizens and incomers trading goods in nooks, in smaller squares and neighbouring streets and backyards of the surrounding tenements. In this regard, Brzeziny was not exceptional as Jewish quarters usually featured a dense network of informal connections serving various functions. After moving the fairs, first to the Saint Anna square, afterwards outside the town, the shortcuts remained; some of them are visible in the plan of Brzeziny from 1934. The presence of commerce in public spaces left its mark. Frequent protrusions of buildings hosting shops or other services, for instance, gastronomy, made them more visible. The scale of outdoor space was limited; the streets and squares, coming from an earlier period, were preserved in their original form, without enlargement. The unofficial passages, nooks, alleys, annexes, gates and backyards which served additional circulation were even narrower; they often contained just enough space for two people or perhaps even a single person to pass. Summing up the results of the analyses discussed above, the following main features may be distinguished which describe the form and character of the neighbourhood inhabited by Jews in pre-war Brzeziny:

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1 the adjustment of the medieval plan to the needs of the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth century without significant changes to the plan, through replacement of wooden buildings with masonry ones; 2 the utilitarian character of public spaces and built structures: a differentiated scale of public spaces, a dense network of many informal passages, including alleys, nooks, also within private properties. Irregular facades of public spaces and, through this, lengthening of the edge; 3 the diversity of forms of development, the variety of styles, materials, lack of homogeneousness – as an answer to the requirements of daily life and cultural norms; 4 the presence of public and private edifices with features appropriate to Judaism; 5 the core area of Jewish settlement represents the most intensively urbanised section of the town. Moreover, a formal analysis of nineteenth-century development, built to cater to the needs of the Jewish community through the adaptation of the medieval plan, features the presence of continuous facades of a remarkable urban character. The height of buildings usually reached three to four floors. The moderately rich detail and form of buildings indicate inspiration from Łódź constructions, as if the property owners of Brzeziny followed the standards of their neighbouring city. These prove the presence of strong relations between the two towns; in a similar way to associations with other towns and villages closely surrounding Łódź, they were rooted in commerce and close manufacturing cooperation. The tenements’ facades provided clear-cut enclosures of streets and squares, thus enhancing the sense of place. However, frequent passages and alleys, and the many gates and doors, which usually remained open, interrupted the continuity of frontages, making them partial and disrupting their conciseness. Numerous protrusions and irregularities enriched and enlarged the edge between the public and private spheres. Some buildings protruded from the line of frontages, this way becoming more visible and marking their presence in the public realm. The streets’ silhouettes varied; they did not maintain equal height, each building was adjusted to its own functional program. A more detailed analysis of the facades of the market street in its diachronic perspective follows in the section on quantitative analysis; it contains a detailed examination of the geometric parameters of the facades of buildings. 4.2.5  A case study – index key analysis The following paragraphs present the results of research performed with the use of the index key method for the two phases of development of the main market square in Brzeziny (now Plac Jana Pawła II). The downtown of Brzeziny used to be inhabited by a Jewish community. The subject of analysis is the past appearance of this place, before the demolition that took place

256  Case studies

Figure 4.16  Reconstruction of the form of the pre-war market in Brzeziny based on historical photographs.

during World War II and later. In order to make the analytical process more efficient, a semi-automatic method was applied (Hanzl 2013, 2014 and 2015). The results are provided in the form of figures (Figures 4.16 and 4.17) and tabular data (Tables 4.7–4.10). The features describing the main market in Brzeziny are similar to the analogue settings in Łódź, discussed in the previous chapter. Furthermore, both the corrugation values and regularity parameters were high, which signals irregular and corrugated facades. They remained at a similar level once the more durable structures replaced earlier wooden ones at the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth century. This observation

Figure 4.17  Comparison of variation and regularity parameters for pre-war markets in Brzeziny and in Łódź.

Case studies 257 Table 4.7  Results of regularity analysis for Brzeziny Market Square (Plac Jana Pawła II) Regularity – Brzeziny Market Square (Plac Jana Pawła II) F1 South 1.730734 4.636627 7.973227 8.453527 4.456597 1.070403 ϖ τ

4.72018583 13.834856 0.3411807

F2 West 4.99047 4.99047

4.99047 23.811245 0.20958459

F3 North

F4 East

6.781181 13.562391 10.460832 3.200144 0.474873 0.004605

1.658581 5.250421 8.85243 11.803389 11.470647 4.197407 0.730441 6.28047371 7.10258 0.88425244

5.747733767 14.173787 0.40549062

0.460127

Table 4.8  Results of variations analysis for Brzeziny Market Square (Plac Jana Pawła II) Variations – Brzeziny Market Square (Plac Jana Pawła II) F1 South

F2 West

F3 North

F4 East

0.568333 0.568333 0.508333 0.118333 0.881667 0.881667

4.5 4.5

6.073333 1.073333 7.926667 1.073333 1.073333 1.366667

0.58777767

4.5

3.09777767

1.217197 0.244829 1.219111 2.681137 2.818863 2.765108 4.818863 2.25215829

2.609428

Table 4.9  Results of corrugation analysis for Brzeziny Market Square (Plac Jana Pawła II) Corrugation – Brzeziny Market Square (Plac Jana Pawła II) F1 South

d

F2 West

F3 North

0.885874 0.194685 0.021659 0.166562 0.439648 0.272251

0.055357 0.055357

1.295614 2.625398 2.779546 2.664686 1.837026 0.622103

0.33011317 35.819104 0.00921612

0.055357 34.20553 0.00161836

1.97072883 34.896473 0.05647358

F4 East 0.086498 0.192306 0.170454 0.051159 0.061742 0.183895 0.108667 0.122103 34.946061 0.00349404

0.017701

258  Case studies Table 4.10  R  esults of the central angle analysis for Brzeziny Market Square (Plac Jana Pawła II) Central angle – Brzeziny Market Square (Plac Jana Pawła II) F1 South

F2 West

F3 North

F4 East

12.022629 12.194649 12.304748 12.889602 14.431364 14.257518

13.184334 26.464181

22.619345 15.583123 8.54 15.601193 15.228962 10.835182

13.0167517

19.8242575

13.311301

8.06484 10.363508 8.04275 5.711044 14.417693 5.553967 17.421599 9.939343

14.0229133

comes from the analyses of subsequent reconstructions of the market square (now Plac Jana Pawła II) based on a collection of archival photographs. With time and the replacement of structures, the regularity parameter values diminished. However, they still remained high in comparison to other settings referenced in the previous analyses. This demonstrates that, leading up to modern times, constructors probably felt compelled to achieve a more unified image of the grandest square.

4.3  Góra Kalwaria (Ger) 4.3.1  Góra Kalwaria – a Baroque town Góra Kalwaria was founded as a town where the former village, Góra, stood, on a high scarp of the bank of the Vistula. The parish of Góra was one of the oldest in Mazovia; in 1252 it was already collecting tithes from neighbouring villages. Documents confirm the functioning of the parish school in 1617, which, according to Liczbiński (1957), proves that the village was a wealthy one. However, soon after this the place fell into disrepair, completed by the Swedish Wars, which brought about the destruction and depopulation of the village. Stefan Wierzbicki, Bishop of Poznań, purchased the ruined village, and soon founded here a Catholic centre of cult modelled on images of ancient Jerusalem. In 1670, Michał Korbut Wiśniowiecki issued a founding document for a town named Nowa Jerozolima on the spot next to the road from Warsaw through Kozienice and Kazimierz Dolny to Lublin. Another essential connection was the crossing of the Vistula river which here narrowed, allowing easier fording of the river. The town received the privilege of Magdeburg rights, afterwards confirmed by Jan III, allowing the organisation of two markets per week and four annual fairs (the dates of these events correlated with Catholic holidays). In order to attract settlers, in 1672, Wierzbicki issued a privilege which waived burgers’ rents, tributes and taxes for a period of five years and established the town’s layout. Citizens

Case studies 259

were allowed to produce and sell alcoholic beverages, such as beer and vodka, deal with commerce and crafts and cater to visitors’ needs (Liczbiński 1957). The layout of a new town was subordinated to the celebrations of the Way of the Cross. It consisted of two main streets forming a Latin cross with a church (Pilate’s court) at the intersection. Liczbiński (1957) claims the plan followed medieval plans meant to resemble ancient Jerusalem. The Baroque composition extended far beyond the former village. The axes led to three monastery complexes: Bernardines, Piarists and Dominicans and the Saint Cross Church; their symmetrical distribution additionally emphasised the cross-shaped layout (Figure 4.18). The monastery of Oratorians, afterwards Friars of Holy Communion (Borkowska 2009), supplemented the Saint Cross Church and enacted the ceremonies conducted in the sanctuary. Besides this, south-west from the town, two more monastery complexes were erected: Marians and Dominican Sisters, accessible from a side road which was connected to the main one next to the Dominicans Monastery. An attempt to emulate the ideal layout of Jerusalem had to be adjusted to local conditions. Not all the elements of the plan could be easily recreated, due to the local topography. For instance, Golgota Hill, which should have its location in the bottom left portion of the plan, could not be placed next to the embankment due to the lack of sufficient space for the required chapels there. The arrangement extended far into the open landscape, with numerous chapels situated in the surrounding forest. The longer axis, which used the existing ravine as a part of the terrain configuration, was defined with Kalwaryjska Street and the market square, its prolongation continued as the local road to Piaseczno. The perpendicular axis used a section of the former road from Warsaw to Lublin. The tracing of pilgrims’ paths was done in a way which consciously opened vast vistas and framed views to enrich the content of the biblical stories. The landscaping efforts additionally upgraded the images pilgrims were intended to absorb while treading along the processional paths. For instance, to improve the quality of the visual experience, the Saint Cross Church, which closed the perspective and, at the same time, was the final destination for the pilgrims, was exposed against the slope of a hill on which stood a large-scale cross. The main market, in the form of a trapezoid, covered a large area: 270m long and 90 to 100 meters wide. The eastern facade hosted a church and a monastery of the Bernardines; in the west facade, there was Pilate’s court. The two longer facades consisted of the townhouses of citizens. In the middle of the square, there were the stalls of merchants as allowed by the town charter. The town hall, as Liczbiński (1957) supposes, was built in later times, at the turn of the eighteenth and the nineteenth century, at first in very modest form. Borkowska (2009, pp.140–142) confirms the presence of a wooden town hall from the beginning of the town; it was mentioned in the parish register and court archives. Initially, Kalwaryjska Street was much larger than it is now and opened perspectives on the whole of the arrangement located on the hill. Similarly, Pijarska and Dominikańska Streets enlarged

260  Case studies

Figure 4.18  T  he main pilgrimage routes in Góra Kalwaria (Liczbiński 1957). 1. Main stations of Catholic processions, 2. churches and monasteries, 3. other significant edifices, 4. route of The Passion procession, 5. route of The Funeral procession, 7. reconstruction of the initial parcellation layout by Liczbiński and Zarębska. Ad. 1 and 2.: (1) church and monastery of Bernardines, (2) church and monastery of Dominicans, (3) church and monastery of Piarists, (4) the Holy Cross Church, (5) church and monastery of Dominicans Sisters, (6) church and monastery of Marians (Cenacle), (7) chapel of Holy Apostles, (8) chapel of the Handing Over of Christ, (9) the place where Saint Peter fought Malchus, (10) chapel of Prayer in the Garden of Olives, (11) Eastern Gate, (12) house of Caiaphas, (13) prison, (14) Pilate’ court, town hall, (15) the House of Herod, (16–24) stations of the Way of the Cross, (25) Emmaus chapel, (26) chapel of Holy Transfiguration, (27) chapel of Anna the Prophetess, (28) Tomb of the Mother of God, (29) chapel of Ascension, (30) chapel of Saint Francis, (32) chapel of Saint Anton. Ad 3.: the manor house of the A. Górski Family, B. suffragan’s house, C. brickyard, D. inn, E. salt tax collection store, F. Bernardines brewery, G. King’s manor, H. King’s stables, I. Oratorians brewery, J. windmill, K. grain storage.

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towards the intersection with a longer axis, enhancing the visual values of the edifice in the middle. This distortion improved the aesthetic qualities of the composition, seemingly lengthening the distance to the central spot and making Pilate’s court presence more explicit. The conscious usage of visual distortions as an element of the composition, the extension of the layout into the surrounding landscape and creating intentional impressions based on far-reaching vistas are all very typical features of advanced Baroque planning. The picturesque theatrical settings of Góra Kalwaria were entirely subordinated to the requirements of creating an appropriate scenography for Catholic processions. Their rich symbolics used the urban structures as a backdrop against which the biblical events could be commemorated. The scenographic character of the arrangement, in which everything was subordinated to cult purposes, made Góra Kalwaria one of the most elaborate examples of Baroque towns in Poland (Liczbiński 1957). As Liczbiński (1957) assumes in his ideal plan of Nowa Jerozolima, the parcels for the burgers, of the size 40 × 100 cubits (23.8 × 59.5m) each, were laid out along the two principal axes. In addition to construction lots, citizens also obtained gardens of limited size 100 × 100 cubits (circa 59,5 × 59,5m), which extended parallel to the main axis of the town, starting from the Chapel of the First Fall. The longer axis ended at Kalwaria Hill. According to Liczbiński (1957), Wierzbowski planned for a total of circa 100 townhouses. During the phase of implementation, the requirements of real life situations imposed certain distortions on the original plan, and, therefore, three types of lots were used instead of two. In places where densities were higher, tiny parcels, 23.8 × 59.5 m, were applied. In cases where the land behind the main construction lines was freely available, the parcels were enlarged, this way adding gardens directly to the building lots. The third type comprised parcels 59.5 × 59.5m (Liczbiński 1957). Borkowska (2009, p.133) corrected this data based on the parish register books7, which confirm that the parcel’s width was not 40 but 50 cubits (slightly more than 27m). Besides, many citizens owned not the whole lot but half of it, a parcel of the width 25 cubits (13.5m). As a consequence, the market square itself accommodated 26 houses: 9 in full lots and 17 in half-lots. What is more, the register of 1683 lists 31 houses in the market, so more parcels must have been initially divided into two parts. In Kalwaryjska Street, the real-life situation also differed from the assumed one, the register of 1695 lists proprietors of 40 lots. In this number, two lots had only 25 cubits, one had 100 cubits, and the remaining ones were 50 cubits in size. The total number of house owners according to the register was much higher than in the hypothetical reconstruction of the original plan by Liczbiński (1957) and amounted to 169 names (Borkowska 2009, p.134). Moreover, the reconstruction of the original plan by Liczbiński does not show the first wooden town hall, which was located at the junction of Kalwaryjska and Dominikańska Streets (Borkowska 2009, p.134). Another difference between the plan’s assumptions and reality is the confirmed presence of houses among the gardens along Kalwaryjska Street. This

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development, which did not form a continuous facade, must have already existed there at the end of the eighteenth century (Borkowska 2009, p.134) and extended until the church. The remnants of the former village, as Liczbiński (1957) suggests, had been included in the new composition in the neighbourhood of Senatorska (now Ks. Sajny) Street. It hosted three inns for travellers, which surrounded a triangular square, well connected with the river crossing. Both the earlier route going through Góra and the significant densities of development there could have remained from the period preceding the town’s foundation. Borkowska (2009, p.131) refutes this thesis, based on the preserved register of names, proving that there were no citizens recorded with an address in Senatorska Street at the beginning of Nowa Jerozolima’s history. Accordingly, the development there must have been built later. On the other hand, some structures did exist here. Since 1682 at least, the king’s salt tax-collector operated out of a building in Góra (Borkowska 2009, p.145) which was located in today’s Ks. Sajny Street, close to the crossing of the Vistula river. The applied design of this part of the town continued the original spirit. The view from the triangular space in Senatorska (now Ks. Sarny) Street enclosed the Bernardine monastery, while, at the same time, the break in the facade gave the opportunity to connect the Bernardine and Piarist complexes visually. Liczbiński (1957) assumes a parallel setup of ridges along the lines of the facades, given the substantial widths of the parcels. Besides this, the street facades must have been complemented with fences with entry gates. Taking into account the information discovered by Borkowska (2009, p.134) referring to the presence of much narrower parcels, this earlier assumption about the house ridge setup could be partly erroneous. Initially, referring to the privilege issued by Wierzbicki, the burgers dwellings were of one floor only with steep roofs covered with shingle. The houses were wooden but with masonry chimneys, situated according to contemporary regulations, three feet distant from neighbouring lots. The parish books do not mention any significant fire during the initial forty years of the town’s existence (Borkowska 2009, p.140). In most lots, the backyards hosted auxiliary structures, such as barns, craftsmen’s workshops, etc. Every few houses had their well. The town continued as a place of cult and a centre of pilgrimage until the end of the eighteenth century; however, its initial reputation faded. Its layout remained in its original form until the secularisation, which took place under the Prussian authority; this is apparent from the map of 18098. However, as early as 1791, the technical state of the Saint Cross church was so poor that it was closed, which confirmed the decline and closure of the religious activities in this sanctuary. The processions and ceremonies ended, pilgrims no longer arrived, and the quorum of serving priests was dissolved, since the required numbers diminished (Borkowska 2009, p.311). The town was further devastated during the Kościuszko Insurrection in 1794, with a large part of the residential quarters and the monasteries of the Dominican friars and sisters demolished.

