Those who watched the famous production of "Fiddler on the Roof" will remember that it begins with a song sung by the entire cast: "tradition, tradition." It is a kind of motto for a production recalling the fascinating, now almost forgotten tradition of a forgotten Jewish culture.
I am writing about this to confirm the thesis that tradition and its continuity are also the foundation of our culture’s existence. Culture is universal and timeless. This introduction is intended to serve as a starting point for reflections on our tradition, as well as on returning to it, particularly here in Lower Silesia.
Today, as Eastern Europe is changing and relations with a reunified Germany are being normalized, there is a need to shape a new way of thinking about both the past and the future.
The return of Lower Silesia to Poland after 1945 created a situation in which, for 45 years, we first tried to prove to Europe and Germany that, contrary to opinions expressed as late as Potsdam by our Western Allies—that Poles would not be able to develop these lands—we were nevertheless capable of doing so. We made mistakes, particularly in environmental protection, but in those early years all of Europe made them. Before the United Nations published U Thant’s famous report on environmental protection, after all, the Rhine, Thames and Seine were among the most polluted rivers. The considerable financial resources and capabilities of those countries nevertheless created conditions for quickly eliminating this threat.
At the same time, however, throughout this reconstruction process, a stereotypical way of thinking persisted—and probably still persists—that everything German has no cultural significance. In Silesia, many monuments of German material culture fell victim to this way of thinking. They were looted in the early years and later destroyed thoughtlessly.
Bolesławiec also has examples of this, unfortunately. On the wave of building enthusiasm at the beginning of the 1970s, the historic corner tenement house on the market square was demolished. After the war, the building housed municipal offices; earlier, it had been the hotel under the "Black Eagle," where, according to tradition, Napoleon stayed.
The historic little palace on 22 Lipca Street, now Witosa Street, disappeared. The historic Evangelical Cemetery on Obrońców Helu Street, dating back to the 16th century, ceased to exist. It contained Renaissance and Baroque tombstones and epitaphs, the coats of arms of the local nobility, and gravestones of the local bourgeoisie. A similar fate befell Kliczków Castle, which after the war retained its complete furnishings and was inhabited. The monument erected to commemorate the centenary of the Battle of the Nations at Leipzig, located on Jeleniogórska Street, was likewise demolished.
Today, when we look with sorrow at how our monuments in the East have been treated similarly—Fredro’s Rudki, Rossa Cemetery in Vilnius, Lychakiv Cemetery in Lviv, and hundreds of historic churches in the towns of former southeastern Galicia, converted into warehouses or cinemas—it is probably time to change the old way of thinking about culture and tradition. After all, we want to create a united Europe that respects itself.