Meredith-Wynn Barber

JCC Kraków does crucial work, especially considering it's one of only two JCCs in Poland (to my knowledge). The community is comprised of Poles, Israelis and other ex-pat Jews, and now, Ukrainian refugees. About 60 Holocaust survivors and some of their descendants find a home here; the very active Senior Club in particular provides a great space for survivors.

The JCC's biggest annual fundraiser is the Ride For The Living, a 60-mile bike ride from the gates of Auschwitz to the JCC (and Holocaust educational programming). Over 95% of JCC Kraków’s operating budget is raised overseas, so donations are vital to their work. 

This will be my third time on the RFTL trek, and I pledge to return every year I possibly can. I hope that my annual participation spreads awareness of genocide and the Holocaust, the JCC, and the vibrant resurgence of Jewish life in Kraków. If you are able to donate any amount (Don’t be shy-- even $1 or $5 or $18 is helpful!), you can be proud to sponsor the work of the JCC-- and maybe next year, you will join me.

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My JCC Kraków Origin Story

On my first Holocaust forensics trip to Eastern Europe eight years ago, I experienced one of the most impactful Shabbat dinners of my life at the JCC in Kraków. I had just wandered through the historic Jewish quarter, Kazimierz, to conceptualize what my grandfather’s family may have seen when they lived and walked along the same yidishe gasn, the same Jewish streets. Where was their shul? Where did the children go to school, and how did their parents make a living before they were senselessly murdered? Did they travel by the fancy electrified tram that opened at the turn of the century and still stands today, or did they bustle around the city on foot? I was dazzled by Kraków’s beautifully rich prewar history, albeit discouraged by the Gentile hipsters now pushing past the shadowy rectangles where colorful mezuzahs once decorated the doorposts. As soon as I entered the JCC for Shabes, I was enveloped by the familiar sense of Jewish community. In a city so entrenched in Catholicism (and centuries of Jewish history relatively undiscussed by the general public), it was a welcome and solaceful feeling. I met many friendly people, some of whom I could communicate with and others with whom I had a language barrier, but it didn't matter because there was a deeply emotional understanding in the air. The familiarly Judaized words of English, Polish, modern Hebrew, Yiddish, and more bumped into each other, happily clanging against nigunim and laughter. Throughout our Shabbat dinner and song, the crowded room was brimming with a sense of memory paralleled by an infectious joy; I cannot translate the energy into words.