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After 1795, the Prussian government secularised the town. From 1796 all church properties became state-owned. During the short-term Prussian rule, a number of Prussian citizens arrived and settled in the nearby colony of Kąty. The town got a district court, which moved here from nearby Czersk and obtained a massive and richly decorated building in the market. Also in 1796, the town hall was built, in the form of a modest edifice in the east facade of the market. In 1815, the streets were regulated, which significantly altered the previous layout, narrowing Pijarska Street and enlarging the block next to the street, this way disturbing the original symmetry of the plan. The road from Warsaw to Kozienice was surfaced which, from 1818, accommodated the stagecoach connection. This connection stopped after the construction of another road on the right side of the Vistula. In addition, other streets were successively paved and tollhouses constructed. The development of local administration started during the Prussian rule continued throughout the period of the Kingdom of Poland. In 1819, the Piarist Collegium was closed and the building adopted by the army for a military barracks. 4.3.2  Jewish presence in Góra Kalwaria The founding document of Nowa Jerozolima issued by Michał Korbut Wiśniowiecki in 1670 contained the privilege de non tolerandis Judaeis. Not allowed to live in Góra, Jews resided in nearby villages, first of all in Lipków, and came for the markets. However, while it was impossible for Jews to settle in the town itself, some found ways to live in the suburbs; for instance, one Jew leased a local brewery belonging to the Piarist monastery. Furthermore, citizens of Jewish descent who converted to Catholicism did settle in Góra Kalwaria; the parish chronicles noted several (26 between 1747 and 1792) cases of conversions of Jews to Catholicism (Borkowska 2009, p.33). The records also mentioned baptisms of the members of these families, which took place elsewhere. This trend was, as Borkowska (2009, pp.32–33) explains, a follow up to the former Sabbatianism and Frankism movements, the influence of which spread all over Poland and Lithuania after the Cossack Wars a century earlier. In 1802 the Prussian government lifted all constraints on Jewish settlement in towns. From the moment of the abolition of these settlement limitations, Jews began moving to Góra Kalwaria from nearby villages: Czersk, Warka, Grodzisk, Magnuszew (Borkowska 2009, p.356). The first settlers came as early as 1802 (Bergman 1991). By 1817 there were 332 Jews in Gur (Hebrew) or Ger (Yiddish name of Góra), and their number had doubled by 1825 (Prajs 2002). The general population increased too, not as quickly, however; during the period between 1817 and 1827, the number of citizens grew from 836 to 1234. The overall number of houses in 1827 was 90 (Borkowska 2009, p.327). At first, Jews rented rooms in Polish houses. Only in 1806 did Aron Kleyn erect the first house by a Jew in the Rynek (Market). Rooms for workshops, synagogue and heders were also at first rented. This was the case with

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the first synagogue in Góra Kalwaria, mentioned in a document from 1808, which used rented accommodation (Bergman 1991). The Jewish cemetery was started before 1810, west from the hill where the processions were once held (Borkowska 2009, p.315). Documents from 1827 confirm its presence, with a mention about the land for this purpose (Borkowska 2009, p.359, after Bergman). In 1861 the size of the cemetery was doubled as the cemetery had reached its capacity; this extension was sufficient until World War II. Polish citizens perceived their newly arrived Jewish neighbours as economic competitors; thus, during the period from 1814 to 1825, the concession Jewish merchants and artisans had to pay to conduct economic activities grew tenfold. (Prajs 2002). On the other hand, their presence was beneficial for municipal funds. The main problems arose around the production and sale of alcoholic beverages. Christian citizens demanded that Jews be forbidden from these activities, as had happened earlier in Grójec (Prajs 2002). In 1837, such a ban was issued but soon suspended. In practice, as Borkowska (2009, p.357) explains, the ban was waived to any Jew who was willing to use bribery. The economic impact of Jews was so great and so beneficial for the town authorities that they would not forbid the economic rights of Jews. For example, it was thanks to Jewish donations that the town hall could finally be finished in 1834. They contributed to new merchant warehouses (Polish: jatki) in the market and built many new masonry structures, significantly improving the image of the ruined town. The first Jewish settlers built their houses on the north side of the market (Figure 4.19). As Bergman (1991) explains, they were offered the lease on ten construction lots located north from the market square, between Pijarska and Ks. Sajny (then Senatorska) Street. The size of these parcels, one of which is still preserved, was extremely small – around 7 by 14 metres. Analysing the modules formerly used in Góra, introduced back in the times of bishop Wierzbicki, and afterwards subdivided, these tiny lots are exactly one fourth of the initial size of Góra standard building lots. They had most likely evolved as a continuation of the former location of stalls. Space in the market was much more valuable than elsewhere, as Borkowska (2009, p.134) proves, having direct access to the most attended commercial spot would have been of higher value for Jewish merchants than just being given rights to settle elsewhere. It is also extremely likely that other construction lots in the market at the time were of the same tiny size, thus evolved from the same origin. The more so that the stalls contained, as archive sources9 prove, not only room to sell goods but also a small storage area (Borkowska 2009, pp.148–149). The property structure in the remaining part of the market was not preserved in its state at the turn of the eighteenth and nineteenth century because it had been partly replaced during the construction of the new market hall. The transformation of the former stalls into permanent building lots may have followed the decision on the erection of the town hall and new permanent market hall in this part of the market square. The small lots accommodated wooden, two-axial buildings, their remnants or replacements preserved until

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Figure 4.19  Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Góra Kalwaria (redrawn after Bergman 1991). 1. Jewish religious institutions, buildings preserved: A. synagogue, B. house of prayer, C. tsadik court, no longer preserved: a. mikveh, b. heder; 2. houses built by Jews and no longer existing, 3. houses belonging to Jews by 1939 and no longer existing, 4. nineteenth-century subdivisions, 5. houses belonging to Jews by 1939 and still existing, 6. houses purchased by Jews by 1939 and still existing, 6a. houses probably purchased by Jews by 1939 and still existing, dates provided refer to the beginning of Jewish ownership, 6b. houses purchased by Jews by 1939 through confiscation for debts and still existing, 7. houses built by Jews and still existing, 8. houses rented to Jews, 9. the so-called Jewish quarter after 1934, 10. other important buildings: I. parish church, II. town hall, III. stalls for butchers and bakers (some notes presented in the original drawing have been omitted for the sake of clarity).

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World War II. One has been preserved until today, its facade enduring at the corner of what is currently Piłsudskiego Street and Ks. Sarny Street. In 1834 a zone was established for Jews between the streets (current names): Ks. Sajny, Strażacka (former Berka Joselewicza, laid out in 1829) and Pijarska, except for one lot on the corner of the market and Pijarska Street, which could not be sold to the Jew Aron Nusbaum because of its close proximity to the church. Soon after, due to the quick growth of the Jewish community, the zone had to be extended to the other side of Pijarska Street. There, in 1838, a ritual bath was built, followed in 1849 by the construction of a synagogue (Borkowska 2009, p.358). The wooden synagogue, covered with shingle, consisted of two rooms: the lower for men and the upper for women. A hole in the ceiling which joined them together enabled women to listen to prayers. Behind the synagogue, two huts with removed roofs served as cabins for Sukkot. The construction of this synagogue was one-third financed by Hersz Birnbaum, who then served as an elder of the synagogue supervision. An entrepreneur who owned a brickyard, Hersz Birnbaum was recognised for having participated in all the major works in town: according to Bergman (1991) he must have started his firm to provide construction materials for the town hall built in 1934. Since the beginning of the nineteenth century, Jewish citizens played their part in the town’s development. Bergman (1991) lists several craftsmen and Jewish contractor enterprises engaged in construction works in Góra Kalwaria, starting from 1832. For instance, they worked on the building of a shelter for elderly and disabled people, a butchers’ hall, a fire station, etc. In 1855, the streets of Góra got kerosene lamp lighting (Borkowska 2009, p.345). Jewish firms won a public bid for such elements of the town’s infrastructure as lampposts and paving roads. Bergman (1991) lists several names here: Hersz Birnbaum, Moszek Skrzypek, Abram Rubinstein, Abraham Rotmil, David and Mosiek Warm, Szyja and Mosiek Nusbaum. Although around 1850 the district court moved to Grójec, the town’s growth continued. In 1852 Jews constituted the majority of the total population, which numbered 1750 people; Jewish citizens accounted for 1161, while there were only 589 Christians (Borkowska 2009, p.346). There were four annual fairs and two weekly markets. Of the overall number of citizens, 51 dealt with commerce. There were two small industrial plants, one of them producing talliesim – Jewish ritual garments. The two cultures and religions coexisted there peacefully. In the 50s of the nineteenth century, the tradition of Catholic religious events brought masses of pilgrims to Góra Kalwaria; however, they arrived for the celebrations of Saint Anthony’s kermesse, not as previously for Holy Week. The middle of the nineteenth century marked a landmark in the Jewish history of Góra Kalwaria. Before this, for around fifty years, Góra remained within the zone of influence of the Kock and Warka rabbis. In 1859, tsadik Izaac Meir Rothenberg settled in Góra and made the town one of the major centres of the Hasidic cult in Poland. Even earlier, during the first decades

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of the nineteenth century Hasidism acquired permanent institutional structures. First, at the beginning of the movement’s development, a religious leader became tsadik as a result of his personal and spiritual qualities, to be replaced after his death either by his most charismatic student or his offspring. Izaac Meit Rothenberg, also using the name Alter, started as a follower of the Kock rabbi. Then, having been appointed to replace the Kock rabbi after his death, at first, he gave up this role to Menachem Mendel Morgensztern and moved to Tomaszów. After having married a daughter of a Warsaw banker, Alter moved to Warsaw, from where, after 1839 when the Kotzker rabbi passed to him part of his duties, he also travelled to Góra Kalwaria to conduct festivals and Hasidic community events. After the death of Kotzker Rebbe, he settled, in 1859, in Góra Kalwaria and drew there a community of circa ten thousand followers (Bergman 1991). Not only did his court attract the Hasidim from Kock but also some of the former adherents of Symkha Bunem from Przysucha, whose teachings Izaak Meir Alter once followed. By this time the post of tsadik had customarily turned into a hereditary one, passing from father to son, and in this way the dynasty of Gerer rabbis was established. Juda Arie Lejb, a grandson of the first Gerer rabbi replaced his grandfather after his death in 1866; Abram Mordka Alter, his father and the son of the Izaak Meir, died prematurely in 1855. The necessity to accommodate the numbers of visitors needed proper facilities; thus a special house was built for tsadik’s visitors called the tsadik court. The two-floor building contained five large office rooms on the ground floor and guest rooms on the upper floor, joined by a centrally-located staircase. Two balconies with cast-iron balustrades in the front facade were added at the end of the nineteenth century (Bergman 1991). Next to it, on the north side, a house of prayer was erected for groups of Hasidim who visited the tsadik. The ground level of this building hosted one large chamber with two rows of cast-iron columns for Hasid gatherings and ceremonies. The upper floor, which comprised storage rooms and a stove to bake matzo, was connected directly with the tsadik court (Borkowska 2009, p.361). The two buildings located inside the quarter and surrounded by a spacious yard, which, during ceremonies, served for gatherings of the arriving Hasidim, were secluded from the surrounding streets. This is the continuation of the way beit midrash used to be situated in earlier times and might have been brought about by the orthodox thread in Hasidim teaching. However, not all Hasidim courts followed this example. For instance, a building erected for the Aleksander rabbi, another prominent court in central Poland at the time, was a three-floor masonry building set back from the street and preceded with a courtyard. The modest forms of the court resemble the architecture of educational edifices of the time. Unlike the sumptuous residences of tsadiks in the former Polish Commonwealth, e.g. in Czortków or in Galicia, e.g. in Sadogóra, inspired by the last magnates’ palaces and richly decorated, the courts of central Poland assumed far more functional and modest forms. In many cases, rabbis used their own houses.

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After the January Uprising, the politics of the Russian government was aimed at the intensive Russification of the Kingdom of Poland. Among other activities, they gradually liquidated the Catholic monasteries, the friars being blamed for participation in or helping others during the uprising. For instance, in the former Bernardines monastery, already partly used as a military barracks, the remaining wing was adopted for the county offices. In the period between 1867 and 1879, Góra Kalwaria became a seat of the county administration, and as an administrative centre, hosted county institutions and their staff. After that date, the former monastery housed the parish church and a school. In the plan of 1869, Kalwaryjska Street was not as large as before; it was narrower for the final third of its length at its far end but remained broad in proximity to the market10. As the religious processions no longer happened there, the original width was no longer necessary apart from the needs of commerce taking place next to the market place. In 1883 Góra Kalwiaria lost its city rights, only to get them back after World War I, in 1919. Borkowska (2009, p.374) attributes this fact to the general decline of the whole region. Several factors contributed to this situation. First, after the construction of the railway in 1877 on the right side of Vistula, parallel to the former major road, the far side of the river was depopulated and, after some time and the closure of several industrial establishments, became more village-like. Additionally, in 1903, a devastating fire destroyed large parts of the town. The masses of pilgrims arriving to meet their tsadik had to stay somewhere, for this purpose they used the neighbouring houses. All the houses in the Jewish quarters and in the nearby blocks contained rooms for rent to the arriving Hasidim. Usually, these rooms were shared, with the pilgrims often squeezed in there, two sleeping in one single bed. Many decided to prolong their stay or even reside in Góra on a permanent basis. This needed the infrastructure to cater to their needs. In 1896, a masonry ritual bath, designed by Juliusz Radwan, the then architect of the Grójec county, replaced the old one. This building continued until the outbreak of the World War II. A separate building to host a heder was erected at the same time in Kilińskiego Street. After the former wooden synagogue burned down during the fire of 1901, plans to build a new one began. Eventually, a new masonry structure was erected at Pijarska Street 5, designed by Juliusz Radwan. The building distinguished itself from its surroundings through a slight (circa 2m) setback and the presence of two symmetrical raised attics on both sides of the front facade. Inside, a row of cast-iron columns once supported a female section on the upper floor. In 1898, a narrow-gauge railway was built which connected Góra Kalwaria with Warsaw through Piaseczno (Bergman 1991). It was very popular among Gerer Hasidim, and Gerer Rabbi Juda Arie Lejb, a grandson of the first Gerer rabbi, participated in its construction to make coming to Góra more convenient for Hasidim. At first, from 1895, it functioned as a horse-drawn railway, yet soon, in 1898, horses were replaced with a steam locomotive (Borkowska

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2009, p.361). The railway was known as rebbes kolejke, and its final station was located in Pijarska Street. In the memoirs of a rail company worker we may read about the actual functioning of this train (Surgiewicz 1972, quotation and translation after Bergman 1991): To this tsaddik came Jews from all corners of the Congress Kingdom, and even from Austria, Hungary and other countries. Dozens of people visited him daily and thousands turned up for special assemblies. The omnibus travelled for 8 hours and could take around 25 people. The railway virtually signalled the end of this medieval form of locomotion, conveying the faithful to the tsaddik in two hours. What was more, on occasions more than five hundred people were able to squeeze into its carriages. Apart of the transportation of passengers, it served also to transport bricks from the brickyard in Baniocha. Another mode of transportation used by Gerer Hasidim were the buses which used the station in Pijarska Street next to the junction with Berek Joselewicz Street (Bergman 1991). The third and last of the Gerer’s rabbis’ dynasty, Abram Mordechaj Alter, took over the post after his father’s death in 1904. Not only did he rule his Hassidim but also started an influential political party, Agudas Israel, which gathered orthodox Polish Jews in the period between the wars. The group of Gerer’s followers numbered circa one hundred thousand Hasidim (Prajs 2002). Bergman (1991) describes Rabbi Alter as ‘an acclaimed intermediary between man and God whose mystical powers and erudition attracted faithful followers to settle near his ‘court’’. The impact of Ger court grew with time. Another issue which needs to be mentioned is the role of women. While some of the most affluent women were accepted to the tsadik court and were received on similar conditions as their husbands, such a situation occurred rarely and was rather unusual and reserved for wealthy and affluent representatives of the bourgeoisie. Usually, women did not directly participate in Hasidim gatherings; however, there are records of them asking for special blessings or favours (Dynner 2006). When Hasidim travelled to meet their tsadik they usually left their wives and female relatives at home. Although when they decided to settle permanently, they brought their wives along. Domestic life also had a Hasidic character. In the prewar period, Jewish women living in Góra Kalwaria used the community synagogue, which was located at Pijarska Street 5. Looking at the population demographics (Table 4.11, Figure 4.20) during the period of the Jewish presence in Góra Kalwaria, we may clearly see the impact of the tsadik’s arrival on the percentage of the Jewish population, especially in its initial phase. After the town lost its city rights in 1883, the Jewish influx diminished, regaining some impetus after World War I, however, never to its former level. The reason could be the construction of the narrow-gauge railway which, offering much easier and quicker access to their

270  Case studies Table 4.11  Composition of the population of Góra Kalwaria (Bergman 1991, GUSRP 1925, sztetl.org.pl) Date

General population

Catholics

Jews

Others

1797 1817 1825 1840* 1852 1860 1865 1877 1880 1910 1939

685 836 1295 1412 1750 2108 2273 2819 3225 6243 7000d

685 504 637 579 589 707 b 567 N/A N/A N/A N/A

332 658 819 1161 1401 1664 N/A N/A N/A 3800e

14a N/A N/A 41c N/A N/A N/A N/A

a  b  c  d  e  * 

Evangelicals. The number refers to all the Christian population. Protestants 34, Russian Orthodox 7. Estimated value. The number represents the upper estimate, the lower value is 3300. For 1840 Borkowska (2009) gives different numbers: 819 Jews and 693 Christians.

tsadik without the necessity to travel for the whole day, could deter Jewish masses from a permanent stay in Ger. Instead, the influence of the court grew territorially. Shtiblekh of Ger were present in cities, towns and villages all over the former Kingdom of Poland. In some places, there could be even more than one Ger shtibl, for instance, in Będzin there were three. What is more, Ger shtiblekh usually gathered more followers than any other courts, for example, in Łowicz this shtibl gathered circa two hundred worshippers (Wodziński 2016). In total, Ger controlled 294 shtiblekh, in this number, 281 were located in Central Poland (Wodziński 2016). As Wodziński (2016) proves, the average distance from a shtibl to the court amounted to circa 146 km, which shows the extent of the impact of the Gerer rabbis. A particular feature of Gerer followers was their adherence to Talmudic studies, also conducted in shtiblekh distant from the major court (Wodziński 2016, p.71). Moreover, as Wodziński (2016, p.71) shows, the majority of followers of this huge branch of Hasidism had never been to Ger, nor had they any opportunity to enter into personal contact with their rabbi. The leadership in this case developed on the basis of very strong leadership charisma; however, over a long distance and with a very low level of physical or social interaction. When looking at the development of Góra Kalwaria, one may have an impression that most Jews living there belonged to the traditional orthodox community; however, as we may surmise reviewing the original Megiles Ger (Sapoznikow 1975), this was not the full truth. Next to the traditional Judaism which prevailed, there were also more contemporary Jewish interests and lifestyles, with all the major threads of thought of the time represented;

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Figure 4.20  Jewish population dynamics in Góra Kalwaria.

most likely, more acculturated Jews blended easily with Polish society. For instance, Jews may have played their role in the development of local health infrastructure, similarly to other towns with good railway connections to Warsaw. At the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth century, the local hospital started accommodating patients from Warsaw, who must have come here for rest and medication (Borkowska 2009, p.375). The local parish register noted the growth of staff employed in this institution, which must have meant a larger demand for this type of service. After 1918, under Polish rule, the town got electricity, and afterwards water and sewage infrastructure. 4.3.3  Sociometric network and spatial layout After World War II, most of the buildings in the former Jewish quarter were divided into smaller communal dwellings, while others remained abandoned. As a result of the lack of intervention due to the persistent lack of money, much of the former usage of space continued until our times. Thanks to this, the old courtyards are, to a large degree, still preserved in their pre-war form11. The backyards, interconnected by the network of pedestrian passages, remain, for the most part, open. This connectivity used to be a feature distinct for Jewish districts, especially those representing the traditional culture. The initial layout has been altered in the section which has been renovated and adapted for the use of individual families or, in the case of multi-family houses, when ownership rights to a building are clear. In the area which has been left unrenovated, one can freely circulate due to the preserved network of internal passages, backyards, open gates, etc. Wandering around inside the urban block one can easily imagine groups of Hasidim flocking to their tsadik seat, looking for the shortest passage without leaving the interior of the block. The whole quarter within the limits of the first zone of 1834 must have belonged to a single eruv. An attempt to reconstruct the network of internal passages has been undertaken in order to illustrate the above phenomenon (Figure 4.21). The

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Figure 4.21   Sociometric layout within the main Jewish quarters in Góra Kalwaria. Symbols 1–8 repeat the content of Figure 4.19, 9. currently available paths, 10. paths and shortcuts which may have been available earlier.

