A Day of Victorious Research

Czyzewo is where it all started. This was the town where my great-great-grandfather Moishe Scwartz married my great-great-grandmother Paja Rythenberg, the town my great-grandfather Joseph left from to hit the US. Thanks to our terrific guide, we now know that 3 previous generations of Schwartzes (now Stewarts) lived in and around Czyzewo. It was and is a small farming community a couple hundred km NE of Warsaw. There's not much to do there today, meaning it must have been really bad years ago. I'm glad my great-grandfather left, as he must have been bored senseless, not to mention under-employed and discriminated against. Also, there's the matter of me not being here if he hadn't left.

We had just about the best day you can in the field of genealogical research. Our guide took us directly to the relevant locations, frequently bypassing lengthy lines of cranky Poles via a mixture of Government Savvy and heavy flirtation with the armada of middle-aged lady overseers. Immediately he dialed up the original books of handwritten records: marriage records, birth records, and death records. With a tiny bit of oversight, we were permitted to paw through these willy-nilly.

First we found the marriage record for Moishe and Paja (in 1890!). From that document, which listed their parnets -- brand new information for us -- we were able to research backwards, digging up assorted marriage and birth certificates until we got back to approximately 1815, which is around when Napoleon instituted the system anyway. It was a homerun of a day.

Before this, we didn't know anything except that my great-grandfather - Moishe - lived in Czyzewo. Today I know about 15 or so more ancestors, including information about where they lived, the time they lived, and- in some instances - even their occupations. (Lots of "day workers" in there, oddly.)

I must say, there is an incredible level of comfort connected to knowing that your family came from somewhere, that they just didn't show up from nowhere. My great-grandfather came over to New York alone, which has cultivated a lone wolf image in my mind, a feeling of cultural isolation. Anti-Semitism aside, it's evident that the Schwartzes were very much part of the Czyzewo community, that they had a home.

For those Polish-speakers out there, this is the official documentation of my great-grandmother's birth certificate from the Lomza vital records office, from 1865. Wow!

Poland - Why?

In one month's time, we will officially be on the road in Poland. Kind of scary, as I'm definitely not in good-enough cycling shape and will be sucking a lot of Polish wind for the first week or so.

It's a weird trip in many ways. First off, it's hard for me to believe I'd ever go to Poland without a compelling family reason to do so. I mean, what's in Poland? Death camps, the blood of centuries, Commies, sausages; not exactly a trip to the beach (except for the sausages). Also, Poland's getting more expensive, and tourism's taking a hit. Don't forget that residents have been spending the past two-hundred years leaving Poland, except when they weren't allowed to (Thanks Uncle Joe!). To travel to Poland, you have to live within 500 miles, be a history buff or be a huge sucker for national advertising. Put us firmly in column B.

Of course the upshot is that we might meet incredible people and have mindblowing experiences, after which we'll trumpet Poland's countless benefits from the mountaintops. Watch this space for the inside scoop!

The Stewarts of Poland

It looks like we won't have to do much explaining about how someone named Stewart could claim an ancestral connection to Poland. Cousin Martha Stewart (not a blood relation) is in Poland this month and is knocking them dead, in anticipation of the Polish version of her magazine.

And she's not a Polish poseur, making the best of some slender genetic connection. Martha claims four Polish grandparents, three more than I can (and mine was Jewish, which I'm pretty sure would not count to some Poles). Turns out her maiden name was Kostyra.

Best of all, Martha grew up on "pierogies, the traditional Polish stuffed dumplings; kielbasa, the Polish-style sausage; and babka, a spongy yeast cake popular at Easter." It's good to know that she's not all about fashionable food like sprouts and polenta.

This changes my whole frame of reference for Martha.


Correction -- One of those tedious truth-in-information types, who happens to be a friend, advises me of the consensus view that the Howard Dean-tortures-a-cat photo recently featured at this site is a computer-generated fake. OK. We take it back. We're sorry. Still, it's a great fake.

