I'm not sure why I went there -if it was a desire to learn of my past, perhaps some innate yearning to see where I come from, or even to better view the future- so I am therefore unable to say what exactly I took from the town . . .
I did not find any information in the town's records, nor could I find a definitive Matzevah (tomb stone) that belonged to a family member . . .
The earth was soft, molding to my steps in the almost barren cemetery -twice others had tried to rob it of its pride, the Nazis and Communists, yet still it still possessed a certain dignity . . . like the lone sentinel, guarding his forgotten post . . . the last Japanese soldier still fighting a battle that others have declared over . . .
Questions filled my mind . . . Who lies beneath my feet? A morbid joke crossed my mind -do I now tread on the heads of my forebears . . .
The name Dorfman means 'Man of the Village' -even today Biłgoraj is a village . . . devoid of its Jews, it exists in a happy nothingness, awash from the stream of normal time . . .
A model of old Lublin
Apteka -the symbol of Hypochondriacal Poland . . . I should have figured that they would make a mueseum
inside the bus
Yehuda #1 My Great-great Grandfather?
Gittel -My Great-Great Grandmother?
Simcha . . . thank you for going with me.