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illustration shows the current possibilities to circulate within the urban block, with a few more possible connections which may have been open earlier. Although the passages remained open, they did not attract passers-by of other than a traditional Jewish background. The narrow spaces, full of turns and not always very tidy, used to deter outsiders from entering. This specificity is congruent with the already observed ways of functioning of internal spaces in other analysed places belonging to traditional Jewish culture of central Poland. Nonetheless, here the main principle was to subordinate the development to the sphere of sacrum. The layout of the quarter, with the rabbi’s court secluded and surrounded with a large yard, makes one think of the traditional arrangement of space around great synagogues like the Schulhof religious complex in Vilna. A characteristic feature in the case of the tsadik edifices in Góra Kalwaria, however, is the presence of one of the most significant and influential Hasidic courts in this part of Europe inside the urban quarter, with no actual need to become visible nor explicit in the public space of the town. Considering the numbers of supporters of this dynasty, the most influential of its times, and its popularity, the arrangements which once functioned here remained very modest. The limited size of the edifices which once hosted the tsadik court and prayer house, when juxtaposed with the actual numbers of followers, may astonish. However, the modesty of these solutions may be justified when we reconsider the distribution and way of functioning of the movement. The Ger Hasidism had a sort of network structure, with many nodes, spread across a vast territory and based on indirect relations and study of sacred volumes, and this small town, not far from Warsaw, hosted its headquarters only.

4.4 Otwock 4.4.1  The beginnings of a town Otwock, due to its exceptional location in the middle of a forest, used to attract citizens from Warsaw looking for rest and calm. Its extraordinary climate stemmed from it being sited on a plain in the ancient Vistula river corridor. The unique soil composition, consisting of layers of sand, enables water to drain away easily (Trybowski 2012, p.16). The unusual layout of the terrain, surrounded on one side by dunes and a plateau and opened to the Vistula river on the other, retains the streams of continental air arriving along the river. The accumulation of masses of dry air gives rarer rain falls there than in Warsaw. During heat waves, hot air in the hollow rises and thus forms a vacuum which draws clean and cold air from over the Vistula (Trybowski 2012, p.17). Moreover, the vast coniferous forests which grew there improved air cleanliness and enhanced its quality, thanks to the valuable substances exuded by pine-trees.

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In the late nineteenth century, on a surge of enthusiasm for healthy living conditions as a reaction to the pollution of the era of industrialisation, spending summer holidays in Otwock and other towns outside Warsaw became exceedingly popular among wealthy Jewish bourgeoisie and wellto-do intelligentsia. Before it got city rights in 1916, for some time, Otwock had been functioning as a summer resort belonging to the Otwock Wielki Estate. Its development owes a lot to the construction of a railway along the Vistula river, which started in 1877 (Trybowski 2012, p.19). The first stop was established circa 7.5 kilometres from the palace of the owners of Otwock Wielki. Due to the newly-emerged fashion to spend summer holidays in the countryside, it quickly became surrounded with villas. In 1885, over an area of several hundred square meters, summer houses were built. At first, there were no more than 100 citizens, with the addition of wealthy Warsaw families spending their summer holidays here. During the next ten years, the number of houses grew to 200, and in 1906 it was already as high as 600 (Trybowski 2012, p.20). While most of the houses hosted a few apartments for rent during the summer time, only a few offered their services all year long. The majority of accommodation consisted of two rooms, a veranda and a separate kitchen; the latter might either belong to the flat itself or be shared with other inhabitants. The villas were furnished with beds, chairs, tables, basins, etc., yet all equipment such as linen, kitchen utensils and tablecloths guests had to bring along. At first, the villas spread over circa 235 ha, with the station located in its centre. The most beautiful villas grouped close to the railway, going away from it less opulent structures could be seen, and the poorest houses were built on yet more distant land, belonging to local farmers (Trybowski 2012, p.21). In 1880, Michał Elwiro Andriolli, a Polish Lithuanian artist of Italian origin, recognised for his illustrations to such books as Pan Tadeusz by Mickiewicz or Meir Ezofowicz by Orzeszkowa, bought a section of the Anielin estate belonging to Otwock Wielki property [a] (Centroni 2010, p.155). In his newly established property, since 1883 named Brzegi because of the proximity to the river Świder’s banks, Andriolli began construction of a private house based on his own design. This first investment was soon followed with ten more villas with apartments for rent to vacationers (Centroni 2011, p.10). In 1885, he brought four pavilions from the Industry and Farming Exhibition in Warsaw, inspired by their rich wooden ornamentation (Lewandowski 2012, p.37). Centroni (2010, 2011, p.9) sees the origins of his style in the traditional wooden architecture of Mazovia, enriched with examples of similar structures from Alpine rural architecture and the openwork style of decorations used in Siberia. Besides, other factors which also influenced the development of this style were the technological innovations from the Vienna World Exhibition in 1873 and patterns of adornments coming from Holzarchitektur – Holzbau. Taschenbuch fur Bauhandwerker (Workbook for Craftsmen 1880, after Centroni 2011, p.11). By Andriolli’s death, fourteen villas had been erected in the settlement, which was afterwards renamed Świder.

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The artist’s design and further developments of this trend in the construction of wooden, richly decorated villas soon became known as ‘świdermajer’ thanks to the poem ‘An excursion to Świder’ by Konstanty Ildefons Gałczyński, of the 20s of the twentieth century. The original verandas and sophisticated openwork adornments inspired by floral or animal motives were not only copied in numerous villas but also in the architecture of wooden mansions and sanatoria, and soon became a trademark of the Otwock style. The second half of the nineteenth century witnessed the mass spread of tuberculosis and lung diseases. As a reaction to this, the first sanatoria opened, where patients were exposed to fresh air, got excellent nutrition and a series of special treatments. In Otwock, due to its exceptional natural settings, this kind of therapy began as early as in 1890, with the activities of Doctor Jósef Marian Geisler, who, from this date, conducted his seasonal bath institution [VIII] (in 1893 the practice was extended to an all year long one). In the first year of its activity, the sanatorium already hosted 55 patients, in 1894 the number grew to 62 (Trybowski 2012, p.33). Additionally, the establishment offered its services to outpatients who lived in nearby boarding houses. In 1898, the special facilities were finished for the ‘all year long lowland tuberculosis sanatorium of European standard’ (Lewandowski 2012, p.59). By 1905, the numbers of attendees had grown to 950, but only 107 stayed there for treatments other than tuberculosis. Following the trend started by Geisler’s institution, already in the 90s of the nineteenth century, many guest houses were organised, which offered good nutrition, peaceful living, rest and recuperation in beneficial climate conditions. Additionally, many dispensed medical services or directed patients to external institutions. In 1905, one such establishment, in Szopena Street, at the corner of Otwocka (now Kościuszki) Street, was transformed into a fully-fledged sanatorium. It belonged at first to the Wiśniewski family, afterwards becoming the property of Doctor Krzyżanowski. Already in 1895, Józef Przygoda started the first hygiene and dietary institution for Jews, which his son, Doctor Władysław Przygoda, transformed in 1907 into the Tuberculosis Sanatorium for Jews [15] (Lewandowski 2012, p.59). This establishment was begun at the owner’s premises at Warszawska Street 5 (Trybowski 2012, p.38). In 1908, Doctor Gustaw Krukowski, with partners, started a modern sanatorium for Jews, called Martów, in Włodzimierska (now Słowackiego) Street [17] (Ajdacki 2014, p.333). By World War I, the three sanatoriums and a range of guest houses hosted annually circa 30 000 patients. However, except for the one by Geisler, the sanitary conditions of these establishments were not sufficient as they were lacking water and sewage systems. The role and the fame of Otwock grew abruptly, fostered by its unique climatic conditions and its location in the then boundless forest, and, at the same time, being in close proximity to Warsaw and accessible thanks to the railroad. In the Kingdom of Poland,

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in the overall number of sixteen health resorts only five were considered adequate for the climate-based treatment of tuberculosis: Otwock, Ojców, Pohulanka, Czarniecka Góra, and Sławuta; Ojców and Pohulanka could also serve for the treatment of the first phase of this illness. However, Pohulanka and Sławuta were in Russia, and Ojców and Czarniecka Góra, due to their distance from Warsaw, were difficult to travel to. What is more, Czarniecka Góra opened only during the summer season. All these reasons made Otwock the most thriving centre for the cure of lung diseases at the time (Trybowski 2012, p.34). In 1915, during the first Congress of Hygiene in Lvov, S. Gałecki emphasised the role of the town as a therapeutic centre, with thousands of patients, especially Jews, coming there for treatment (Trybowski 2012, p.47). This trend grew thanks to the activities of the Warsaw Antituberculosis Society, which in 1909 opened the first disinfection station in Otwock. In 1912, the society decided to start their own sanitary institution. It was, at first, small and hosting only ten patients in the premises not far from Karczew called Leśniczówka [10] (Trybowski 2012, p.42). The sanatorium existed till 1917 but closed due to lack of sufficient funding. Even preceding the actual development of Otwock, thanks to the persuasions of Androlli, a physician Henryk Dobrzycki decided to build the first sanitarium for children with lung disease there (Centroni 2010). Androlli’s last will gave Henryk Dobrzycki the right to use his property, Brzegi, for this purpose. The project for the sanatorium was approved in 1901; however, there is no more mention of it after, not in documents or the local press. Another attempt to start a preventorium for children was made in 1910 by the Society for Children Care, however, again without results. Not only did the lung disease treatment attract patients to Otwock, as early as in 1908 the Society for Care of Mentally Ill and Neurotic Jews founded the Zofiówka Hospital [26] (Ajdacki 2014, p.333). Located at the edge of the resort and surrounded with forest, two main wards, for male and female patients, were built next to the former villa of the owner (which hosted wealthier female patients) and a service pavilion. The popularity of Otwock grew further in the period between the wars, attracting mostly Jewish patients. The Jewish Antituberculosis Society ‘Brijus’ (Health), founded in 1909, had two sanatoria: ‘Haszahefes’ (Aid) at Włodzimierska (now Emilii Plater) Street 5 [18], [ J] and another, larger, charity-financed public one, opened 1914 on the edge of the Śródborów forest, in Reymonta Street [27] (Ajdacki 2014, p.333). While the first functioned successfully through the interwar period, the years of the war and later lack of financing put the second sanatorium into difficulties. As a result, the society could use only 90 of its beds until 1928, the major part of the activities transferred to the hospital department of the Warsaw municipality (Trybowski 2012, pp.51–53). In 1913, another Jewish Society ‘Marpe’ (‘Cure’) started a tuberculosis sanatorium under the same name at Świderska Street 10 [H], [I]

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(Ajdacki 2014, p.333). At first functioning as a canteen for poor Jewish patients, in 1924 the institution transformed into a fully-fledged tuberculosis sanatorium for Jews (Trybowski 2012, p.53). At the same time at Polna Street 17 the first Jewish antituberculosis clinic, ‘Dawtil’ [K], was started (Ajdacki 2014, p.333). Further health institutions emerged thanks to the initiatives of different parties. In 1918, Warsaw County opened a small centre for tuberculosis patients at Wiązowska Street 18 in Otwock. With time, the sanatorium, which was given the name Stanisław Okulicz, got a new, more patient-friendly building [VI] (Trybowski 2012, pp.55–56). In 1927 a police sanatorium was built at Moniuszki Street 4. In 1925 the Polish American Committee for Children’s Aid organised their own establishment at Dworska (now Bolesława Prusa) Street 9. The same committee also held summer camps for children in Villa Stanisławówka at Warszawska Street 36. A small-scale sanatorium, Ostrówek, in the 1930s, hosted only girls (Trybowski 2012, p.60). A prevention summer institution called Olin [III] also played a role in the care of children, run by the Society of Housing Estates (Towarzystwo Osiedli). The Sanatorium of the Warsaw Municipality at first rented beds in other institution before getting its own premises at Władysława Reymonta Street 57 [V] in 1929, next to the existing sanatorium Brijus. The vastness and monumental architecture of the edifices belonging to this complex made this one the largest in Otwock (Trybowski 2012, pp.60–61). The last institution started in Otwock was a military sanatorium [IV], founded in 1935, above the valley, in the area of slightly less valuable climate. Altogether, Otwock had 800 beds for adult tuberculosis patients in sanatoriums and circa 1000 rooms in villas and guest houses. Having obtained city rights in 1916, Otwock continued to develop quickly. During the first ten years of the interwar period, a town slaughterhouse opened, a power plant and a meteorological station were built, and a fire brigade organised. In the same period, two primary schools opened for a total of 1500 children, two kindergartens for 160 children and a gymnasium with eight classes (Trybowski 2012, p.23). 15 kilometres of streets were paved, 500 lamp posts were erected, which improved lighting conditions and the town got a new road connection with the capital. The construction of sewage and water systems did not start until 1936, however. The quality of railway connections improved in 1914 when a narrowgauge railroad [X] opened, and again in 1936 with the introduction of an electric railway. The popularity of Otwock as a summer resort grew rapidly, in 1891 or 1892 there were circa 2000 guests during the summer season; in the next three years, their number rose to 4000 people (Trybowski 2012, p.22). In the period between the wars, the population grew to 13 000, while the annual number of visitors increased to a dozen or so thousand (Trybowski 2012, p.22). This large number of seasonal and year-round guests required distractions. The cafeterias or shops where one could dance in the beginning were very

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few, like the one on the verandah of the railway station building [I], so restaurants soon sprang up. One of the most recognised, erected in 1892 by Warsaw confectioner Pągowski, hosted a restaurant and a theatre house. The municipality also invested large sums of money in the health and recreation resort Kasyno, located in the middle of a park not far from the town hall [IX] (Trybowski 2012, p.23). The railway divided the settlement into two. The area on the east side was considered more aristocratic; it was there where the first villas were erected. Its composition focused around the broad Kościelna Street, perpendicular to the railway, leading from the station to the church. Nearly all the resorts and sanatoria were located on the east side (Trybowski 2012, p.21). In the 90s of the nineteenth century, close to the railway station, the commercial section of the town developed, with shops, bakeries, butcher shop, etc. The market also moved here from its initial location at the junction of Kościelna and Wiązowa Streets. The west side developed much later; the majority of villas located here were built between the World Wars. 4.4.2  Jewish life in Otwock Jewish settlement in Otwock started as early as in the 80s of the nineteenth century, never constrained by any regulations. One of the first Jewish villas belonged to Warsaw banker Stanisław Lesser; the first Jewish owner of a guest house was Lejbusz Gezuntheit (Ajdacki 2014, p.333). The Jewish population of Otwock grew very quickly. The lack of any constraints on Jewish settlement in Otwock led to its free and flourishing development. From the beginning of the twentieth century, Jews dominated economic life in the town, especially in commerce, crafts and services. They were plentiful in professions related to medicine and healthcare; many of the physicians active in Otwock were Jewish. They prevailed as well in such professional groups as: shoemakers, tailors, barbers, watchmakers, photographers, printers, craftsmen making shoe uppers, hat-makers, upholsterers, etc. The outstanding share of the Jewish population in the number of citizens of Otwock and their merits for the town’s development gave them an exceptional position in the local municipality. Thanks to a mutual agreement between representatives of Polish and Jewish communities in the period between the World Wars, Jews held 11 councillor mandates in the town council and the post of a vice-mayor. They also held an equal number of representatives on town council commissions. Apart from involvement in local communal institutions, Jews also carried out many tasks within their own community. The maps in Figures 4.24 and 4.25a–e show the distribution of confirmed Jewish properties and institutions. They are farther listed in Table 4.12. Until 1916, when an independent Jewish community was created, the Jews of Otwock belonged to the kehillah in Karczew. Once the Otwock community started, the new kahal dealt with maintenance of the rabbinate, synagogues, a ritual bath, a butcher’s shop, and a cemetery. Its tasks also covered both the religious

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upbringing of the youth and charity. The first masonry synagogue was erected in 1890 at Aleksandra (now Kupiecka) Street 17 (Ajdacki 2014, p.333). In 1910, in Górna Street a second more modest synagogue [B] and a ritual bath [C] were erected (Ajdacki 2014, p.333). The kahal used to meet at Berka Joselewicza (now Świderska) Street 26. The rabbinate gathered at Aleksandra (now Kupiecka) Street 23. The formal seat of the kahal was in the synagogue at Aleksandra Street 17. In the period between the World Wars, two prodigious synagogues were erected. The first one [M], built in 1927 following the project by Ewa Jabłońska, the town’s architect, was built opposite the town hall at Warszawska Street 41 and could accommodate 650 disciples (Ajdacki 2014, p.335). It burnt down in 1939 and was demolished in 1940. Another synagogue was constructed in 1928 at Mlądzka Street 30 on the corner of today’s Reymonta and Żeromskiego Streets [T]. It was also a masonry building, with two floors, designed by Marcin Weinfeld. The building was demolished in 1941. Besides this, there were several private prayer houses, in this number the best-known one was ‘Villa Rosa’ at Mlądzka Street 11 (now Kościuszki Street 32) [34], belonging to the Jabłoński family (Ajdacki 2014, p.334). Moreover, Otwock hosted its own Hasidic dynasty and representatives of several other courts. At the end of the 1890s, Kalish Symcha Bunem, a well-known Hasidic rabbi, settled here, this way establishing his Otwock dynasty. Besides, a large guest house owned by Gelbfish [Z] at the junction of Warszawska and Cybulskiego Streets became the centre of Warsaw Hasidim (Ajdacki 2014, p.333). Hasidism developed yet further when, in 1937, Rabbi Orele from Kozienice settled in Otwock, followed by many of his proponents (Ajdacki 2014, p.333). Jewish education and social care also developed in an unconstrained way. The first elementary school for Jewish children (Public School Number 2) [N], [O] opened in 1919 at Karczewska Street 31 in a villa belonging to the Borenstein family. Another school (Public School Number 4) was established in rented premises in Staszica Street and, in 1937, moved to a modern building in Szkolna Street [19]. Furthermore, several private Jewish schools opened in Otwock, the majority of a religious profile or national-Hebrew and religious-national-Zionist. The Jewish Culture and Education Society ‘Torbut’ supervised a school for those who wanted to emigrate to Palestine. In heder, boys were taught to read prayers, translating the Talmud to Yiddish and writing in Yiddish. In the oldest heder in Otwock, led by Całka Pszenny, religious teaching was conducted in Yiddish only, by Mendel Chanower. Furthermore, an active yeshiva, a religious school which taught rabbis, religious attorneys and teachers, and Talmudic scholars, attracted students from all over Poland (Ajdacki 2014, p.335). The Society on Fostering and Propagation of Religious-Talmudic Knowledge ‘Tomchaj-Tmimin’ managed the yeshiva which was located at Słowackiego Street 1 (now 22). In 1938 the school had 100 students. Besides, there was also a 4-class school for girls, Bejt Jakow, of the association ‘Szlojmej Emunoj Isroel’. Additionally, the ‘Talmud