Which reminds me of a great Thaddeus Stevens line (there are so many, apt for every occasion). So, Lincoln asks Thad if the guy he's about to appoint War Secretary is a thief. Thad says, "He wouldn't steal a red-hot stove." The guy hears about Thad's remark and demands a retraction. Thad agrees. Next time he's with the president, he reminds the president of his earlier remark about the War Secretary candidate. "I now take that back," he says.

Helpful Jews

As we all know, the Jews have added a great deal to civilization, from Hollywood to quantum theory to, in a point very dear to my heart, being excused from football practice in high school so that we could observe the Jewish high holidays.

Add another point to the list - incredible genealogical resources. Last night I published a posting on JewishGen.org seeking for help in tracking down relatives who may or may not live in Israel (our latest info is 15 years old and much may have changed). This morning I had 24 emails from helpful Israeli strangers in my inbox, the vast majority of whom personally volunteered to comb the Internet and local directories themselves on our behalf. It was an extraordinary outpouring of support, and I found myself wondering if we Americans would respond so voraciously to a similar plea from a stranger abroad (though then again, all of our directories tend to be in English rather than Hebrew).

We don't expect finding any solution to our quest for family contact in Israel, especially as our last point of contact is so outdated. But major props to the Jewish community for helping a (quarter) brother out.

And if anybody out there has any tips on tracking down these cats, please let me know at mjfstewartATgmailDOTcom.

UPDATE: In the past hour, one of the relatives has been located! Maybe I should change the title to "Super-Helpful Jews"?

Mechanics

Now that we are almost within a month of departure, the real work of getting the Right Stuff, as well as psychic preparation, begins. This week's equipment breakthrough was the acquisition of Ortlieb rear panniers.

The virtue of Ortliebs is that they are truly waterproof. NOT "water-resistant," a term that means that your stuff will get wet if you are out in the rain for more than five minutes. But truly waterproof. They seem to be made out of the old oilcloth that was used for yellow rain slickers when I was a kid. Nancy and I got caught for about 10 miles in the rain on a ride in western Maryland earlier this month, and I developed a real appreciation for the virtues of waterproof, as opposed to water-resistant. (That's us, riding in Italy on a sunny day -- no need for Ortliebs there.)

Then there's the psychic preparation. Beginning with the weight of the panniers. I rode home from the bike shop with them, and with old bike shoes inside them. Maybe half the weight I'll have to pull when the panniers are stuffed. Ugh. Need to get stronger.

One last mechanical point -- bike mechanics rule. The guy at the bike shop, City Bikes in on Connecticut Avenue (I think he was Mike, but I may be thinking of the rock group), agreed with me that the instructions for installing the panniers were useless, about a dozen difficult-to-make-out diagrams without even a listing of parts. Instead, "Mike" simply applied his impressive reason and experience, not to mention patience, to figure the thing out. And the panniers work.

I took a ride this morning, stopped at the vegetable stand for fresh tomatoes, dropped them in my panniers, and made my way home. Thank your bike mechanic.

Thanks, Mike.

The Sweet Hypnosis of Genealogy

First thing's first - big shout out to the Genealogy Blog for giving a big shout out to us.

Getting ready for this trip I've gotten involved in genealogical research for the first time. That's not a very market-friendly term - "genealogy" reeks of old people and disease, while "research" has its own set of labor-intensive, dusty-library connotations that'll scare off the younguns. Who married who when, who died in what town, how many kids, who cares? That was how I felt until a couple of years back.

A couple of things changed. One - I got a huge data dump and went over it thoroughly. It's fascinating to see all the parts that come together to make you, all the variables involved, and if just one thing had been different you never would've been born. Second, growing the family tree is addictive. It's problem-solving. It's filling in holes and finding explanations. It's the thrill of linking your family to one of the most important military actions in American history or Napoleon's nemesis. And all of it related to everyone's favorite subject - themselves.

If you're thinking about taking the plunge into this mesmerizing world, here's a tip*: get yourself some software. Last year a guy in my office brought in a scroll of paper he was using for his family tree, which struck me as quaint and nice but hugely inefficient, something the Medicis would do to figure out who gets the inheritance rather than an intelligent way to organize invaluable family information.

*Will try to keep unsolicited advice to a minimum