Another Homeland

Growing up, my grandmother and grandfather painted vibrant portraits of the “old country” before they emigrated to the United States. We watched documentaries with them that showcased the extensive history of Germany and poured hours over old pictures. We received cards from the family that remained in Germany. I always felt a tug of longing for the homeland of my grandparents and great-grandparents and a sense of belonging to this family across the sea.

However, I had my mementos and tastes of the ‘homeland.’ My grandparents spoke German to one another and passed down their proud cultural heritage to their children and grandchildren. Events like Germanfest and Oktoberfest weren’t excuses to drink or party but the opportunity to lecture us on our heritage.

My sister has lived through that longing and displacement for the past decade.

When my sister Josie was seventeen, we adopted her and her youngest brother from an orphanage in the Philippines. Josie’s father had just died, and her mother could no longer support all nine of her children. Some of my sister’s siblings went to uncles and aunts, but Josie and her youngest brother were placed in an orphanage. While our brother has hazy memories of the country he left behind, there is always a part of my sister that calls the Philippines home.

While I am grateful every day we adopted them, I have always felt a knowledge gap.

Josie has been a pivotal part of my life and my family tree but I barely know anything about where she is from. Sure, I have attended seminars, watched documentaries, and eaten food she has prepared, but I have always held the Philippines at arm’s distance. The Philippines is a place that I know about, but I have no real attachment or understanding of what the culture is. I only get snapshots from my sister’s bittersweet past without fully experiencing it.

I would love to travel to the Philippines with my sister. I would love the culture shock of a lifetime. 

I know we would brave the insane roadways by Jeepney to Bulacan. Her biological family and much of her extended family still live in the region. I would love to embrace my sister’s mother, all her brothers and sisters, and get to know the family that gave me my sister. Even though it was the hardest decision of their lives to give her up, they knew that it was best for her. I can’t wait for them to see the resilience that shines through Josie.

We’ve talked about the eventuality of not seeing her family. Even if we can’t find her family, we can still visit the graves of her father and grandparents. She can show me the house she grew up in and the school she walked to daily with her siblings. If she feels up to it, she may even show me the orphanage where she lived alone with her brother.

I know there are places she’s never been before simply because her family could not afford it or it was simply too far away.

The Philippines is known for its voluptuous hills, numerous volcanoes, sandy beaches, underground rivers, and rich biodiversity. The whole country is a panorama of natural beauty. Although we’ve talked about visiting some of the more touristy destinations, Josie would have full reign over our travel plans. You can see the excitement in her eyes as she recalls stories from the past or memories of places she once dreamed of seeing. When I look at the places she considers visiting, I know that I can hardly go wrong with her as a travel guide.

For the first time in a decade, my sister can eat real Filipino food and not the mock meals that I, family, or friends have attempted to make through the years. There are dishes I know my sister is dying to eat again. If she is reunited with her family, she’ll finally have a real meal with her family again.

Even though the Philippines is not my cultural homeland, it is for my sister. If I can’t fully appreciate and understand the country that she called home for the first 17 years of her life, then I don’t truly know my family history. That is the beauty of it all, is that this is not someplace that my sister holds for herself. Her homeland is vibrant, alive, and ready to be shared.

Author Michael Crichton once wrote, “If you don’t know history, you don’t know anything. You are a leaf that doesn’t know it is part of a tree.” 

The Day Before You Die…

This is not a political piece. While I reference current world events, I am not making a statement promoting or berating any specific viewpoint. This is purely a reflection piece.

Former Hamas leader, Khaled Meshaal, has called for protests across the Muslim world on Friday, October 13, 2023, for the peoples of neighboring countries to join the fight against Israel. In a video statement he released, he states:

“Tribes of Jordan, sons of Jordan, brothers and sisters of Jordan… This is a moment of truth and the borders are close to you, you all know your responsibility. To all scholars who teach jihad… to all who teach and learn, this is a moment for the application (of theories).”

I keep seeing posts and articles warning others about the potential jihad tomorrow. Some merely are a call to prayer, while others talk about physically arming themselves for potential warfare. One post from this morning stated, “Today is the last day before the end of the world.”

Our Last Days

The news and the alarmist headlines had me pondering my own mortality. If all the extreme headlines are true and the world erupts into World War III tomorrow (doubtful), the probability that someone dies tomorrow goes up exponentially. Today could be someone’s last day.

I think most people have probably considered what we would do if we knew we would die tomorrow. If today was my last day, I probably would say goodbye to people, put the last of my affairs in order, draft a farewell letter, stay up as long as I could, and eat a ton of junk food. Mainly though, I would want to spend every last minute surrounded by the people I would miss the most, laughing and enjoying their company.

The truth is, I don’t know when I am going to die. When my last day comes, I don’t know what I will actually do.

But Jesus Knew…

There have been a handful of people who have known the exact date of their death, but none are as impactful as Christ himself. The Son of God knew the exact hour and minute that he was going to die and his disciples wrote exactly what that last night was like.

There was a simple post years ago from Steve Benzer:

“Sometimes I joke about what I’d do if I had one day left to live. Eat junk, go crazy, etc. Today it hit me: Jesus knew. And he washed feet.”

Although Holy Thursday’s central mystery is the Eucharist, the annual Gospel reading for Mass is from John, which is not about the Eucharist. Instead, John focuses on the Mandatum, Jesus’ washing of his Apostles’ feet at the start of the Last Supper. 

Guests at an important Jewish meal washed. This was a sign of hospitality, though it was usually left to servants if the host had any to wash the guest’s feet. It is unpleasant work and very dirty. Jesus recognizes the significance of his washing of his Apostles’ feet and enjoins this group to do likewise.

