A Doctor of the World and a Human without Frontiers

Alina Margolis-Edelman

 

EMIGRATING TO FRANCE

In 1968, an antisemitic campaign began in Poland. History books recorded it as the “March events”. With the consent of the communist authorities, supported by the state-controlled media, every effort was made to discourage the citizens of Jewish origins from living in Poland. Ethnicity became grounds for dismissal at work or expulsion from the university, as well as for receiving nasty treatment from neighbors and acquaintances. Marek Edelman’s university habilitation was rejected, and Alina Margolis was not even cleared for applying. Edelman lost his job at the hospital and was killing time at home. At his wife’s request, he started writing his ghetto memoirs, which he dedicated to Alina (the book was only released in 2017). Many of their friends decided to leave Poland*, and the Edelmans were considering their options. Alina wanted to go – she knew France and the French language and was sure they would manage. Marek was of the opinion that they should stay, and Alina’s mother was on his side – she knew from experience how difficult emigration was. Aleksander – who had already come of age – did not want to leave, either. Alina stuck to her guns. “It was all about the children”, she later explained. When she went to work abroad for the first time, at the invitation of a professor specializing in diabetes, she only took Ania. They returned a few months later. However, Aleksander recalls that soon afterward, hell broke loose at home again. Apparently, someone at school asked Ania, ‘Why have you returned?’ Alina emigrated with the children in 1971. Marek Edelman stayed in Poland. As he explained in an interview, “We never divorced. Ala wanted to go, so she did. She was afraid. She had nothing to do here, and she was mentally broke”. Alina was bitter about it, saying, “This was convenient for him”. She had to fend for herself abroad and found it very challenging. She was already 50: as an eminent doctor back in Poland, she was not even cleared for practice in France, because at that time, diplomas issued by Polish universities were not recognized abroad. Aleksander began studies and Ania went to school. Her friend Zosia visited them for their first Easter abroad and stayed, and many years later, she married Aleksander. They lived in difficult conditions, in a tiny flat, but they pulled together. Their place was always busy, as they were frequently visited by guests from Poland. Alina found a job at a laboratory, worked night shifts, and had to take extra exams, which was frustrating. She sought refuge in charity work for the Doctors without Frontiers foundation, established in France in 1971. Now, she could help children at different corners of the globe.

Between 1968 and 1971, following the antisemitic smear campaign, around 15,000 citizens of Jewish origins left Poland, including 1,300 from Łódź. Many of them were specialists in their respective fields, such as medicine, academia, movie industry, or art. Most of them never returned to Poland.

What was my biggest regret? A broken home, mostly, and the work I couldn’t continue. I haven’t fully gotten over it since.

They didn’t fire me, they just didn’t let me complete my habilitation, but it’s something you can do without. Children were the problem. Ania was crying at night, because they told her at school that we had black blood and would go to hell. Once, she screamed, ‘Everything is better than being called Edelman’, and it wasn’t even close to, say, Rosenkranz. And then, there was psychosis all around. We would go for a walk with Marek and we kept talking about it all the time, and then mom would come and sit at my bedside and hold me, because I was shaking so much.

Kids at the kindergarten called my daughter, ‘Jaw, jaw’, because they couldn’t even pronounce the word ‘Jew’ properly, but they already knew it was an insult. She would stand on the hill on a playground all alone, because the parents of the other children didn’t let them play with her. What was I supposed to tell her? Or my son? That he wouldn’t be admitted to the university because he was a Jew? And then, there was my wife, who was victimized at work. They had no other way out. And under the circumstances, it was actually easier for me to have a family on the other side of the wall. Marek Edelman

The first years in exile were a nightmare comparable to the ghetto. I got a job as a lab assistant: I cut rats’ heads off. That was so not my thing. I had to work shifts and I was never at home. When I came back, Ania would stand on a staircase, crying, and I had to face it alone. I would tell Marek, ‘I bit more than I can chew’, but his reply was, ‘It’s too late for second thoughts now, you can’t just mess with the children’s heads like this’.

France was the worst country you could emigrate to. Back then, they wouldn’t validate our diplomas. But thanks to my upbringing, I could speak French, so I had something to build on. Plus, the French were very kind to me: one girl from the lab gave me plates, some doctor got me two armchairs. On the other hand, not one of my many friends from the Łódź clinic sent me a single letter.

I paid a visit to Ala. They lived in terrible conditions. The three children slept on the floor, side by side, and she was still trying to take care of her mother, who had stayed in Łódź and lived off her pension. Ala managed to help her because whatever she sent in the foreign currency represented a decent amount when converted to Polish zlotys. But she couldn’t tell her this was a handout, because her mother would have refused it. So, she convinced her that some journal in pediatrics wanted to publish her articles. Her mother would write something and got her ostensible compensation, which Alina apportioned from her own modest resources. Joanna Muszkowska-Penson

• Photo caption: Before leaving for France, Alina Margolis-Edelman was a top Polish doctor, here pictured taking a moment’s rest during a shift at the Janusz Korczak hospital in Łódź, 1960s.
• Photo caption: Ania and Aleksander were gradually getting used to Paris and France, early 1970s.
• Photo caption: Alina Margolis-Edelman with Ania and her friend Zosią, Aleksander’s future wife, Paris, early 1970s.
• Photo caption: Marek Edelman would sometimes visit his family in Paris, late 1970s.
• Photo caption: A Paris underground family ticket, 1985.
• Photo caption: Tamara Kołakowska and Leszek Kołakowski with the Edelmans in Paris, 1980

WHAT DO YOU THINK? Look for information about the March 1968 events. If you were to find yourself in the Edelmans’ shoes, would you leave your country, or would you stay, despite all the vitriol and adversity? What is the hardest part about being an émigré, in your opinion? How would you characterize Alina based on the decisions she made?