How could anyone object to my Twitter post on March 29, after my sister and I visited the Museum of Jewish Heritage in Manhattan to see an exhibit of long-hidden photos from the Lodz ghetto in Poland? I wrote:
Henryk Ross's chilling photos from inside the Lodz ghetto in Nazi #Poland at @MJHnews: It's like seeing what my great-grandmother saw when she was walled in there. (Oops is it now illegal in Poland to say that?)
Well, maybe the last sentence was too snarky, referring to Poland's new law banning any reference to Polish collaboration with the Nazis -- but isn't that Twitter style? Otherwise, I saw the post as a loving tribute to my great-grandmother, who was murdered in the gas chambers, and hardly a controversial reaction, 73 years after the end of World War II.
Boy, I didn't know the ultra-nationalist Polish Twitter world.
Within a day, my previously invisible Twitter feed was flooded with people with Polish-sounding names furiously disputing my words, often writing in Polish. They claimed that "the genocide against the Poles [Catholics] began in 1939 but against the Jews not until 1941" and accused me of stomping on "the blood of innocent Poles." They said that Polish Jews were Socialists in league with the Soviet Union and asserted that "the ones who betrayed Anne Frank were most likely Jewish."
Naively, I thought: Here's my chance to open some cross-cultural dialogue. After all, I had done months of research on Polish history and culture for my debut novel, The Heirs, which is about two Polish-American families in New Jersey in 1999, one Jewish and one Catholic.
But for each of my new posts -- even when I acknowledged the factual basis of some of my critics' arguments -- came a dozen angrier replies.
Was my novel unfair? I had tried to portray the nuances of historical Jewish-Catholic relations in Poland through many characters' lives and discussions. Two American Jewish cousins bluntly face the classic question: "If you were a nice Polish Catholic [in 1939], would you have been brave enough to hide a Jewish child in your attic?"
Was my novel inaccurate? Despite all my research, I couldn't possibly know as many tidbits of Polish history as would someone who went through 12 years of school there.
"Don't engage!" my friends warned me. "You're just feeding them."
Even worse: The next time I Tweeted about Poland -- in mid-June, regarding a new law on restitution for stolen Jewish property - my Twitter feed was hacked and temporarily shut down.
That did it.
From now on, I will Tweet all I want about Poland, and as long as what I say is accurate and not nasty, I don't care how much the trolls hate me. I just won't read their Tweets.
But it's upsetting and a bit scary. Who knows in what dark caves my Twitter handle is now bandied about?
Maybe my next novel will be about unicorns.