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Tora’ society conducted the largest private religious school for children of the poorest families. Other large heders in Otwock were supervised by the associations ‘Achawas Tora’ and ‘Szomrej Szabas Weadas’ (‘adherence to the Sabbath and the major religious tenets’), the latter started by Rabbi Icchak M. Janowski. By the same token, numerous Jewish organisations undertook medical and social care activities. The Society for Care of Jewish Orphans ‘Centos’ had two sites which drew children from all over Poland: a special school for disabled children, and an educational and medical institution [29], [S], both in Gliniecka Street. The Otwock section of the Society for the Protection of Health of Jewish People in Poland dealt with Jewish orphans and ensured outpatient care for the Jewish poor (Ajdacki 2014, p.336). The society Bikur Cholim conducted ambulatory care and free medical counselling. The Society for Support to Poor Sick, Tomchaj Cholim, organised a free canteen for the poor. The Society for Support to Poor, Hochnasat Kalo, led by Dawid Fajowicz, gathered funds for dowries for poor Jewish brides. Furthermore, one could engage in the activities of one of the available sports clubs, i.e. ‘Wulkan’, led by Moszek Zylbersztajn, the Jewish Workers’ Sports Club, ‘Hapoel’, ‘Robotnik’ or ‘Gwiazda Sztern’ or the Otwock section of Workers Society for Physical Education. Other associations active between the World Wars included for instance: the Jewish Association of Culture, Jewish Cultural Association ‘Jabne’, ‘Chorew’, ‘Beit Jakow’ and ‘Szlomej Enumej Isroel’ (Orthodox Jews Union). The interests of Jewish artisans were represented by the Union of Jewish Artisans and the Association of Small Jewish Merchants. In 1917 in the overall number of 157 commercial establishments in the town, 135 belonged to Jews (ca 86%). In 1939 for 324 shops and craft workshops in the town, 255 belonged to Jews (ca 79%). Also in 1939, from the total number of 84 pensions in Otwock, Jews owned 70 (83%). Jews had their own credit society, with 375 members: 162 craftsmen, 156 merchants and 39 representatives of other professions. Through its short history, Otwock experienced a rapid, steady growth of inhabitants, with Jews providing the majority virtually from day one (Figure 4.22). The popularity of rest outside the major cities in favourable conditions, along with the fame of this fabulous site to cure tuberculosis, contributed to this growth. In 1939, Otwock had 19 916 inhabitants, in this number 10 689 Jews (54%) (Ajdacki 2014). According to other sources12 , this number was even higher. The Jewish community of this newly created town contained all the major groups of the Jewish society of the time: both traditional and progressive, representing all the major threads within contemporary Jewish culture. Singer (1993) renders an image of pre-war Jewish life in Otwock in his article, published in Forwerts in 194513:

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Figure 4.22  Jewish population dynamics in Otwock.

Distant several kilometres from Warsaw, a small town of Otwock is located. It was famous across the whole of Poland for its crystal clean air and sanatoria for people suffering from lung diseases. Apart from Otwock, the qualities of a few other towns near Warsaw were praised. The most important were Miedzeszyn, Falenica, Michelin, Józefów and Świder. In the last years before the war Jews also went to Wawer, Radość and Śródborów. Summer houses were the most keenly built in Otwock and in the neighbouring small towns due to the local soil, which was sandy so dry. Pine-tree forests extended for kilometres and on these resinous grounds Jews built their homes, also called villas. Wooden, painted in brown and with a verandah, they nearly all looked identical. Maybe this may sound unthinkable but along the whole Otwock line – this was how this railway was called – there was not one single lake nor swimming pool. Through the village of Świder a narrow stream crossed, in which the water reached no higher than to one’s knees. Children waded there most often, it was not however completely safe, because many sharp stones lurked there. (…) During the summer thousands of families came to Otwock and neighbouring settlements (…). The air was fragrant and beneficial, and people spent the whole summer caked in sand and dirt and had nowhere to bath. In the houses there were no bathtubs nor showers, and water was brought in buckets from wells. (…) The main occupation of vacationers was indulging their palates. Further on he describes Jewish customs in Otwock, including efforts to put on weight, especially among women and younger girls. Most families arrived for the whole summer if they could afford this. Vacationers used wagons to transport their linen, crockery, all the kitchenware and clothes. They rented furnished flats in villas. Wives and children welcomed their husbands, who came for the Sabbath, at the station. All the towns had the reputation of places where young people could easily find their future spouse, which was the focus of young men and women. They flirted, enjoyed the company of other youngsters, got engaged. The only exception was Falenica, which Singer (1993) pictures as a dirty village, full of mud, where mostly Orthodox and Hasidic Jews came (they wore their customary clothes, women wore

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wigs, men spent their time praying and studying holy books, surrounded by their children, boys wearing traditional side curls). 4.4.3  Physical development As a result of Otwock’s dynamic development at the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth century, two clearly distinguishable districts formed: curative and craft-commerce. The more assimilated and more affluent part of Jewish society, such as wealthy intelligentsia and bourgeois, chose their location on the east side of the railway. They picked guest houses, hotels, sanatorium and other health institutions. On the west side, the commercial and crafts neighbourhood emerged, ‘similar in the character to a small Jewish town’ (Ajdacki 2014, p.334). There one could find the market place, artisans and service workshops, small shops and cheap guest houses. A poor and traditional Jewish community lived there, dealing with commerce and crafts (Figure 4.23). The concise Jewish settlement in this part

Figure 4.23  S ketch based on the photograph ‘Two unidentified boys working the wheel of the town pump’, courtesy of YIVO Institute for Jewish Research. The commercial part of Otwock, demolished by Nazis during World War II. Available at http://polishjews.yivoarchives.org/archive/index.php?p=digitallibrary/ digitalcontent&id=4024#

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of the town was delimited with Bazarowa, Kupiecka, Górna, Świderska and Staszica Streets, and extended from Wydma Świderska till the contemporary Powstańców Warszawy Street. Nazis demolished the major part of this district during World War II. Narrow, sandy streets, divided Otwock into small parcels, in most areas covered with forest. Their narrowness caused a lack of proper ventilation, and the still air, along with smells coming from the market and cesspits, especially in the commercial part, made air rank. Additionally, some authors (Trybowski 2012 2012, p.41) report the complaints about the disorder of streets in the western section, too high-density rates, etc. Others (Ajdacki 2014, p.335) speak about the distinct Jewish atmosphere of this part of town. It did mostly preserve its layout after World War II, with only a few places altered. One such unpresuming place was once former Krzywa Street, narrow and hosting two-floor wooden buildings of limited size, with shops on the ground floor, which, as we see from pre-war photographs, clearly deserved its name (which meant ‘Winding Street’). Its image reminds one of another similar street, Handlowa, once the main street in nearby Falenica, another summer town located on the same Otwock line, but drawing a chiefly traditional public. The major commercial street, it was full of two-floor wooden houses of rich ornamentation. This street, completely built of wood, burnt down in September 1939 and was never rebuilt. It is said to have served Bruno Schulz for his famous depiction of the Street of Crocodiles (1977). In its pages, an image of a shtetl going back to long gone, probably still medieval times, may be found: After we passed a few more houses, the street ceased to maintain any pretence of urbanity, like a man returning to his little village who, piece by piece, strips off his Sunday best, slowly changing back into a peasant as he gets closer to his home. According to Trybowski (2012, pp.39–40), the chaos of development, especially in the western, commercial district of Otwock, together with the, for the most part, wooden buildings, built for short-term commercial usage, created a specific atmosphere. He associates it with the observations by Doctor Mess (1905, p.50, after Trybowski 2012, p.41), who, referring to the necessary reforms to be implemented to improve sanitary conditions, pictured unordered streets and estates, too densely built-up and overpopulated. This was the sort of common stereotype which often criticised typical Jewish traditional development as unordered. While the lack of proper sanitary conditions, especially of sewage and water systems, in a town functioning as a spa resort, was a huge problem, some of this criticism was based on prejudice, and not necessarily entirely justified. A feature which strikes one when looking at the urban structures in Otwock is the direct relationship of the culture once represented in a

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given location and the actual appearance of this site. We may, in fact, notice two different types of spatial order specific for Jewish inhabitants. Orthodox groups, usually poorer and dealing with commerce and traditionally Jewish crafts, lived and worked in crowded, often winding, cramped spaces, close to the market place. These were often criticised as dirty, full of mud, untidy, etc. Such settings like in Otwock appeared wherever this sort of social composition occurred. The more acculturated and usually richer Jewish community shared settings with Polish inhabitants, which were inspired by different patterns, with a geometrically-based design. Otwock is exemplary concerning this division because here it is evident spatially, with the railway line, which assumed the role of a clear-cut boundary. Another issue raised under analysis is the ways the valuable pine-tree forest was urbanised. At f irst, unconstrained urbanisation could easily proceed, not limited by any regulations in the Kingdom of Poland. After World War I, with Poland regaining independence, the development continued unabated. However, along with the introduction of urban planning regulations, the raised consciousness of environmental values of this area soon meant further development encountered diff iculties. The founding of Śródborów well illustrates this thesis. A so-called ‘forest town’, Śródborów was founded in 1922 by the society ‘Śródborów’, which wanted to start ‘an exemplary garden city’. Ajdacki (2014, p.164) describes the intense efforts which needed to be undertaken to obtain necessary permissions in waiving forest protection and change of land use for summer houses. The plan, elaborated by Zdzisław Kalinowski, assumed circa 19% of the area for streets of a width from 10 to 14 m. 15 land units (Polish: morga, circa 8,5 ha) were reserved for squares and small parks. The park [d] located close to the railway stop extended along Narutowicza Street until what is currently Kubusia Puchatka Street. The sites for two future schools, a church, f ire station, market hall, and playground for children were reserved as well. In 1923, when the project f inally received approval, the f irst set of 10 houses were built, designed by Prof. Rudolf Świerczyński. Also in 1923, the society established a train stop and connected a telephone line to Warsaw. By 1932, when Śródborów was incorporated into the Otwock municipality, it already had one hundred houses, thirty guest houses, and one hotel pension of a higher standard. The typical size of a parcel was large, circa 2500 m2. It was inhabited by wealthy Warsaw citizens and featured examples of the f inest architectural design by the best architects of the time. Spatially, Śródborów continues the development of the east part of Otwock, with villas and guest houses for well-to-do patients and vacationers. Another garden city founded nearby was Soplicowo, though it was inhabited mainly by the Polish community. The maps in Figures 4.24 and 4.25a–e show the distribution of conf irmed Jewish properties and institutions. They are farther listed in Table 4.12.

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Figure 4.24  Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Otwock – division into sections. The map includes confirmed and documented institutions and properties (Ajdacki 2014, Trybowski 2012).

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Figure 4.25a  D  istribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Otwock. Central part of the town. Section I. 1. Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Otwock, existing, 2. other heritage buildings, 3. Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Otwock no longer-existing, 4. other important heritage buildings no longer-existing, 5. the extent of concise Jewish traditional development, 6. summer houses owned or rented to Jewish clients, 7. narrow-gauge horse railway. A list of all the heritage structures marked with numbers is contained in Table 4.12.

Case studies 287

Figure 4.25b  D  istribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Otwock. Section II. 1. Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Otwock, existing, 2. other heritage buildings, 3. Jewish institutions and properties in prewar Otwock no longer-existing, 4. other important heritage buildings no longer-existing, 5. the extent of concise Jewish traditional development, 6. summer houses owned by or rented to Jewish clients, 7. the extent of specific development zones, 8. narrow-gauge railway, 9. narrow-gauge horse railway. A list of all the heritage structures marked with numbers is contained in Table 4.12.

288  Case studies

Figure 4.25c   Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Otwock. Section III. Symbols repeated from Figure 4.25b.

Case studies 289

Figure 4.25d  Distribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Otwock. Section IV. Symbols repeated from Figure 4.25b.

290  Case studies

Figure 4.25e  D  istribution of Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Otwock. Section V. Symbols repeated from Figure 4.25b.

Case studies 291 Table 4.12  Buildings and facilities in pre-war Otwock which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life Nr

Description

Address

1

Górna Zaułek 1c

5 6

‘Kancelaria Żydowskiej Gminy Wyznaniowej’ (office of the Jewish religious community) Mechanised bakery of Berek Bursztyn Tenement Tenement of Migdalski Family, grocery shop of Abram Noj Miramare cinema Villa of Szelig Oszer Perechodnik

7 8

Tenement of Waks and Frydland Villa ‘Nowość’ of Pinkas Kacenelenbogen

9 10 11

Villa ‘Racówka’ of Szlam Huberband Villa ‘Leśniczówka’ (forester’s lodge), lodge of the villa a Dancinger’s guesthouse

12 13

Villa ‘Gustawówka’, guesthouse of Felgrasowa Guesthouse of Minda Kelner

14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

Jeshiva ‘Tomchej Tmimim’ Sanatorium of Dr Przygoda a Tenement Sanatorium of Dr Krukowski and Martów S-tya Sanatorium ‘Haszechefes’ of the Brijus Societya Public school number 4, since 1937a Oaza cinema Religious print house of Lucer Lejner Villa of Abram Gurewicz Neufeld guesthouse Izaak Wachman guesthouse ‘Meran’ guesthouse of Izrael Erlichster Sanatorium ‘Zofiówka’a Sanatorium ‘Brijus’a Savoy guesthouse of Szaja Widerszal ‘Zakład Leczniczo-Wychowawczy Centos’ (medical and educational establishment)a Villa ‘Wertheimówka’ House of Minkowski Family Villa of Ajzensztadt Family Wooden house 1926/7 ‘Imperial’ guesthouse Prayer house, Villa ‘Róża’a Villa rabina Yehashua Kirszenbaum

2 3 4

30 31 32 33 33 34 35

Świderska 13 i 13a Świderska 2/4 Warszawska 26 Warszawska 30 Kościelna 12, Kościelna 14, Kościelna 16, Kościelna 18 Kościuszki 20 Kościuszki 7, Kościuszki 5, Samorządowa 8 Czaplickiego 7 Turystyczna 18, Turystyczna 18a Mickiewicza 43, Mickiewicza 47 Majowa 33, Grzybowa 1 Moniuszki 25, Moniuszki 27, Moniuszki 29 Słowackiego 22 Warszawska 5 Goldflama 8 Słowackiego 4/10 Goldflama 8a Szkolna 31 Armii Krajowej 4 Warszawska 40 Armii Krajowej 8 Poniatowskiego 13 Samorządowa 13a Wierchowa 15 Kochanowskiego 10 Reymonta 83/91 Żeromskiego 36 Gliniecka Piłsudskiego 20 Orzeszkowej 8 Syrokomli 4 Konopnickiej 15 Konopnickiej 17 Kościuszki 32 Reymonta 37, Reymonta 39, Reymonta 41 (Continued)

292  Case studies Table 4.12  Buildings and facilities in pre-war Otwock which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life (Continued) Nr

Description

Address

36 Villa Rena Rodziewiczówny 17 37 Guesthouse of Milstein Szwoleżerów 38 Villa ‘Felicjanka’ Cieszyńska 7 39 Śródborowianka Literacka 6 39a Śródborowianka, Villa ‘Sarenka’ Literacka 6 40 House of Ginzburg Brothers Cieszyńska 3a 41 Villa of Maria Arenstein Cieszyńska 5 42 Villa of Zylbersztein, guesthouse ‘Frucht Bella’ Podgórska 16 43 House of Szpilfogel Family Cieszyńska 6 Other buildings belonging to Jewish proprietors (outside the map’s extent) Villa ‘Uciecha’ Dwernickiego 1 House of Frydland and Petszaff Matejki 2 Lodge of house of Frydland and Petszaff Matejki 2a Villa of Goldfarb, stables and lodge Poniatowskiego 16 Jewish institutions and properties in pre-war Otwock no longer-existing A Prayer house and Jewish Religious Community Górna Zaułek B Reindorf synagoguea Górna 6 C Mikveha Górna 6 D Market E Beer bottling plant of Haberbush Schile Gelblum Bazarowa 7 F Guesthouse of Rypp Mickiewicz St. 7 (?) G Synagogue Wąska St. 30 H Sanatorium ‘Marpe’a Świderska St. 70 I Sanatorium ‘Marpe’a Kołłątaj St. 13 J Sanatorium ‘Haszehefes’a Goldflam St. (Włodzimierzowska 7) K Antituberculosis clinic ‘Dawtil’a Polna St. 17 L Villa of Laud Gerszon Radoniski Warszawska 38 M Goldberg Synagoguea Warszawska 40 N Public School number 2a Karczewska 31 O Villa of Borenteins, Public School number 2a Karczewska 37 P Guesthouse of Nusbaum Brothers, Polonia Palace Warszawska 43 R Synagogue of Małka Weinber Żeromski St./ Wierchowa St. S Educational and medical institution ‘Centos’a Gliniecka St. T Synagoguea Reymont, corner of Żeromski St. (Młądzka 4) U Guesthouse ‘Europa’ of Epsztajn and Albertsztajn Prus St. 3 W Health resort ‘Eugenia’, property of Epsztajn Prus St. /Cybulski St. X Villa ‘Rysinek’ of Rubinsteins, siege of Bachad Prus St. 6 movement Y Guesthouse ‘Zachęta’ of Małka Flint Prus St./Krasiński St. Z Guesthouse of Gelbfisz, Hasidic centrea Warszawska St. 49 (Continued)

Case studies 293 Table 4.12  Buildings and facilities in pre-war Otwock which belonged to Jews or Jewish institutions, hosted Jewish institutions or played an important role in Jewish life (Continued) Nr

Description

Other buildings I Railway stationa II Church of Saint Wincenty A. Paulo III ‘Zakład Letniskowy dla Dzieci Olin’ (summer establishement for children)a IV ‘Sanatorium Wojskowe’ (military sanatorium)a V ‘Sanatorium Miasta Stołecznego Warszawy’ (municipal sanatorium of Warsaw)a VI ‘Sanatorium Sejmikowe im. Stanisława Okulicza’ (sanatorium of the regional council of Stanisław Okulicz)a VII Sanatorium of Chmielewska and Wiśniewski VIII Sanatorium of Geisler, the remaining building a IX ‘Dom Uzdrowiskowy’ (health resort house)a X Narrow gauge railway station Świdera Other places a Brzegi, property of Andriolli (approximate location)a b Obserwatorium Geoficzne PAN (Geophysical Observatory of Polish Academy of Science) c Kolonia Marysin Kazimierzówek (Marysin Kazimierzówek Colony) d Park a

Address

Kościelna 1 Borowa 4 Borowa 14/18 Reymonta 83/91 Samorządowa 16/20 Kopernika 8 Chopina 11 Filipowicza/Park Miejski (City Park) Turystyczna 19

Śródborów

a  Buildings and places which are mentioned in text.

