Warsaw: 1937
In 1937 Warsaw was one of the world’s most cosmopolitan cities. With a population of 1.3 million, Warsaw offered its residents theater in all its forms, including Puppet Theater, concerts, art and dance. Beyond simple enjoyment, Poles were “avid” in their enjoyment of the arts. “[T]he French were avid for culture whether, they liked it, understood it, paid for it, or not, but the Poles beat them hands down.” [Alan Furst, The Spies of Warsaw] Not the least of the reasons for this was the vibrant Jewish culture that was alive in Warsaw and other Polish cities. “At one time Poland was the heart of eastern European culture. For centuries, Poland had granted asylum to Jews fleeing persecution in England, France, Germany, and Spain.” In 1937, “approximately one third of Warsaw’s 1.3 million cities were Jewish.” [Diane Ackerman, The Zookeeper’s Wife]
The people of Warsaw were especially proud of their zoo. In 1937, after less than ten years as zookeeper, Jan Zabiński and his wife, Antonina, had succeeded in developing a population of animals that rivaled that of any Zoo in Europe. That year, the Zabińskis attended on the birth of a baby elephant, Tuzinka, only the twelfth elephant ever delivered in captivity. The zoo’s herd of Przywalski horses, rare in captivity, with a lineage dating back to the time of the Mongols, were the envy of zookeepers everywhere, especially in Germany.
Jan and Antonina were not merely curators of their animal charges. Jan’s respect for and curiosity about animal behavior came from his scientific background. Antonina identified closely with animals sharing empathy so deep that it seemed to put them at ease with their human keepers. “There was something almost alchemical about living so intimately with the likes of lion kitten, wolf cub, monkey toddler, and eagle chick, as the zoo smells, scratching and calls mingled with human body and cooking smells, with human chatter and laughter in a mixed family of den mates.”
The word ark comes readily to mind when thinking of the Zabiński menagerie, and the villa where Jan, Antonina and their son Rýs lived did have the character of an ark in the wooden sea of the zoo, set beside the Vistula across the river from Warsaw’s Old Town. But it would take on a different sort of passenger when war began in a short while, when Antonina compared it to “Captain Nemo’s submarine, gliding through deep ocean on its journey to a safe port.”
In the following year, Germany would seize the Sudetenland, a part of Czechoslovakia, and Poland braced for invasion. “Cursed by its strategic location in eastern Europe, Poland had been invaded, sacked and carved up many times, its borders ebbing and flowing…” [Ackerman] Caught between Russia and Germany, who had secretly decided to divide Poland up once again, and with allies determined not to provoke Hitler, the people of Warsaw awaited their fate.
In September of 1939, Nazi bombers flew 1150 missions against Warsaw, acting on Hitler’s orders to “recklessly exploit the region as a war zone and booty country, and to reduce to rubble its economic, social, and political structure.” Much of Warsaw, including the zoo, was destroyed. Animals either perished or were released by the keepers to make their way as best they could. But the villa was left largely intact and Jan and Antonina resumed their lives in the midst of the occupation, tending to the few remaining animals and working with the Polish Resistance to relocate people—for the most part Jews—out of the city.
As the net drew tighter on the Jewish population, those who were not killed outright were forced into the Jewish Quarter (“The Ghetto”), a district about the size of New York’s Central Park. Many chose to go underground rather than face what was described as “an organized form of death,” and they passed like shadows among the Aryan occupiers.
Antonina’s empathy and compassion found new outlets as individuals, and sometimes whole families, appeared at the Villa looking for food and a place to stay until their escape could be arranged. Great friendships were forged within the confines of the old Zoo, and bonds were forged that allowed the Resistance to grow and strengthen. True to her nature, Antonina tried to make life not just bearable, but enjoyable. She also displayed unbelievable courage in the face of danger. On more than one occasion while Jan was off fighting with the Resistance, she used her animal cunning and empathy to defuse potentially explosive situations. She exuded calm, and her calmness brought potential aggressors, whether German Officers or renegade Russian troops, to their senses. It is a tribute to her courage and resourcefulness that the Germans never discovered the secret of what was going on at the Villa, a secret that was carried on right under their noses, “hidden in plain sight.” No wonder the Polish Resistance referred to the Villa by cryptonym as “The House Under a Crazy Star.”
The literature that emerges from World War II is full of tales of bravery and unsung heroism. Diane Ackerman has done a splendid job of bringing the story of Jan and Antonina Zabiński to light. While the story of the Zabińskis is remarkable, The Zookeeper’s Wife really tells the story of the heroism of an entire city, which may be credited with saving 28,000 Jews. “Keeping one person alive often required putting a great many in jeopardy, and it tested them non-stop as they resisted both propaganda and death threats. Yet 70,000-90,000 people in Warsaw and the suburbs, or about one-twelfth of the city’s population, risked their lives to help neighbors escape.”
To get the flavor of war-time Europe, especially in the Eastern European countries, there can be no better guide than Alan Furst. His novels of intrigue are set in wonderfully exotic places like Istanbul, Paris, Prague, Berlin, and, of course, Warsaw. His most recent novel, The Spies of Warsaw, takes place in the years leading up to the German Occupation.