Twelve zlotys for offensive figurine and a chance to heal

When I handed the woman at the flower store the 12 zlotys for the money-grubbing Jew figurine, I felt a little guilty. I knew it was wrong to support the trade of offensive Jewish images, but I didn't have a camera with me, and no one would believe me back home unless I bought one then. I had spent all day walking around Warsaw. I knew it was now or never.

I hadn't planned on ever going to Warsaw. But when I cashed in my frequent flyer miles for a trip to Tel Aviv, I was placed on Lot Air, the Polish national airline with a stopover in Warsaw. I wasn't sure when I'd be in that neighborhood again, so I decided to spend a night in the city and explore.

When I told my friends in Los Angeles that I was going to stop in Warsaw, their reactions were really positive. Warsaw had just been written up in Conde Nast Traveler, and Poland was evidently a new frontier of tourism.

Arriving in Warsaw I took public transportation to the center of the city and started my search for a hotel. I walked up past the university into the "old" part of the city. Warsaw was destroyed during World War II so everything "old" is really new and the finish on the buildings and cobblestone streets is worthy of a Disney Imagineer.

I wasn't surprised when I saw a man selling little wooden carved figurines because it seemed like a touristy area. But I was surprised when I took a closer look at these figures and saw what they were: They were ghetto Jews. Former residents of the neighborhood, I assume. They had big noses, beards and hats. Some were playing instruments, but others were clutching money.

I was shocked. I was offended. At first, I refused to support the trade of offensive Jewish figurines. Despite the fact that I had no camera on me to document this phenomenon for the people back home, I decided I would not buy one.

As I continued my search for a hotel, I stopped in every little tourist store along the way to examine their Jews. Some were better than others. My favorite figurine was in a cute little gift store right near the Hotel Intercontinental. It was a well-carved, rather large Jew holding many coins — but it was expensive — 80 zlotys ($30) and there was no way I was going to contribute that amount to the "Jew trade."

By three in the afternoon, my legs were aching and I needed to rest. I settled into a run-down little hotel right near the university. It wasn't the best choice, but I could wander no longer.

I woke at six and headed out to find a good restaurant. But no matter how hard I tried, I just kept on thinking about those little Jews. I needed to buy one to show the people back home, but it was getting late and I wasn't sure I would find an open store.

Before I would purchase any Jew, it would have to fit certain criteria: It had to be executed in a style that I would like, no matter what the subject. The craftsmanship had to be of a high caliber — I saw a full range of skill levels in my Jew-browsing that day. It had to be inexpensive, since I still didn't want to support the Jew trade. And it had to be clearly a Jew with characteristics that were not subject to debate or interpretation.

With all those restrictions, it still only took me about 10 minutes to find the perfect Jew. I saw him standing in the window of a flower shop. He was not made of wood but of Fimo clay so was more like a Smurf and would fit in with the other figurines on my living room shelf. He not only had a skullcap, but long side-curls, a big nose, a shiny coin and a money bag. The woman behind the counter wrapped him up, and I took him home.

As expected, when I told people that I had purchased a money-grubbing Jew doll in Poland, they thought I was exaggerating. "Are you sure it's a Jew?" was the common response. But all I had to do was whip the little guy out of my bag and the looks of shock and horror made it all worthwhile.

Back home, my Jew has become a minor celebrity. This little Fimo clay figure has received two invitations for personal appearances: He was specifically invited to attend my friend's birthday party and his presence was also requested at a get-together at The Abbey in West Hollywood.

Gene suggested that I transform his function by using him as part of my home's feng shui to attract good things. Another friend thought that if I write the word "charity" or "tzedakah" on his money bag, it would imbue his smile with a whole new meaning.

I have grown to like my Jew. I suppose that is the first step towards healing.




Becky Neiman is a writer/producer in Los Angeles. She has just finished her first documentary feature, "Anne Stewart: A Most Successful Failure."




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