Notes 1. The list has been additionally complemented based on the service http://mapa. polskaniezwykla.pl/, access 6.2021. 2. For a detailed discussion of the decorations based on Jewish construction tradition: Goldberg-Mulkiewicz (2003). 3. The description based on the image quoted after Robocha 2021, p.13 from Obrazki łódzkie, Panorama. Ilustracja tygodniowa 11.09.1932, p.3 and a photograph ibid. P.24, taken by a German soldier in winter 1939/40 from „An album of a German soldier, assembled in Lodz, in: http://www.gf h.org.il/eng/Archive 4. List of Jewish headers and prayer houses, maintained without formal approval in Radogoszcz community, 18.09.1912, APŁ, Akta gm.Radogoszcz, sign. 770, k.23–24, after Walicki (2016, p.150). 5. Statistical survey of industrial settlement Bałuty Nowe of August 1910, APŁ, Akta gm. Radogoszcz, sign. 709, k.133–133v, after Walicki (2016, p.150). 6. Much may be learned about Jewish customs and their daily life in prewar Brzeziny from the Brzeziny Memorial Book, available at: http://www.jewishgen.org/ yizkor/brzeziny/brzeziny.html. 7. The corrected dimensions are based on the register parish books and on a manuscript “Księgi, to jest akty dworskie Góry Kalwarii coyly Nowej Jerozolimy”, preserved in the Library of the Jagiellonian University.

BK-TandF-HANZL_9781032069357-220397-Chp04.indd 293

21/07/22 9:55 AM

294  Case studies

8. Góra Kalwaria. Plan of a conquest of the bridge lodgement next to Góra Kalwaria of 1809, plan drawn in 1816, after Liczbiński (1957). 9. One of the first privileges for the location of stalls was issued by Bishop Stefan Wierzbicki at the beginning of the town in 1684 to Wojciech Liszewski, (after Borkowska 2009, pp.148–149). 10. APOGK, Płan gorodskich zemel, after Borkowska (2009, p.330). 11. This statement describes the state as of May, 2017. 12. sztetl.org.pl, access 12.2021. 13. Jak warszawscy Żydzi odpoczywali na daczy, Forwerts 6.07.1945.

5

Conclusions

Although as Schlör (2008, p.225) observes, ‘(…) much scholarship on Jewish religion still assumes that Jews are not particularly oriented to spatial forms and representations, preferring temporality and textuality to spatiality’1, the Jewish communities living for centuries in central Poland clearly left their mark on the architectural and urban landscape. The unique character of the urban structures in many locations of central Poland deserves to be attributed to their former Jewish citizens. This objective, however, requires an in-depth understanding of the culture which created them. Re-using the metaphor which starts this book, in which the reading of urban structures is compared to the reading of a text, an attempt to understand and appreciate the urban settings once created must involve using the same language. The cultural background which supported the emergence of Jewish neighbourhoods, long gone and, for the most part, forgotten, must become explicit to enable future generations to read the remaining heritage. The current chapter provides a summary of the research on the idiosyncrasies of former Jewish neighbourhoods in central Poland in the pre-war period. A detailed analysis of census data on the scale of the region made it possible to follow the urban growth processes. The settlement network of smaller Jewish concentrations has been revealed, highlighting the presence of more dynamic or more static patterns linked to more rural or more industrial economies, respectively. The regularities of distribution against various backdrops of general settlement patterns in different regions have been noticed, which I believe is the result of the true occupation profile specific to Jewish culture and historical circumstances. Urban growth processes have also been noticed and discussed. Research of an exploratory character focuses on four towns and neighbourhoods inhabited by Jews in the prewar period. The case studies reveal: 1 the varied level of acculturation; 2 the diverse scale of the community, and, as a consequence, the different level of heterogeneity; 3 complex and various functions in terms of the primary professions dominant in a settlement; and 4 different periods of Jewish presence. DOI: 10.4324/9781003204633-5

296  Conclusions

The study provides a basic outline of the main features belonging characteristically to the traditional Jewish urbanscapes of pre-war central Poland. Samples are described in the case study section and in the chapter regarding the development of Jewish settlements through the ages. These refer to examples coming from cities and towns (of different sizes and periods) and illustrate some of the diachronic aspects of the presence of the Jewish cultural group in central Poland. As a result, an attempt has been made to define a set of features relevant to the neighbourhoods populated by Jews in prewar times, hence revealing their particular character, which was repeated in most Polish towns. Much has been written on the methodology for research into material culture; the case study here illustrates the quest for a definition of formal aspects of urban space responsible for this unique character. To explain the form of urban settings, we need methods that would enable understanding of the mutual relations between urbanscapes and the life which has been unfolding there since their beginning. Their historical and cultural backgrounds are the subject of our interest. The city, defined by Lévi-Strauss (1955, pp.137–138) as ‘the most complex of human inventions, (…) at the confluence of nature and artefact’ remains the subject of research in a variety of disciplines: urban anthropology, historical geography, urban morphology and design, to name but a few. The current book addresses this topic from a dual perspective: anthropological and morphological. Such an approach should be considered well-grounded since anthropologists, cultural geographers, and urban morphologists have been attracted to identify how sociocultural conditions influence urban settings since Geddes (1904). The study focuses on  ‘the tangible results of social and economic forces’; the subject of the investigation has become  ‘the outcome of ideas and intentions’  expressed in actions, which are themselves governed by cultural traditions (Vernez Moudon 1997). Experiencing the culture may be done via examining its influence on the physical form of the urban: spaces of flows and built-up places, using the preliminary classification by Lynch and Rodwin (1991). More contemporary research on the social production of space ( Lawrence and Low 1990, Lefebvre 2003 ) seeks to place the understanding of built forms in the larger context of society’s institutions and history. Thus a focus on the historical and social background appears necessary for further understanding. Revealing his structuralist approach, Lévi-Strauss speculated on ‘the order of orders’  (2009, p.332), which unites all spheres of human activities within a single culture. For social life to unfold in urban settings, necessary conditions must be met; the preliminary stipulation is that all three elements of this system: society, urban environments and relations between the two, represent the same culture. Physical urban structures and their development in relation to culture offer an essential repository of cultural information (Lawrence and Low 1990). Built forms constitute part of the material culture which remains, as Mead states (after Troyer 1946), a series of ‘collapsed acts, the signs of what would happen if the acts were carried to completion’. It expresses the unity, which

Conclusions 297

is brought about between the social situation itself and the physical settings (Perinbanayagam 1974). The situation ‘has been placed; it has achieved its material existence’ (Richardson 2009). Anthropologists endow forms of urbanscapes with meaning, treating them as a carrier of communication. Inversely, claims may be made that a lack of formal definition of urban situations results in a decrease of meaningful communication itself, thus, as a consequence, public life withers in outdoor spaces. The quest for methods to describe public space, including its physical form, becomes crucial in this perspective. While studies of urban morphology go through a period of intensive revival (after a break under Modernism) and attract numerous researchers worldwide (Gauthier and Gilliland 2006), the definition of cultural idiosyncrasies of outdoor spaces needs more attention. Their appearance requires detailed analyses of cues of the perceived atmosphere – the physical attributes of outdoor space which elicit cognition embedded with cultural meaning. More systematic research is necessary on the relations of the two spheres: human activity and the framework of its physical setting. After the comprehensive review of approaches to this topic covered in the methodology section, referring, among others, to a set of features defined by Rapoport (1990), in the current study, I apply the available methods to characterise former Jewish neighbourhoods. Based on the claim that the void constituting a physical manifestation of the public realm is a common element where urban life unfolds, an endeavour to analyse the form of urban settings has been made. The current study provides assumptions about a quantitative description of public spaces based on the theory by Wejchert (1984). The concept of index points has been applied to examine the geometry of urban settings. Its elementary values include the parameters of the central angle, regularity and corrugation of an enclosure. Further development of the current theory is envisaged, including different approaches to the analyses of urban silhouettes and cross-sections. One of the principal goals of this project is to define a methodology to describe the idiosyncrasies of urban outdoor spaces in relation to the cultural background of their inhabitants in order to understand the relationships between urbanscapes and the human behaviour which they embrace. The presented classification is conceived to explain forms of urbanscapes developed from the same cultural background through the adoption of habits and lifestyles connected with the ranges of cultural assimilation. It allows one to distinguish the conscious and formalised forms of equipment of public spaces from the unconscious order of space. The present chapter summarises the discoveries of a study which approaches JewishPolish physical spaces and culture in central Poland in a diachronic way. Further steps should, first, reveal changes to everyday life as a result of time span, which for Polish Jews lasted ca. one thousand years. Moreover, research needs to consider the complexity that stems from both exogenous and endogenous factors.

298  Conclusions

5.1 Complexity As claimed in the methodology, the relations between social activities, urban culture and urban form have been studied simultaneously, using research methods from anthropology and urban morphology as well as insights from complexity studies. The heuristic approach employed in the current study seems appropriate to address issues which exist on the margins of social and technical fields, and which have already been addressed in this newly emerging field (Portugali 2006). Following the initial explanation in the methodology section, the model defined by Portugali (2000, p.243) as a new order-parameter plan is applied to the current case study. The constant migrations and adaptations to the situation of the already established or newly-formed urban centres were part of a reality of everyday life for Jewish citizens in pre-war Poland. Both scenarios which Portugali distinguishes remain relevant here. On the one hand, Jews adapted to the reality of towns they arrive to or, in the language of complexity studies, they became enslaved in the system of norms which ruled in the place before their arrival. On the other hand, they affected this new reality, adjusting it to their needs and the system of practices and values appropriate to their own culture. Their activities triggered transformations; their active involvement fostered urbanisation processes. We may also establish a time-scale, as some larger and shorter processes coexisted in the system. Cities which had served as primary or secondary administrative centres for years were permanent magnets for Jewish communities, who had lived there since the Middle Ages. These processes provided the background for the much speedier development of industrial towns, some booming then declining very rapidly, others observing a more stable development, or, like Łódź, growing into a metropolis. The initial analytical framework, which has been developed thanks to the concatenation of attributes coming from various sources, has made some initial observations and conclusions possible. The main synopsis of the database model of the Jewish population in the current Mazovian and Łódź voivodships in 1921 has been executed based on census data. An attempt at the classification of larger, more urban centres is given, distinguishing such types as industrial, including textile industry towns, administrative and commerce centres, and religious centres. Against the backdrop of economic activities, individual decisions were made, following both personal preferences and systems of values, as well as the outset preconditions, such as economic capacities. We may presume that there was opposition between the highly centralised hierarchical and, to a large extent, oppressive nationalist practices of planning, and ‘the highly distributed, diffused and decentralised urban tradition’ (Portugali 2000, p.247). In the case of Łódź and Mazovian districts, urbanisation intensified in two crucial periods: The Middle Ages, when towns were laid out under German town law, and the beginnings of the industrial era – around the thirties of the nineteenth century. In the latter, the government of the Kingdom of Poland began activities towards the industrialisation of formerly rural or forested

Conclusions 299

parts of Gubernia Piotrkowska. Thus, when looking at the town plans, we may see mainly elements coming from these two periods. People who occupied these layouts chose, more or less deliberatively, their place of living and erected structures which not only suited their requirements and contained the economic activities they performed but were also subject to various limitations and rules. The idea of self-organisation is crucial, as it shifts the understanding of agency. In a historical sense, it has been, up to now, recognised that a society, especially the Jewish society in pre-war Poland, had very little influence on the actual appearance of cities, or at least did so in a way that was hard to define. Looking at the same historical facts from the perspective of selforganisation, we start to recognise their role in the urbanisation process. As particularly mobile citizens, Jews significantly altered the dynamics of urban growth. Performing the range of professional activities they did, they undeniably influenced local economies. They also influenced the form of dwellings and tenements, which, originally universal and adaptable, had to now accommodate Jewish families, with their specific habits. Among the neighbourhoods they picked to live in, there were linear structures, more concentrated ones, and even those which adopted much more contemporary models of dispersed urbanisation. In certain settlements, differing models developed one next to another, representing diverse cultures of the usage of space. The observations made in the current study confirm the thesis that Jewish communities in pre-war Poland may be considered an example of a selforganising society, one which could be considered a prototype of contemporary postmodern cultural complexity. The model of a new order parameter plan (Portugali 2000, p.243) entirely applies, Jewish citizens in pre-war Poland used to migrate and adjust to external conditions, either enslaved in the system of norms which ruled in the place before their arrival, or adapting it to their own needs. Along with the progressing modernity and industrialisation, the homogenous traditional Jewish culture was gradually replaced with a palimpsest of intellectual threads and traditions. The traditional society offered a livelihood in a highly defined and hierarchical structure, but with the abolishment of the noble economy and the increasing industrialisation, this former stability was lost. Deprived of this economic base, with the changing conditions of local communities no longer providing sufficient support for their poor, Jewish masses were forced to look after themselves. Population growth and the shrinking market for their services in locations they had lived until then, together with the opportunities which opened up thanks to the development of industry and the growth of new administrative centres, forced fundamental changes in Jewish society. This was the situation when, with the progressing development of secular education, and thereby individualism, more and more actors started planning and re-planning their individual activities, looking for new routines. The Jewish population, accustomed to adjusting to the decisions of governing bodies, in the period of transition from a high context culture to a low context one, again easily

300  Conclusions

adapted, however, this time their choices were based more on individual and family decisions than those of the community. With regard to the limited capacities of a single study, which is unable to deal with more than a few examples, further research needs to be conducted. It should aim at a more in-depth illustration of the above characteristics, with the analyses of individual case studies extended. While the proposed database illustrates actual Jewish presence, its framework may be further completed and enlarged in a bottom-up way, thanks to its open structure. On this backdrop, the spatial, social and cultural pluralism deserves particular attention, approached through the questions of human intentionality and socio-spatial emergence. Taking into account the relation of human intentionality to the meaning conveyed by the form of the urban settings, as Haken (2000, after Portugali 2006) suggests, the latter needs to be placed in the spotlight.

5.2  Neighbourhoods – main features Historically, Jewish citizens often flocked to ancient medieval cores, which usually hosted local markets. They settled close to these markets or in the proximity of former entry gates. These traditional locations, during the partition period often confirmed by the establishment of special zones, usually remained home to the most orthodox community. Another preferred location was one next to the river valley, which, firstly, was available and much cheaper, because of the flood danger and, secondly, catered to their needs in terms of religious customs. This typical settlement pattern continued for the more traditional section of Jewish society in more modern times; the attraction resulted from the most common Jewish professional profiles, for which proximity guaranteed access to profitable trading locations, which facilitated the sale of craft products. At the turn of the eighteenth and in the nineteenth century, when given a choice, they often continued settling in old, yet medieval parts of towns, which usually contained market places. Ordinarily, thanks to their presence, these neighbourhoods became much more urban ones, with former wooden, one-storey houses replaced with masonry structures of a few floors, such as in Brzeziny. Another factor which affected the already existing allure of places close to water courses or rivers were the yet more rigid requirements of ritual purification among Hasidic communities. Other reasons remained viable too, including the easier availability of terrain in areas, which were prone to flooding. The current study provides the initial framework to map the spatial distribution and investigate the morphology of Jewish settlements in central Poland. The data collected reveals the following features which differed between towns and neighbourhoods: • • •

acculturation level and attitude towards religion; the main professional profile of a settlement or district; the size of a community.

Conclusions 301

Additionally, these characteristics changed over time, with new layers resulting from industrialisation and the development of modern administration overlapping with the former urban centres coming from the period of merchant urbanisation (Lefebvre 2003 and Portugali 2000, p.312). At the turn-over of the nineteenth and twentieth century, an utterly new phenomenon emerged within Jewish society with the development of the awareness of the benefits and dangers of industrial cities. This trend was the quest for healthy living, identified then with escape from cities, which led to the development of summer resorts and so called garden cities. Jews, with their traditional attention to nutrition regimes and customs aimed at health maintenance, and being strongly represented in medical professions, played a pivotal role in these processes. 5.2.1  Types of culture: high context versus low context cultures The loss of the former stability as a result of industrialisation led to a dissipation of traditional society defined structures. This process, however, did not proceed evenly, some groups adjusted easier and faster, whereas for others the process lasted much longer or did not happen at all. New threads and lifestyles emerged or became more traditional or, surrounded by a more modern society, turned to orthodoxy. First and foremost, the primary feature which characterised the form of neighbourhoods inhabited by Jews between the World Wars was the lack of homogeneity. The variety of Jewish cultures at the time found its reflection in the variety of urban settings they inhabited; this variety has to be taken into consideration. While the meaning of some elements remained virtually unchanged through the ages, new threads appeared, not just acculturation and modernisation, but also as a consequence of the dynamic development of the Hasidic community, or thanks to the influx of Litvaks at the end of the nineteenth century, for example. In consequence, some neighbourhoods emerged with a very specific character; their meanings understood by members of a highly limited group of people. Reading the recollections or novels by Jewish writers of the time, we often encounter descriptions of neighbourhoods which belonged to different groups of Jewish society. The story often revolves around changes in individuals’ lifestyles and migrations which took place when a family’s income grew or diminished, or when a person integrated into another social environment due to alteration of personal beliefs or political views. All the above factors influenced the functioning and, as a consequence, content and appearance of urban settings. Although at first the catalogue of factors which affected the form of physical settings through everyday use may seem huge, an in-depth analysis enables some systematics. As acculturation went parallelly with integration processes, the impact of Jewish cultures diminished in neighbourhoods of higher acculturation levels; many such places revealed a similar character regardless of whether they were inhabited by Poles, Jews or Germans.

