The 1573 Warsaw Confederation was the first document in Europe to legally mandate religious tolerance. But as much as Jews were officially integrated into Polish culture and shared philosophies, folklore, and styles of dress, food, and music, they also felt different, threatened. Many Poles resented Jews’ economic freedom. Jews subleased whole towns from nobles, and Polish serfs begrudged the rule of their Jewish landlords. The Catholic Church disseminated the hateful and absurd falsehood that Jews murdered Christians—especially babies—in order to use their blood for religious rituals. This led to attacks on Jews, with occasional periods of wide-scale riots and murder. The Jewish community became close-knit, seeking strength in its customs. A “push-pull” relationship existed between Jews and Poles, their cultures developing in relation to the other. Take, for instance, the braided challah: the soft, egg-rich bread and holy symbol of the Jewish Sabbath. This loaf is also a Polish chalka and a Ukrainian kalach—it’s impossible to know which version came first. The traditions developed simultaneously, societies tangled, joined under a （bitter）sweet gloss.
In the late seventeen hundreds, however, Poland broke down. Its government was unstable, and the country was simultaneously invaded by Germany, Austria, and Russia, then divided into three parts—each one ruled by a captor that imposed its own customs. Poles remained united by a nationalist longing, and maintained their language and literature. Polish Jews changed under their occupiers: the German ones learned the Saxon language and developed into an educated middle class, while the Austrian-ruled （Galician） Jews suffered from terrible poverty. The majority of Jews came to be governed by Russia, an empire that forced economic and religious decrees on the largely working-class population. The borders shifted, too. For example, J?drzejów first belonged to Galicia; then Russia took it over. Jews felt on edge—in particular, financially, as changing laws affected their livelihoods.
During World War I, Poland’s three occupiers battled each other on home ground. Despite hundreds of thousands of lost lives and a decimated economy, Poland was victorious: the Second Republic was established. United Poland needed to rebuild both its cities and its identity. The political landscape was bifurcated, the long-honed nationalist longing expressed in contradictory ways. On the one side were nostalgic monarchists who called for reestablishing the pluralistic Poland of old: Poland as a state of nations. （Four in ten citizens of the new country were minorities.） The other side, however, envisioned Poland as a nation-state—an ethnic nation. A nationalistic movement that advocated for purebred Polishness grew quickly. This party’s entire platform was concerned with slandering Polish Jews, who were blamed for the country’s poverty and political problems. Poland had never recovered from World War I or its subsequent conflicts with its neighbors; Jews were accused of siding with the enemy. This right-wing party promoted a new Polish identity that was specifically defined as “not the Jew.” Generations of residency, not to mention formal equal rights, made no difference. As espoused by Nazi racial theory, which this party adopted giddily, a Jew could never be a Pole.
The central government instituted a Sunday-Rest law and discriminated against Jews in public employment policies, but its leadership was unstable. Just a few years later, in a 1926 coup d’état, Poland was taken over by Józef Pi?sudski, an unusual mix of monarchist and socialist. The former general and statesman championed a multiethnic land, and although he did not particularly help the Jews, they felt safer under his semiauthoritarian rule than under representative government.
Pi?sudski, however, had many opponents, and when he died in 1935, as Renia turned eleven, the right-wing nationalists easily assumed control. Their government opposed direct violence and pogroms （which occured anyway）， but boycotts of Jewish businesses were encouraged. The Church condemned Nazi racism but promoted anti-Jewish sentiment. At universities, Polish students championed Hitler’s racial ideology. Ethnic quotas were enforced, and Jewish students were corralled into “bench ghettos” at the back of the lecture hall. Ironically, Jews had the most traditionally Polish education of any group, many speaking Polish （some exclusively） and reading Jewish newspapers in Polish.
Even the small town of J?drzejów saw increasing antisemitism through the 1930s, from racial slurs to boycotting businesses, smashing storefronts, and instigating brawls. Renia spent many evenings staring out her window, on guard, fearing that anti-Jewish hooligans might burn down their house and harm her parents, for whom she always felt responsible.