Our journey brought us to Łańcut, a town defined by a profound contrast between aristocratic grandeur and sacred Jewish memory.
We began by walking through a breathtaking, sprawling park where the magnificent Potocki Palace sits elevated on a hill. Surrounded by old-growth trees and vibrant flower gardens, it was the estate of one of Poland’s wealthiest noble families before the wars.
Just a short walk from the palace grounds sits the Łańcut Synagogue, a Baroque masterpiece from 1761 which survived the war (you should read the story how). Its interior is stunningly unique, completely laden with intricate Hebrew texts, a rare illustrated zodiac cycle charting the lunar calendar, and vibrant polychrome wall paintings. Most remarkable are the depictions of Adam and Eve at the Tree of Knowledge, and the story of Cain and Abel (depictions that are exceptionally rare because traditional Jewish sacred art strictly avoids human imagery).
The presence of Cain and Abel on these walls carries immense theological weight. In Hebrew: Cain (Kayin) comes from a root meaning “to acquire,” “possess,” or “create.” It represents ownership and tangible power.
Abel (Hevel) literally translates to “breath,” “vapor,” or “futility.” It is a devastatingly prophetic linguistic contrast. Abel’s very name foreshadows the fragility and tragic brevity of his life. As the biblical narrative of the world’s first murder, the story forces us to confront the origins of human violence and asks the agonizing, eternal question: “Am I my brother’s keeper?”
“Written in Pencil in a Sealed Railway Car”
Seeing Eve, Cain, and Abel painted on the walls of a sanctuary that narrowly escaped the Holocaust immediately brought to mind Dan Pagis’s haunting, minimalist poem,
“Written in Pencil in the Sealed Railway Car”
here in this carload
i am eve
with abel my son
if you see my older son
cain son of man
tell him that i
The poem cuts off mid-sentence, trapped forever in the suffocating space of a cattle car. The deeper meaning is shattering: Pagis maps the ancient, biblical tragedy of fratricide onto the systematic horrors of the Holocaust. The victims of the Shoah are Abel, innocent, fleeting breaths of life cut short. The perpetrators are Cain, humanity’s “older son,” driven by the urge to destroy. Standing in the synagogue, looking at Eve reaching for the fruit, you realize that the tragedy of human choices didn’t stop in Genesis. It rolled right into the 20th century on steel tracks.