302  Conclusions

This happened first of all in the major cities, in the current book represented with the Łódź case study. The features specific for the most prevalently Jewish neighbourhoods, which manifested themselves most lucidly in those belonging to the Orthodox community, dissolved along with acculturation and mixing with other cultures. The form and distribution of urban structures reflected the transition from a high context culture towards a lower definition of context. In most cases, the two primary categories of Jewish culture may be sufficient to describe the dichotomy explicit in urban structures of the towns in which they lived. Jewish Orthodox and Hasidic culture in Poland in the period before World War II was a high context one. Alterations in the order of space reflected changes in lifestyle and, thus, in the culture of usage of space. These processes, which had been taking place since the eighteenth, during the nineteenth and in the beginning of the twentieth century, were connected at first with the development of the Haskalah movement, and then, amongst others, with the acculturation and assimilation of this group. These more assimilated groups inhabited much more heterogeneous neighbourhoods, where they were deprived of the majority of their long-established and well-defined habits and customs, their culture now belonging to a low context category. In more acculturated neighbourhoods, located in parts of cities founded under the architectural rules of Classicism, geometry played the major role in shaping plans. While there were usually many shades and tints of everyday culture, depending on the actual origins, profession, religious group, political preferences of individuals, and so on, this basic distinction was quite explicit and rigid, and the division strict. Unfortunately, the distinction also existed between the rich – better adjusted to surrounding society, thus acculturated, and the poor – preserving traditional values and, partly for this reason, isolated. In more traditional neighbourhoods, the previous layouts were retained, with a denser network of more winding streets, backyards often being isolated from the surrounding space, etc. While in smaller towns, the Jewish communities, affected by modernisation processes, also developed heterogenous lifestyles, the scale of this was not big enough to find actual reflection in the form of urban settings. These small town communities (including the changing religious trends, i.e. Hasidim, as described by Wodziński, 2005) preserved a lot of the former ‘shtetl’-like culture, based on strong sense of the community and religious principles. Some of them did so unconstrained by the close vicinity of large urban centres. In metropolitan cities, like Łódź and Warsaw of the beginning of the twentieth century, the richness of the variety of everyday practices along with the transformations of the industrial era and the influences of the four main cultural traditions in this area: Polish, Russian, German and Jewish, led towards the overlaying of spatial threads on top of others. The variety of different lifestyles contributed to the development of a transition zone with several specific groups representing more or less acculturated categories extending and widening this zone. There were also such towns where the

Conclusions 303

border between the two groups was very clear and marked physically, like in Otwock, where the railway played this role. On the other hand, however, as Davis (1993, p.242) justly noted, many ethnic communities shared similar living conditions. The social and economic stratification most often outweighed the ethnic differences in terms of everyday lifestyles. Jewish and German bourgeoisie in nineteenth century Łódź were very much alike, as were Polish and Jewish bohemians or intelligentsia during the interwar period. Moreover, Jewish and Polish workers, to some extent, shared similar problems of everyday reality. At the same time, language and cultural differences, and religious customs constrained closer integration opportunities. As has already been said, Jews usually did not work in factories which would hinder Sabbath celebrations, they limited themselves to the many traditional Jewish professions. Orthodox Jewry often did not speak any language but Yiddish. In our further considerations, we focus first of all on the formal aspects of more traditional neighbourhoods where the long-rooted traditional Jewish culture remained preserved for centuries. Some of our conclusions would require comparison with more modern and acculturated neighbourhoods. 5.2.2  Character of urban settings An attempt has been made to determine a set of features defining the character of the public realm repeated in most Polish towns and neighbourhoods populated by Jews. The mention of such a unique character repeats in many sources addressing various locations, for instance in Dylewski (2003), Hanzl (2011, 2011a, 2014a, 2016), Ajdacki (2014, p.334), Spodenkiewicz (1999), Bonisławski and Keller (2002), Friedman (1935) and also in depictions referring to Jewish neighbourhoods in novels and memoirs, especially by Jewish authors, e.g., Singer (2004), Rosenfarb (2000), Asch (1967). The characteristics of the physical form were significantly altered during the Jewish stay in a given town, like in Brzeziny or in Góra Kalwaria, or they significantly contributed to the construction of a part of a town, like in case of Otwock and Łódź. This context justifies considerations of the relation between the presence of this nation and the form of urbanscapes. All of the abovementioned depictions emphasise the specific atmosphere present in traditional neighbourhoods and refer to the idea of the Jewish-Polish shtetl; the term and its historical development are explained in the section of the current book on the history of Jewish settlement. While architectural forms used in these neighbourhoods remained typical for a given period, a general ‘Jewish’ atmosphere and idiosyncrasy of the character of the neighbourhood persisted. The phenomena of the shtetl developed in a unique way in Eastern Europe compared to other European countries. Wirth (1962) and also Duneier (2016) explain the different character of Jewish settlements in the countries of Western and Eastern Europe as the result of the initially larger spatial isolation of the Jewish population in Western Europe, followed by their greater

304  Conclusions

assimilation than, amongst others, on the terrain of Poland. Here the initial privileges allowed for the development of Jewish communities not only in large cities, but also in small towns. At first, also, they were granted permissions to undertake many occupations. Nevertheless, further isolation and restrictions concerning the available locations for settlement, caused this ethnic group to settle in small towns, villages or districts of similar character (Wirth 1962, p.15). When moving to larger urban centres during the industrialisation period, many of the former ways of life persisted, despite diluting and transforming with time and changing lifestyle, they still affected the character of urban structures and the organisation of space. This specific atmosphere and settlement patterns was, to a large extent, recreated in locations where Jews emigrated. Vaughan and Sailer (2017), in their recent study describing neighbourhoods in nineteenth century London’s East End, inhabited by Jewish emigrants from Eastern Europe, point out the presence of specific backyards and interior spaces hosting Jewish communal life, separated from the public life of streets and on the characteristic seclusion of many religious buildings. They also mention an account by George Duckworth reporting his walk with Superintendent Mulvaney, head of the Whitechapel Division of Police of 1898, who declared the district being ‘very peculiar’2. In another survey, he reveals ‘the feeling of being in a foreign Town’3. Summarising the analyses conveyed in the preceding chapters, a number of features confirm the influence of the Jewish community on the physical form of spatial structures in towns and villages of central Poland: 1 the presence of edifices, both public and private, belonging to the Jewish culture; 2 adjustment of public and semi-private space to the social situations occurring there; 3 the variety of building forms, diversity of styles and building materials, lack of homogeneity; 4 adjustment of existing conditions preceding redevelopment by Jews themselves or intended for Jewish inhabitants to the needs of the community as a continuation of their former state, with respect to the former partitions, etc.; 5 the core location of Jews constitutes the most densely populated part of the town; 6 the dense and tightly interconnected network of pathways, alleys, nooks, backyards as a reflection of rich community life; 7 overlapping of different activities in space, often also in time, coexistence and variety of activities in a single, shared space. The territorial constraints of the land where Jews could settle as a result of the privilege de non tolerandis judeorum or the special zones set aside for Jews in many towns, along with the huge attraction of prospering urban centres, strong migration rates and high population growth, led to the quick

Conclusions 305

development of Jewish communities. As a result, Jewish neighbourhoods usually featured strong urbanisation pressure and densities higher than elsewhere. In the cities with a long tradition of Jewish settlement, often going back to Middle ages, the districts inhabited for centuries by Jews became more urban than their surroundings. Płock – the oldest seat of Jewish population in this part of Poland is an excellent example of this phenomena. The oldest Jewish neighbourhood distinguished itself from its nineteenth century counterparts by its more refined quality of constructions, while younger, nineteenth century buildings, especially these inhabited by the poor, featured a mixture of lower quality, ramshackle, often wooden, structures. Obviously, the quality of urban structures depended on the overall prosperity of their inhabitants at the moment of their construction. In Brzeziny for instance, or in Łódź in the part inhabited by Litvacs, the initial wealth made itself explicit in the scale of buildings and their decorations, which, against the background of other tenements of the same period, demonstrate this, even with the later poor maintenance due to the deprivation of inhabitants, like in Brzeziny. The quickly growing demand for dwellings on the limited number of sites along with the high population pressure often caused extensions, usually illegal, of the former structures. This vernacular development followed patterns suited to the Jewish organisation of space, regardless of the Polish cultural environment, but still using local materials and construction solutions.

5.3  Spatial order and meaning A range of features confirm the impact of a system of norms and specific semiological connotations belonging to the Jewish culture on the urban settings they inhabited. First, a trait which strikes when reading descriptions of Jewish traditional neighbourhoods by various authors is the utterly different attitude and evaluation of these settings’ aesthetic values by Jewish and non-Jewish authors. While places inhabited by Jews satisfied their needs, for Poles, who apparently could not understand the purpose and meaning of individual elements and their combinations, they seemed unordered and chaotic, and were often described as requiring beautification, if not demolition and replacement by something else. As early as the second half of the eighteenth century, one reason for considering the transformation of Jewish districts was this assumed disorder (Bogucka and Samsonowicz 1986). When discussing the urban structures of Jewish districts, most authors continue using features attributed to these settings, including: overcrowding, chaotic distribution, fragmentation, unplanned parcellation changes, etc. (Piechotka and Piechotka 2004, p.63). Not questioning the problems which did persist as a consequence of poverty, which were, for all that, also present in prevalently Polish neighbourhoods of a similar social status, a part of this apparent chaos may have resulted from a different perception of spatial order. The difference in perception was clear for Jews living in pre-war Poland, for whom some places appeared homely, others inimical or even hostile. For Jews, the

306  Conclusions

neighbourhoods they lived in catered to their needs in terms of daily life, with the semiotic code attributed to their elements in a way which, not only rich and complex, but also resulting directly from the expectations and written rules, remained deeply engraved in their tradition, which had formed through the centuries. The different understanding of spatial order had raised concerns ever since the Polish government’s elaborations on the ways of improving urban life, which, starting from the second half of the eighteenth century, emphasised the necessity to order ‘extremely messy Jewish quarters’. Yet, while Jewish masses who inhabited the neighbourhoods concerned were poor, their poverty not only did not differ from the Polish quarters elsewhere, but usually Jews prospered quite well in comparison. Hubka (2005) attributes this feature to the unplanned, more vernacular way they were built. Another interpretation assumes that the reason could also have been a lack of care for the external manifestation of prosperity. This alleged catering to the requirements of current needs only (Zborowski and Herzog 1995, pp.61–62) might have revealed the insecurity which Jews experienced, and which, by turn, led to the tendency to avoid provoking hostility. The differences in aesthetic preferences manifest themselves in the range of attitudes towards the same places in descriptions by Polish and Jewish authors. This refers to Polish texts by reformers dating back to the Enlightenment period, many of which define Jewish neighbourhoods as cluttered, not spacious enough, chaotic, crooked, too complicated, without a clear structure, etc. Such descriptions repeat in more popular writing as well, for instance the guidebook to Łódź by Dylik (1939) and his description of Bałuty. Similar statements we find in depictions of the orthodox, commercial district in Otwock by Trybowski (2012). In the case of poorer districts – and, usually, strictly orthodox districts were also not the richest – this negative perception was further deepened because of dirt, lack of proper maintenance, insufficient infrastructure and very poor sanitary conditions. All these further worsen the image. The complexity perceived by outside observers, was usually explained by the bottom-up development of the said areas, lack of control and formal planning. However, an analysis of prewar plans does not confirm the thesis on winding, circulating streets – they were in most cases straight, despite being much narrower than elsewhere. The network of passages and narrower shortcuts enabling circulation outside the formal public space and the street facade with its winding lines and exposed yards could have resulted in the perception similar to that mentioned above, especially when the person writing lacked familiarity with the area. Additionally, this negative image could have been further influenced by the common aesthetic principles of those times, grounded in Classicism geometrical planning and further deepened due to the Russian concepts of compulsory regulation plans based on the plan of Krasne. In more modern times, the critics mirrored the influence of proponents of hygiene, who argued for larger, more ample streets which would enable freer air circulation.

Conclusions 307

Jewish traditional space, of smaller scale and often seemingly cluttered, were an anathema to these desires. When reading descriptions by Jewish authors, other, more positive, aspects of the said neighbourhoods are emphasised, such as familiarity, cosiness, etc., which were noticed along with the dirt and poverty. The critics of aesthetic principles refer also to the interior spaces of the rich structures built by Jewish industrial magnates. Popławska (1982, p.59), for instance, writes about the convoluted plan of the palace belonging to the Maurice Poznański family, and explains the complexity of its plan was due to the nouveau-riche position of the family, however, the difference could have been a manifestation of different aesthetic preferences, and thus much easier acceptance of contrasts in scale between rooms, narrow passages, seemingly randomly placed stairs, etc. We may here repeat the claim by Rapoport (1990, p.89) cited already in the part on methods: ‘the ordering principles of fixed-feature arrangements have meaning, although one group’s order may be another’s disorder’. Furthermore, neighbourhoods featuring a strong traditional Jewish character, due to the severe criticism they underwent from all the surrounding non-Jewish parties, were particularly prone to get regulated, replaced or even demolished during World War II. Even in later times, these places were the easiest to be replaced with new Socio-Realistic or Modernist structures. Now deprived areas, no longer needed by their former owners, the former Jewish sites, especially those coming from the nineteenth century, which were usually attractively located, were easy to use resources for redevelopment. As we see from the above considerations, the features which were mentioned the most when referring to the forms of Jewish quarters was their assumed disorder, which are revealed both in plan and in physical appearance of structures as a lack of homogeneity of buildings’ forms and construction materials, the absence of geometry in plans and its subordination to the hierarchy of internal connections discernible only to adherents of Jewish tradition. These features had persisted since the beginning of the development of shtetl culture. Hubka (2005) attributes the dense, non-geometric spatial layout of Jewish districts in small towns of the eighteenth century to the incremental growth and restrictions placed upon the Jewish community through legal regulations. Not only did the old shtetlech continue, steadily transformed and adjusted to modernisation, but their layouts were reestablished in the new places where the orthodox communities moved. Along with this displacement to larger urban centres, Jews, tightly attached to their traditions, continued their former habits and recreated the former settings in new places, often, due to the changes of architectural forms, with different materials and physical structures. The presented analyses have proved the existence of a separate spatial order specific for the distinguishable Jewish traditional culture which once developed in Poland. Two different cultures using the same spaces perceived and evaluated spatial order differently. When describing cultures, Hall (1969) distinguishes two basic categories; that of a more concentric or a more linear

308  Conclusions

nature. I believe this was one of the key differences between traditional Polish and Jewish organisation of space in prewar times, Jewish culture being of a more concentric nature. The initial layout was in both cases the same, and in many situations consisted of medieval patterns of towns founded under German law, however, as shown in the current book, other layouts were also adapted – the Jewish quarters could develop inside a block of Baroque settlement (as the example of Góra Kalwaria confirms) or the development might begin from the founding of a town, such as in Otwock. The classification of elements pertaining to the notion of spatial order which has been proposed, refers firstly to the overall framework embracing all the subordinated elements. This basic functional framework yielded the structure of everyday life. It also underpinned the adjustment of public and semi-private space to the social situations occurring there. The variety of encounters and social relations required differentiated scales of outdoor spaces. The diversification of external spaces increased their comfort and usability, often serving as a prolongation of indoor activities. As has been already explained in the beginning of the preceding chapter, the three main spheres of Jewish life feature sacrum, profanum and domestic space. In the first sphere of sacrum, the focus was initially on the synagogue, which later expanded to several additional structures, at first beit midrash, then yeshiva and shtibl. Another place was a kloyz, a term which, since the beginning of the nineteenth century, referred to a small, secondary place of prayer (Reiner 2010). With time, the development of the Hasidic movement and the growth and diversification of Jewish society, further fragmentation progressed and the role of the synagogue was partly transferred to numerous prayer houses. The concentric nature of Jewish spaces is particularly apparent when looking at synagogues’ courtyards, which, set back inside a block’s interior, gathered around itself all the necessary community institutions. Traditionally, synagogues did not presume to have any sort of formal representation in the public realm, they often remained secluded and hidden inside urban blocks. With time, their functions were dispersed, but the main rules of spatial organisation remained. Along with Jewish integration into Polish society and progressing acculturation, synagogues assumed a more imposing appearance and became visible and dominant in public space. In the profanum sphere, the focal point was the market place, Jews tended to settle in the proximity of the main square, which attracted them by catering to their economic needs. However, commercial activities were never limited to the market only; they extended to the neighbouring streets, passages, gates of tenements surrounding public spaces and shops and workshops in the proximity and further. Not only did this refer to commercial aspects but also spaces of production, manufacturers’ workshops, small factories, etc. In some places this network of exchange and production spaces could even extend to neighbouring smaller towns, such as in case of Łódź and Brzeziny (the tailors in the latter producing clothes, which were ordered from and afterwards sold in Łódź).

Conclusions 309

The third focal point was interior streets, courtyards and, in later times, backyards where daily life took place. Specific forms of dwellings, often very small and hosting a variety of activities, forced people to use backyards as an extension of private space. This sphere of domicile was the domain of women, who had their separate role in traditional Jewish life. Not only did they deal with the household but also often had to support their families; their role at home overlapping with responsibilities in the family shop, work in craft workshop or selling items in the market. In large Jewish families, younger generations usually could count on support from their parents, however, along with decrease of traditional customs and values, growing mobility and poverty, these former ties dwindled. The earlier face-to-face contacts and community responsibilities gradually faded when moving to a more urban centre, however, the community and charity institutions continued, many of them replaced by more formalised organisations, distant from their addressee group. Nevertheless, on the scale of the backyard, face to face relations continued, many of the home activities happening outside with neighbours usually retaining strong ties. The role of the backyard and its contribution to the outdoor space of the community may be considered as the centre of neighbourhood life. It focused on domestic activities, but served also as communal space, this way enhancing the relations within the community. 5.3.1  Sociometric layout The social structure and its reflection in the sociometric layout has been analysed against the theoretical backdrop given by Marshall (2009) and other authors ( Alexander et al. 1977, Unwin 2003), and summarised in the methodology section. The social order, consisting of networks of interpersonal links, became embedded and captured in the forms of urban structures. Physical entities, such as boundaries and partitions, spatial links and connections, and sets or ‘nesting of enclosures’, displaying spatial topological distinctions and connections, suited separate social hierarchies and organisation (Marshall 2009, pp.106–107). Patterns of relations between people, followed by their movements and physical environment, together remained embedded in mutual relationships, establishing what Hillier and Hanson (1984) define as the social logic of space. The relations, defined in a more anthropological, structuralist perspective by Lévi-Strauss (1963) as a structured collective unconscious capable of generating patterned cultural behaviours, found their reflection in the spatial organisation of Jewish settlements. All the three above defined foci and networks which they bring together manifested themselves in physically existing webs of connections. The networks included, but were not limited to, spaces of streets and squares. The network of public streets was enriched with additional arrangements of small scale passages, nooks, etc., which served as communication without having this function assigned as its primary one, being just parts of courtyards. The sociometric layout, which featured internal connections within urban blocks,

310  Conclusions

large numbers of passages and alleys, including connections within private properties and semi-open spaces of backyards interconnected through internal gates, enabled informal circulation in the area. Thanks to such adaptation capabilities, it was possible for Jewish traditional communities to function in all the types of settings, without changing the initial patterns of what was formally the public realm. Still, however, their preferred choice was that of the medieval quarter, due to the denser network of streets and smaller, more interconnected, urban blocks. This certainly enhanced economic life; the density of the street network is a feature which Jacobs (1992) qualifies as facilitating the development of all kinds of services, especially retail in the ground floor of buildings, as it stimulates pedestrian movement. An analysis of the still-existing or reconstructed urban structures has provided a tool to enable us to recognise the integral cultural patterns of social groups. The interior semi-private space played a major role as part of all three domains of Jewish life listed above. The Jewish community – kehillah, both very strong and practically independent from the town’s regulations, functioned separately from the surrounding town, even if well integrated into its structure and catering to the needs of the town’s citizens and visitors. Replaced by community boards during the partitions, it returned after regaining independence by Poland, however, with a much-diminished role. The turning of the community towards internal issues had its reflection in the urban structure, with interior space within Jewish quarters seemingly unordered and uninviting to visitors. The role of this interior space as the main space of communication was confirmed with the presence of eruvim, explained before, which usually surrounded blocks in Jewish neighbourhoods, often without crossing any streets. This tradition of eruv, serving as extensions of Jewish domicile outside and space of interior circulation during Sabbath, confirms the thesis on the integration of indoor and semi-private outdoor space. The change of culture understood as a person’s lifestyle, applying the definition of culture in the methodology section, brought about changes of attire, body language and place of living. While this change of clothing, interests, professional life and even language may appear ordinary, such seemingly inherent elements of personality as body language also altered, as Efron (1941) proved in his study. Those aesthetic preferences which addressed the form of urban settings, and, as a consequence, the choice of place for living, were one of the elements people did not continue after having chosen another lifestyle. Still, however, some features persisted, one of which was the higher than elsewhere connectivity of internal spaces within urban blocks, which remained unaltered long after World War II, in many backyards of downtown Łódź, for example. These internal passages served circulation within blocks or provided shortcuts without exiting to streets, as shown for instance in the dispersal of people who had gathered for protests before 1905 described in his memories from Warsaw by Regnis (Singer 1959, pp.75–76).

Conclusions 311

5.3.2  Meaning – pragmatics Further analyses conducted in the current study comprised an attempt to understand the meanings conveyed by built structures. The conscious portion of the message delivered by the built environment through signs assigned to markers which may be some features of urban space understood in a given cultural context (Eco 1997) has been already explained. It refers to the pragmatics of outdoor space, understood as activities which take place in a given site (Rapoport 1990, p.38). Information on the functional nature of urban space has been delivered along with an understanding of the main activities taking place in outdoor space, mainly through the presence of various buildings and institutions fulfilling roles in communal life. 5.3.2.1  Fixed features In the category of fixed features, a special place belongs to buildings which, due to their specific functions, conveyed explicit and easy to read meanings. The discussed neighbourhood hosted both edifices and facilities which served to satisfy the needs of the Jewish community, the specific features of which were regulated by norms. These structures may be divided into the same three groups, which were provided above as the main focus of Jewish everyday life: sacred-religious, profanum and domicile. Buildings with specific decoration and spatial layouts were adjusted to the culture of their users. At this point, attention should be drawn to the fact that Jews in interwar Poland are considered to have been a fractious community, divided by politics, culture, and even language (Kassow 2007a). This found its reflection in the range of structures and facilities they used and in their transformations following the internal changes of Jewish culture. While in traditional Jewish culture all the community facilities were inherently associated with religious life, along with acculturation, this trait changed and the functions separated. The category of religious buildings, as already discussed, consisted, along with the synagogue and beit midrash, also of shtiblekh belonging to a variety of smaller religious groups. In traditional communities, they were located close by and, as well as their role as a place of cult and religious practices, they also served as a community centre where people used to meet. A community also required a ritual bath, its construction most often preceding that of a synagogue. Another characteristic facility usually present in Jewish concentrations was a cemetery, ordinarily accompanied with a burial house and located outside the district or the town on an elevated spot. The locations of the burial places were marked with gravestones. Buildings constructed for the Jewish community, taking into account the multiplicity of religious and intellectual threads as well as the activities of various social organisations, were not limited to synagogues. The specificity of Hasidic constructions for example were the various forms of prayer houses and residences. Besides this,

312  Conclusions

chewrot and other voluntary associations had their seats here, some of them of a more religious profile connected with prayer houses. Furthermore, the development of education facilities proved that the changes taking place in Jewish culture, at first closely associated with religious life, with time and acculturation, they became separate semi-secular or secular institutions, the development of educational and charitable institutions well illustrated with the example of Łódź. An element specific for Jewish culture was the form of places significant for this community. Compared to the surrounding urban tissue, where landmark buildings usually occupied important and highly visible places, Jewish institutions were rarely situated as freestanding edifices, they could either constitute a part of the street facade or be hidden inside an urban block. Decisions upon the location of such buildings were usually influenced by a number of factors, both internal, resulting from the cultural preconditions of a given group, and external – derived from the legal regulations of a country or natural conditions such as the proximity of a river, etc. In contrast to those buildings essential for Jewish communal life, the presence of which was usually emphasised in Polish culture, buildings of a commercial or service use (gastronomy, etc.) enhanced their presence in the public sphere through their protrusions. 5.3.2.2  Semi-fixed and non-fixed features Along with fixed-features such as buildings, semi-fixed features, for instance advertisements, outdoor space equipment, small architecture, etc., and informal, non-fixed-features, could also communicate the ways of life in this environment. Service and commercial activities were the easiest to decipher, the more so that the customers using the services, were not only of Jewish origins. Wherever the requirements of outdoor commerce imposed the necessity of large open spaces, they were occupied by stalls and stands, usually ordered but still competing for the attention of passers-by. In cases when commerce was also located around tenements, they adopted similar features as well. Usually the floor of such enclosures was an impervious surface, to avoid mud. There was no greenery: trees, lawns or bushes cannot survive in such conditions. Usually stands were roofed, which is often also the case with passages. In ground floor shops especially, exhibitions competed for attention similarly to the free-standing kiosks in the open space of a market. The assortment of goods covered all those available, and were usually spatially zoned and distributed. Very economical management of space, little space without a prescribed use, and frequent overlapping and synergy of different uses of the same space completed the above picture. The space for commerce was not restricted to the main square, it was present in the neighbouring streets and passages. Jewish streets abounded with advertisements, placards, commercials, external stalls, etc. Often shifted to the centre of the pavement, the stalls of street vendors competed for the attention of passers-by. In some streets, commercial

Conclusions 313

booths were even lit at night to attract attention, however, this was quite rare. More often, shouted offers from the merchants or their assistants attracted the attention of passers-by, causing them to stop and interact. Commercial streets and squares, together with neighbouring backyards have usually been depicted as cramped and cluttered with merchandise. The abundance of border space facilitated the placement of numerous objects of outdoor commerce, such as stalls, stands, etc. Similarly, these places accommodated street peddlers, or merchants’ assistants, whose activities encouraged purchase. The presence of numerous small size elements in the outdoor space fostered interpersonal contacts by offering sham shelter. Cullen (2008, pp.103–105) explains how free-standing objects in outdoor space bestow a notion of retreat in an otherwise open space, using the example of the poultry cross in Salisbury, the main function of which was to attract a crowd which gathered around, thereby avoiding the empty centre of the square. Here such a role, though less formal, was fulfilled by outhouses and stalls. Whyte (2009) confirms the observation concerning the attractiveness of places, which passersby chose to retreat to from the open space. Their arrangement was subordinated to the needs of circulation inside and to the best exposition of merchandise, with stalls formed rows along internal alleys, protruding as much as possible into the walking space, this way competing for attention. All these semi-fixed and non-fixed but somehow permanent features easily defined the meaning of spaces and the structures next to them. The appearance of these public spaces changed on Sabbaths, when groups of leisurely strolling Jews in their Sabbath clothes, with traditional prayer shawls for men and boys, and women in wigs or just elegantly dressed, with their heads covered, replaced the busy and excited crowd among the empty stalls and advertisements remaining from the everyday aspects of weekly life. At first, the recreational activities did not have any special arrangements besides their religious requirements. In the period between the World Wars, along with the spread of ideas to improve the quality of urban life, the first concept of organising certain recreational public spaces appeared, firstly in larger cities. One such space which was transformed into a square for walks and recreation was the old market square in Łódź, the promotion of this concept is attributed to Jewish Bund activist Efraim Łazar Zelmanowicz. The commercial activities moved to Bałucki Market and the arrangement of this place changed, with trees and bushes being planted. Stalls and kiosks were replaced by benches and lampposts, and the square got the name Tap Gurten. The concept to introduce trees and greenery was also raised for more important streets in this part of town, for instance the idea to plant trees in Zgierska Street, next to Plac Kościelny.

5.4 Proxemics Next to articulated, pragmatic messages, which conveyed cues on the culturally established activities, additional conditions were communicated through the forms of urban settings: their scale, distribution of structures, rhythms,

314  Conclusions

corrugation of facades, types of ceilings and pavements and other elements defining urban forms. This unconscious part of communication through the intrinsic organisation and arrangement of urban forms, as explained in the methodology section, contributed to the specific spatial order of Jewish spaces. Proxemics yields further understanding of the nature of relations between the human environment and behavioural patterns appropriate for distinguished cultures ( Hall 1966, 2009 ). Hall (2009) identifies the direct relationships between interpersonal distances and other characteristics specific to individuals and communities and the way they shape their own physical environment when he observed that nomadic tribes usually had the feature of smaller interpersonal distances due to their prolonged inhabiting of rooms of a very limited size (like portable tents, etc.). In the case of Polish Jews, the long-term overcrowding of their quarters may have produced similar results. Assessment of this based on the descriptions of the crowd in literature, e.g.: Singer (2010), or photos of the Ashkenazi Jewish population (those of Eastern European descent), e.g. Bonisławski and Keller (2002), confirms that the Jews who once lived in central Poland fell into this category. Physical contact with other members of the community in Jewish Ashkenazi culture is something natural, we find many descriptions of lively disputes between Jews, during which they made physical contact. This is confirmed by Efron (1941), who, in his comparative study, analysed in detail Jewish and Italian migrants’ kinetics behaviour with regard to acculturation processes. These short interpersonal distances had their reflection in the preferred scale of physical outdoor space created by Jews. Hence, as a rule, in traditional Jewish neighbourhoods the streets were narrower than elsewhere. Limited scale prevailed in the majority of pre-war traditional Jewish neighbourhoods, especially featuring in internal streets, passages, alleys, nooks, etc. Dimensions of outdoor spaces and the level of their congestion reflected the social distances of this culture. The scale of outdoor space remained limited because the streets and squares coming from an earlier period were preserved in their initial form without enlargement. The informal passages, nooks, alleys, annexes, gates and backyards serving additional circulation were even narrower; they often contained just enough space for two people or even a single person. The introduction of additional commerce often narrowed the passage even more. The scarcity of available space meant that all places, even the smallest, were intensively used and often crowded. The narrowness of some streets and internal alleys along with a presence of countless contortions in their layout remained factors fostering direct physical relations. In contemporary urban design manuals, limiting the size of space is commonly considered favourable for social interactions (Gehl 2001). Another commonly mentioned factor encouraging social contacts is the presence of a crowd; Whyte (2009, pp.19–23) defines spots in the middle of a stream of walking people as those where people tend to start conversations most often.

Conclusions 315

The city, seen in Hillier’s (2009) opinion as a system of visual distances, with large streets and avenues of higher value thanks to their connectivity and exposure, in traditional Jewish perception must have appeared alien and external. The aforementioned narrowness of backyard passages and presence of numerous slight turns and directional differentiation provided the notion of concavity. Hence, the facades closed the perspective and assured a perceived and felt enclosure inside urban blocks. For their collective life, Jews seemed to build their own town within a town, consisting of passages of smaller scale, tighter and focused inwardly. In cases when the grain of urban blocks was finer, such as in Bałuty in Łódź, some streets functioned as part of internal space. The observations by Vaughan and Sailer (2017) also confirm the way the Jewish community of Eastern European provenience approached urban spaces, using it in a different way than the surrounding population, focusing more on what was happening inside, without the actual need to boast. However, Jewish quarters were not closed completely, they protruded into their surroundings with purely functional spaces of commerce and services. Instead, however, of looking for social integration with the external Polish community, Jews, literally and metaphorically, turned their backs, with their communal life revolving around enclosed spaces inside. The communal institutions either were located inside urban blocks or were hidden within an urban block. This seems to be in direct contrast to the patterns common for surrounding cultures, where public squares were designed as places of communal, urban life. With progressing acculturation, the contrasts diminished and many customs and ways of building converged, the phenomena referring initially to progressive synagogues, which took on the appearance and landmark position modelled on Christian churches.

5.5  Enclosure, geometrical analyses The urbanscapes featured traditional positive spaces until the development of Modernism (Alexander et al. 1977 [2008], p.526), with clearly defined enclosures of streets and squares. In the Classicism approach, the attention paid to the unambiguous physical definition of facades of the public realm based on a clear geometrical layout grew, as numerous examples presented in the current book have proved. The analysis of neighbourhoods inhabited by Jews against this backdrop shows a much higher degree of variability of facades than in the case of Polish and especially German settings. The quantitative study of the physical form of several streets and squares carried out as part of this study, shows a much greater irregularity of facades in Jewish neighbourhoods, both in the vertical dimension and corrugation of facades. While, along with Classicism and geometrisation of plans, the corrugation became less apparent, the variations of the rhythms of facades continued. I believe that this apparent disorder had as its origin a different notion of spatial order more suited to Jewish culture.

316  Conclusions

5.5.1 Aesthetics Rooted in the theory of perception and arts represented by Arnheim (2011, pp.23–40), Lothian (1999), Adorno (2011, p.5) and Strzemiński (1974), the view that the perception of images and aesthetic canons remains embedded in culture specific processes, has served as an explanation of the aesthetics of urbanscapes typical for Jews. First, the theory of afterimages, which Strzemiński (1974) applies to the reflection of rhythms of people’s distribution in the design of architecture and urbanscapes, may serve to explain the clustered and irregular nature of the distribution of groups of buildings. A pattern which Efron (1941) noticed in his study referring to the communicative behaviours of Jews who grouped to discuss and walk together, which may be easily noticed when looking at archive photographs, could have become a sort of aesthetic pattern, prone to become a perception filter. The aesthetic patterns, once adopted, serve to reproduce neighbourhoods of similar features to those considered best for a given culture. Second, an analysis of the category of visual awareness defined by Strzemiński (1974) as ‘cooperation of seeing and thinking’, which may be attributed to Jewish ways of life, prove the concentration on content rather than on external appearance. The preserved iconography, mainly paintings by Jewish artists contemporary to the development of the ‘shtetl’ culture, confirms the assumption on their belonging to this category. The shape of the urban settings analysed above also confirms the thesis about concentration on the essence of substance, rather than on the external appearance of activities and the environment itself. This focus on content, on interior, on subject matter, as our considerations so far prove, both metaphorically, in the sense of individual development, knowledge and religious studies, and literally, through the turning of communal life towards interiors of a communal institutions, or on the urban design scale towards the block of development, remains a feature often emphasised by researchers on Jewish culture. 5.5.2  Analyses – summary Detailed quantitative analyses covered the examination of the silhouettes and profiles of streets and squares was performed for two case studies: The Old Town in Łódź and the former main market (current Jana Pawła II Square) in Brzeziny. They enabled the assessment of such features as: central angle, regularity, corrugation and variations. The analyses prove the higher irregularity, more varied silhouettes of facades, and higher corrugation values in former traditional Jewish neighbourhoods. In more acculturated settings, the irregularity and variations values still remained high in comparison to settings where Jewish settlement did not occur. Additionally, several other streets and landscapes have been subject to visual assessment, which referred both to their current and historical state. The above analyses were preceded with the assumptions on the character of space based on the main elements of

Conclusions 317

urban structure as defined by Lynch (1960): landmarks, paths, districts, nodes and edges, performed for all four case studies. The depiction of the forms of outdoor spaces of streets, alleys, nooks and squares, paths and nodes, according to Lynch’s terminology, have provided the basics for the description of the situation-dependent context. In order to define the prevailing activities for the chosen places within the district, the analyses of relations between the types of activities and forms of spaces have allowed the formulation of the conclusions indicating a culturespecific character of urban spaces. The depictions of the types of activities have been elaborated based on the following sources: • • •

data on the distribution of main institutions; descriptions of historical situations; archive plans, photographs and footage.

The examination of the character of public spaces as they are perceived by observers in the case of urbanscapes which do not exist in their original form, includes mainly the analysis of archival photographs, due to the available sources. The subject of analysis is firstly the shape of the public realm itself, in 2D plan view, profiles and street facades. Moreover, the sequences of views in time and character of buildings have been analysed. Further research within this field should include development of different approaches for the analyses of urban silhouettes and profiles, the sequences of views over time and the character of the buildings themselves. Formal features of outdoor spaces, i.e., their scale, rhythms, corrugation of facades, etc. provided a large part of the contextual content of the life of a community. Building forms varied; constructors used diverse building materials and styles followed the individual preferences of investors and architects. The overall image of traditional Jewish neighbourhoods, with their perceived plethora of forms, styles and materials, may be defined as the prevalent lack of homogeneity, through satisfying the requirements of current needs. With facades decorated according to the currently prevailing style and available resources, tenements of forms and sizes adjusted to the economic potential of real estate holders and tenants lined tightly packed streets. Very often the wooden front building of a single floor and steep roof endured from the times before Jewish arrival, and the whole development rose behind it, in the form of side buildings, lit and ventilated from only one side. In poorer towns and districts, the development was mostly wooden, such was the situation of Bałuty in Łódź and the Jewish commercial district in Otwock. The irregularity of enclosures of streets was strengthened due to the broken lines of facades, which was a result of the missing or partial front buildings. The apparent lack of precise form of street facades enlarged the amount of border space where people would stop more willingly than in the centre of an open space, facilitating interactions, etc. The contemporary theory of urban design ( Gehl 2001, p.150, Whyte 2009, pp.19–23 ) underlines the role

318  Conclusions

of the corrugation of the edge of space, both through the presence of elements of urban equipment and the shape of the walls themselves, as a feature important for enhancing communal life. The tightness of some places, the complication of wall shapes, are factors favouring direct physical interaction. Irregularity of wall edges lengthened them, and this way enlarged the available space, which, providing perceived protection next to the walls, encouraged interactions. The breaks and gates in lines of frontages surrounding blocks, gave way to internal passages which enriched the initial network of streets. Narrow facades of buildings and numerous entrances to shops, often equipped with external steps and other elements of equipment, increased the interest of passers-by. The facade thereby attracted more attention, encouraging a slower pace of walking.

5.6 Transformations The extent and course of the transformations of urban structures remains one more focus for urban morphologists, as explained in the preceding chapter (Whitehand and Larkham 2000, Vilagrasa 2000). In the case of Jewish settlement, the transformations of the initial state followed their inherent social organisation. After settling, they often redeveloped their environment, introducing enhancements with regard to the requirements of their everyday life. However, the changes introduced did not alter the initial settings more than necessary, they were instead introduced as a continuation of the former state, with respect for the former partitions, ways of buildings, etc. In the case of former medieval village plans, adaptation to the needs of nineteenth century reality was performed without significant changes to its layout, through only the replacement of buildings. The transformations happened gradually, with no abrupt reorganisation to the plan. Usually, small and gradual adjustments of the plan were reduced to the introduction of a new street, thanks to private initiative and secondary parcellation. Such bottom-up initiatives respected the preceding, often medieval, layouts and were aimed at the densification of the former layouts, in many cases reminiscent of the agrarian past of a village, with elongated parcels adjusted to the planting crops. While the layout remained relatively unaltered, gradual replacement of buildings proceeded, usually with masonry tenements of several floors replacing former wooden, one-floor buildings. Parallelly, side buildings were erected on the former gardens, hosting next to dwellings, workshops, storage space and often small factories. Besides this, additional connections between adjacent lots developed where necessary for functional reasons without, however, altering the initial layout. Similar processes followed in the case of Baroque (as in Góra Kalwaria) or Classicist development. The initial large blocks were adjusted to the needs of the Jewish community through the development of semi-private space inside the block. In the case of Góra Kalwaria, the focus of Jewish sociometric layout led to the creation of a spacious yard inside the large urban block in front

Conclusions 319

of the Hasidic prayer house and house of Rabbi Alter. It did not in any way interact with the public space of nearby streets nor market square, which both served a much more utilitarian function. This space was reserved uniquely to Jews. Moreover, in the case of Classicist geometrical space (as in the example of a section of Nowe Miasto in Łódź next to Nowomiejska Street, between Plac Wolności and Ogrodowa Street) internal passages and backyards completed the formal network of public spaces with additional connections serving all the three main spheres of Jewish life, regardless of the system of public spaces used by other citizens. The specific attitude towards the initial forms of development was also explicit in the activities of great factory owners who looked to fit in with these former conditions, i.e. when comparing the layout of workers’ houses constructed by Izrael Kalman Poznański with workers’ houses constructed by Karl Wilhelm Scheibler the differences are notable. The estate built by the Jewish entrepreneur fits into the previously defined urban settings with buildings surrounding urban blocks, while the latter uses an utterly different pattern of an orderly and repetitive character. In those locations where Jewish development was begun on greenfield sites, the specific character of narrow, dense streets, some of them winding and irregular, had the opportunity to become more explicit, with the development incorporated the preexisting layout of roads and paths. This was for instance the case of the commercial district in Otwock, the Jewish part of Bałuty in Łódź and the area around the Jewish zone in Zduńska Wola. Most of the above-mentioned developmental changes had an evolutionary character; radical transformations of formerly existing layouts did not take place in Jewish neighbourhoods.

5.7  Final remarks As has been demonstrated in the pages of this book, the usage of space and the patterns of behaviour appropriate for different cultures and ethnic groups determine the shape of urban structures (Hillier and Hanson 1984, p.27). Differences between morphological structures representing various cultures are particularly apparent in cities which had become a melting pot of many cultures, a situation which refers to nearly all towns in central Poland which developed thanks to the contribution of Poles, Jews, Germans and Russians. Each of the Jewish settlements had its own specificity and way of development, however, as has been shown, spatial threads and unique constitution of physical forms in neighbourhoods inhabited by traditional, and in later times, orthodox Jews persisted. What distinguished them against the backdrop of surrounding neighbourhoods was their strongly urban character, manifested through higher development densities and abundance of social connections. The overall scarcity of space led to the overlapping of different activities in shared space. Small dwellings and the lack of room for all household activities inside led to their taking place in the backyard. Commercial activities expanded to surrounding backyards and alleys, sometimes even farther. The

320  Conclusions

increased use of outdoor spaces where various activities overlapped, made them busy and congested. This outdoor presence enhanced urban life and the myriad and number of social relations, with time leading to the development of specific customs of usage of space. Next to the high densities, these contributed to the much more urban character of the Jewish neighbourhoods of central Poland in comparison to the surrounding Polish ones. Jewish habitus (Bourdieu 1972, p.247; Panerai et al. 2009, p.160), an ensemble of urban structures and social situations, reflecting their customs and practices of everyday life, turned into a record of these practices. The structures left behind, when superimposed with their cultural background, allows us to read the past activities and social relations. The juxtaposition of various spatial traits within the neighbouring areas, as well as the investigation of transformations have allowed us to distinguish features corresponding to each period and some of the cultural differences. The forms of urban environments, approached through culture-related lenses, may lead to an understanding of the processes which led to the emergence of contemporary multicultural societies. The comprehension of the way multicultural communities developed and lived together through longer spans of time may help when creating new, more open, environments which cater to the actual needs of citizens with regard to their culture-related requirements. Some light may be cast on the above issues thanks to the analysis of environments where complex societies started. In order to conduct further research, we need first to realise the complexity of Jewish culture and study it further. The pre-existing layouts contribute to the continuation of the former way of using space. Some of the situations, which were once present in these settings still happen, despite important changes, and the use of social spaces still corresponds, to some extent, to that of their former inhabitants. Many structures erected in the period discussed here have survived, giving the neighbourhoods their particular character. Further research is required to appreciate the consequences for both architectural heritage and urban structure of the presence of Jewish culture in central Poland, in its full richness and variety of lifestyles.

Notes 1. Quotation from the text announcing ‘Jews and the City’ as the ‘Theme for 2007–2008’ by the Frankel Institute of Advanced Judaic Studies in Chicago. 2. Charles Booth, ‘Poverty Series Survey Notebooks (Online Archive)’, /booth.lse. ac.uk/, accessed 23/6/07, B350, p. 43, 45, after Vaughan and Sailer (2017). 3. B351, p. 47 cited in Victor Bailey, Charles Booth’s Policemen: Crime, Police and Community in Jack-the-Ripper’s London (London, 2014), p. 95, after Vaughan and Sailer (2017).

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Index

acculturation 47, 56, 57, 58, 70–73, 77, 136–137, 144, 145, 153, 158, 159–160, 230, 236, 295, 300, 301, 302, 308, 311, 312, 314, 315 Aleksandrów, Aleksandrów Łódzki 68, 112, 113, 114, 121, 125, 127, 154, 156, 211 atmosphere (of the place) 2, 4, 11, 21, 23, 32, 44, 46, 47, 231–232, 282–283, 297, 303, 304 Babiak 115 beit midrash 69, 83, 93, 98, 160, 167, 174, 210, 237, 253, 267, 308, 311 Bełchatów see Grocholice Biała 156 Biała Podlaska 68 Białaczów 98 Białystok 74, 138 Błonie 81, 88, 129, 169 Bobowa 156 Bodzanów 80 Bolimów 80, 123, 130 Brańszczyk 78 Brdów 120, 169 Brześć Kujawski 78 Brześć over Bug 87 Brzeziny 121, 135, 152, 154, 164, 166, 167, 244–258, 294, 300, 303, 305, 308, 316 chewra, chewrot 69, 93, 312 chewra kadisha (‫ )קרושה חבדה‬75, 84 Chorzele 103 Ciechanów 68, 77, 81, 90, 100, 103, 104, 105, 122 complexity, complex systems 2, 6, 8–9, 16, 17, 18, 25, 48, 54, 75, 79, 143–146, 153, 157, 254, 297, 298–300, 306, 320

complex systems see complexity Czarniecka Góra 276 Czerwińsk 78, 81 Częstochowa 70, 119 Czyżewo 123 Dąbie over Ner 100, 119, 120, 129, 169 Dobre 131 dorf, Yiddish: ‫ דָארף‬92 Duchy of Warsaw 57, 64, 100, 101, 102, 103, 104, 107, 122, 172, 173 enclosure, enclosed space 11–12, 26, 32, 33, 34–37, 39–46 eruv, eruvim 84–85, 126–127, 167, 209, 271, 310 Falenica 138, 142, 152, 154, 164, 281, 282 Frampol 97 gabbai (Hebrew: ‫)גבאי‬, shamash ‫ שמש‬93 Gąbin 77, 80, 90, 115, 116, 120 Garwolin 78, 129, 130, 132 Ger see Góra Kalwaria Głowno 94, 143, 152, 154 Głowów 97 Gniezno 87 Góra Kalwaria, Ger 68, 69, 97, 111, 127, 128, 152, 154, 168, 169, 254, 258–273, 303, 308, 318 Góra nad Pilicą 78 Gostynin 78, 81, 115, 116, 120, 124, 128, 132 Goszczyn 81 Grocholice 115, 119, 120; see also Bełchatów Grodno 87

342  Index Grodzisk, Grodzisk Mazowiecki 105, 128, 254, 263 Grójec 111, 129, 169, 264, 266 Grotniki 142 habitus 14, 16, 165, 168, 239, 320 Halakha ( Jewish law ‫ )  ֲהָל ָכה‬72, 82 Hasidism 67–69, 116, 127–128, 136, 154, 156, 159, 169, 267, 270, 273, 279 Haskalah see Jewish Enlightment hazakah laws 66 Iłża 128 Incolati 66, 87 index keys 40–45, 166, 255–258 Inowłódź 78 Izbica 68, 111, 192, 213 Janów 122, 169 Jedwabne 88 Jewish Enlightment, Haskalah, Maskilim 58, 70–72, 159, 161 Jewish orthodoxy 69, 74, 301 Jewish zones 60, 76, 85, 86, 102–103, 104, 109, 112, 113, 115–116, 119–120, 122–126, 137, 145, 153, 173–177, 181, 214, 220, 222, 229, 232, 266, 271, 300, 304, 319 Jeżów 77, 78, 79, 169 Józefów 142, 281 Kahal 50, 57, 66–67, 69, 82, 83, 87, 99, 104, 113, 116, 118, 159, 211, 218, 253 Kalisz 57 Kałuszyn 105, 135, 145, 154, 170 Karczew 276, 278 Katerburg 97 Kazimierz nad Nerem 78 kehillah (Hebr. ‫ )קהלה‬63, 66, 68, 87, 92, 147, 149, 152, 172, 278, 310 kheyder 73, 92 Kielce 75, 97, 138 kloyz 87, 162, 308 Kock 68, 156, 211, 213, 266, 267 Koło 119, 121, 152, 169 Kolumna 142 Koluszki 138, 153, 154 Komorów 142 Konin 119, 120, 169 Konstantynów 112, 113, 115, 121–122, 124, 129, 169 Korzec 97 Kozienice 68, 128, 258, 263

Kraków 57, 74, 78, 87, 88, 244 Krasne 130, 131, 138, 306 Krynki 97 Kuczbork 81 Kutno 154, 169 Łask 78, 132, 154 Łęczyca 78, 79, 82, 90, 91, 100, 112, 113, 115, 117, 120, 121, 126, 128, 129, 244, 101 Lelów 68 Leszno 87, 101 Litvaks 54, 76, 136, 139, 159, 177, 180, 210, 215, 221, 229, 301 Łódź, Lodz 13, 30, 50, 51, 52, 64, 69, 70, 72, 74, 75, 109, 112, 113, 115, 116, 119, 120, 121, 123, 124, 125, 128, 132, 133, 134, 136, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 143, 144, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 159, 160, 162, 163, 164, 166, 167, 168, 171–243, 246, 248, 249, 251, 254, 255, 256, 298, 302, 303, 305, 306, 308, 310, 312, 313, 315, 316, 317, 319 London 54–56, 140, 304 Łowicz 77, 78, 80, 108, 112, 122, 124, 128, 130, 150, 244, 270 Lublin 58, 67, 68, 87, 88, 258, 259 Łuck 87 Lutomiersk 87, 172 Lututów 131 Lwów 74, 78, 87, 88, 244 Łysobyki 131 Magnuszew 81, 263 Maków 78, 100, 103, 104–105 Małyń 78, 105 Maskilim see Jewish Enlightment Miedzeszyn 142, 281 Międzyrzec 156 Mińsk Mazowiecki 110, 111, 115, 153 Mitnagdim 67, 68 Mława 100, 138 Młociny 138, 139 Mogielnica 68, 77, 139 Mszczonów 81, 126, 131, 133, 156 Nasielsk 81, 100, 105, 154 Nowa Jerozolima 99, 258, 261, 263 Nowe Miasto nad Pilicą 78, 81 Nowy Dwór, Nowy Dwór over Narew, Nowy Dwór Mazowiecki 81, 97, 98, 132 Nur 128

Index 343 Ojców 276 Okuniew 128 Oleśnica 83 Opatów 68 Opoczno 78 Osięciny 115 Osjaków 78 Ostoja 142 Ostrołęka 81, 128 Ostrów, Ostrów Mazowiecka 68, 92 Ostrowiec Świętokrzyski 68, 138, 254 Otwock 138, 142, 143, 152, 154, 156, 273–294, 303, 306, 308, 317, 319 Ozorków 100, 101, 113, 117, 120, 121, 128, 133, 134, 169 Pabianice 115, 118, 121, 124, 128, 132 Parysow 156 Piaseczno 111, 129, 154, 156, 259, 268 Piątek 78, 130 Piotrków Trybunalski 78, 86, 91, 129, 132, 139, 152, 169, 232, 244 Pławno 132 Płock 57, 71, 77, 78, 79, 80, 84, 88, 90, 100, 102, 107, 109, 128, 153, 154, 160, 162, 305 Płońsk 81, 90, 100, 105, 122 Poddębice 113, 128 Podkowa Leśna 142 Pohulanka 276 Poznań 84, 87, 88, 152, 153, 169 privilege de non tolerandis Judaeis 79, 80, 90, 99, 100, 102, 119, 246, 263 Przasnysz 103, 122 Przedbórz 121, 246 Przedecz 119, 120, 169 Przybyszew 169, 190 Przysucha 67, 68, 94, 95, 105, 127, 154, 156, 267 Przytyk 86, 105 Puławy 129, 156 Pułtusk 77, 80, 100, 103, 105, 115, 120, 122, 128 Raciąż 100, 122, 128 Radom 132, 139, 141, 153, 154, 162, 244 Radomsko 68, 78, 152, 156, 169 Radoszyce 68 Radzanów 81 Radzymin 110, 127, 129 Rawa, Rawa Mazowiecka, Zamkowa Wola 78, 81, 94, 96, 110, 115, 117, 121, 128, 244

rhythm 16, 22, 23, 27, 28, 32, 36, 37–38, 40, 43, 44–46, 166, 241, 313, 315, 316, 317 Rogoźno 152 Różan 81, 100, 105 Rozprza 78, 86 Ruda Guzowska see Żyrardów Ryczywół 101 schizoanalysis 8 secularisation 58, 65, 74, 262 self-organisation 9, 18, 53, 156–157, 163, 219, 299 Serock 78 shamash ‫ שמש‬see gabbai (Hebrew: ‫)גבאי‬ shtetl, ‫ שטעטל‬49–50, 51, 92–94, 116–118, 144, 146, 159, 162, 173, 177, 229, 231, 282, 302, 303, 307, 316 shtiblekh 69, 127, 137, 154, 155, 159, 162, 182, 254, 270, 311 shtot, Yiddish: ‫ שטָאט‬92 Sieciechów 78 Siedlce 98–99, 107, 109, 130, 132, 153, 154 Sieradz 78, 91, 121, 128, 152, 207 Sierpc 77, 80 situation (culture-related) 3, 7, 12, 14–15, 16, 18–21, 25, 31, 34, 38–40, 45, 53, 165–166, 239, 297, 304, 308, 317, 320, 334 Skierniewice 156 Sławuta 276 Sochaczew 68, 78, 80, 88, 105, 111, 169 Sochocin 81 sociometric layout 3, 13, 23, 156, 165, 166, 232, 234, 235, 236, 254, 271, 309, 318 Sokolniki 142 Sokołow 156 Soplicowo 284, 142 spatial order 1, 3, 11, 23–28, 36, 57, 137, 156, 166–167, 283, 305–308, 314, 315 Śródborów 142, 276, 281, 283–284, 293 Stanisławów 169 Stryków 68, 101–103, 125, 152, 154, 172 Strzegom 83 Sulejów 78, 129, 169 Świder 142, 152, 274–275, 279, 293 Szadek 78, 115, 118 Szczerców 169 Szreńsk 81 Szydłowiec 68, 244, 245

344  Index Tarczyn 80, 169 Tarnów 87 Tomaszów, Tomaszów Mazowiecki 111, 112, 113, 114–115, 121, 128, 132, 138, 151, 154, 267 Toruń 78, 88, 244 tsadik see Hasidism Turek 119, 120, 169 Tuszyn, Tuszyn-Las 132, 142, 218

Wizna 78, 88, 100 Włochy 142 Wolbórz 78, 169 Wrocław 78, 82, 172 Wyśmierzyce 80 Wyszków 78, 103 Wyszogród 78, 81, 100, 122

Uniejów 78, 115, 117, 120, 121

Yeshiva 69, 73, 84, 87, 93, 104, 160, 279, 308 Yichush 93

Warka 68, 69, 77, 78, 80, 111, 122, 156, 263, 266 Warszawa, Warsaw 42, 48, 64, 69, 70, 71, 72, 74, 75, 77, 78, 79, 80, 86, 88, 90, 96, 99, 100, 102, 105, 106, 107, 108, 112, 128, 132, 136, 137, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 144, 146, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 160, 162, 169, 223, 247, 258, 259, 263, 267, 268, 271, 273, 274, 275, 276, 281, 284, 302, 310 Węgrów 122, 153 Widawa 154 Wieluń 78, 91, 121, 128, 129, 152, 169 Wieruszów 78 Wilno 68, 87, 138 Wiskitki 77, 80, 133, 169

Ząbki 139, 142 Zajezierze 80 Zakroczym 78, 105, 126 Zalesie 142 Zamkowa Wola see Rawa Mazowiecka Zduńska Wola 113, 124, 125, 128, 154, 319 Żelechów 68 Zegrze 81 Zgierz 112, 115, 116, 117, 120–121, 123, 124, 126, 128, 151, 164, 175, 216, 244 Zgierz Contract, statutes of Zgierz 120, 123, 175 Zionist 73, 74–75, 210, 215, 279 Złoczew 78 Żyrardów, Ruda Guzowska 132, 133