Jesus’ last day, he doesn’t live it up. He doesn’t complete a bucket list of exciting things. He doesn’t invite anyone outside his group of disciples. He follows Jewish custom and celebrates Passover. He doesn’t make the evening about himself at all. He kneels on the ground and washes twelve men’s, dusty, calloused, and smelly feet. Then he gives of himself in the Holy Eucharist. Everything he does, he does for everyone else.

I think that is why every Holy Thursday, we read from John. As artwork from Salt and Gold shows, it doesn’t matter who is sitting in the seat. God’s love knows no bounds. From our first day to our last, we are called to be servant leaders who are willing to die for others but also get on our knees and wash each other’s feet.

At the End of All Things

The headlines are concerning for some people (and rightly so), but I really don’t believe that the world is going to end tomorrow. I am not going to arm myself or start targeting the Islamic families that live here in our apartment complex. However, if I am wrong and tomorrow is the end, I am no more ready than I would be 50 years from now.

That being said, we should always remember our end and live each day like it is our last. As we have learned from Jesus’ example, living like today is our last means we should always be willing to wash each other’s feet, including those of our Muslim brothers and sisters.

Shaking Things Up

Shaker’s Cigar Bar in downtown Milwaukee is known for 3 things: cigars, booze, and ghosts.

From the street, the building looks unassuming. While it has some old-world charm that reminds locals of the Milwaukee Public Museum’s exhibit “The Streets of Old Milwaukee”, nothing from the outside screams haunted. Maybe someone with a true crime imagination could draw on similarities to H. H. Holmes’ Murder Castle, but otherwise, Shaker’s doesn’t draw much attention to itself.

Located in Walker’s Point neighborhood, Shaker’s Cigar Bar has an unusual and perhaps sordid history.

The Twisted History

The building was erected in 1894 on top of what was once a cemetery. The building was designed to be a Schlitz Brewery cooperage house, but it was turned into a distribution center in 1905. There doesn’t appear to be any stories of the building being haunted during this time period, but that doesn’t mean that it didn’t have a reason to be later.

In 1922, the building was purchased by the Capone crime syndicate and was run by the two famous mobster brothers, Al and Frank Capone. The legal business was supposedly “The ABC Soda Company.” The back room on the first floor was a speakeasy, and the second and third floors served as a brothel. While the speakeasy disappeared with the end of prohibition, the brothel remained open until 1946.

There seems to be a large gap in the building’s history after this point. It cycled through several hands as a bar, but nothing remarkable seems to have transpired in the 40-year period before it was purchased by Bob Weiss in 1986. There were murmurings of hauntings already at this point when Weiss transformed it into Milwaukee’s only licensed cigar bar. Weiss remodeled the building to feel like a 1930s bar with a warm but electric feel.

Unfortunately, the tumultuous history doesn’t end there. Infamous serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer occasionally would visit the bar for a smoke and drink in the 90s. While the establishment doesn’t tout this bit of Milwaukee trivia, it only adds to the growing infamy of the establishment.

Human Remains

At Shaker’s walls DO talk – and the tales they tell aren’t always pretty. Mobsters aren’t known for their forgiving nature, which is why some of the hauntings are reported to have started…

During remodeling in 2001, construction workers found a female skeleton in the wall of the third-floor penthouse. The charred bones were later identified by the medical examiner to have come from a female, aged around 20, who died some 70 years ago. Although not confirmed, they are believed to belong to Molly Brennan.

Molly Brennan was a 16-year-old Irish girl who worked as a prostitute in the 1920’s. It is unclear what exactly happened to her but what is known is that she was murdered and her remains burned in the hotel to avoid detection by the mobsters downstairs. She could have been killed by a jealous client, who may have wound up in Lake Michigan with cement shoes, or perhaps Molly may have offended a mobster. Whatever may have happened, the mystery of what happened to Molly Brennan’s remains is now solved. Her ghost is supposed to haunt the penthouse.

There are other mob deaths are suspected to have occurred during this time. Chillingly, there is a 7-foot by 3-foot rectangle in the foundation of the building that most assume is the final resting place for two of these murder victims. Weiss had someone come in with ground-penetrating radar to view the discrepancies under the concrete.

“He came across two full sets of human remains sort of huddled up next to each other. They reported this to MPD, who said because they were so old, and they didn’t match with any open cases, they didn’t have to dig them up unless Bob really wanted them to. So they decided to let them be, and those remains are still under the concrete in that corner to this day” one news article stated.

Today, there are two plastic skeletons lying on top of the spot where the bodies are down below, marking the spot. I have a hard time believing that MPD and the medical examiner would allow human remains to rest undisturbed in the foundation of the building, but I am also not one to judge a good story.

Haunted?

With such a rich and creepy history, it is easy to imagine why the building would feel a little eerie on the inside. Instead of shying away from its haunted reputation, Shaker’s embrace it. The building is lit up purple, with ghosts in the windows and on top of the roof at night.

They willingly open stories about hearing voices, doors shaking, and seeing specters wandering the halls. They offer tours for guests who want to learn more about the paranormal history of the building. Hangman Tours also works with Shaker’s to provide a more gritty and in-depth tour.

If you are feeling very brave, you can even spend the night by checking out their Airbnb listing (although from the sound of it, you will be up all night!)

Whether you are interested in trying their island-inspired fare, absinthe, and prohibition-era cocktails, taking a ghost tour, or spending the night, Shaker’s has a little bit of everything for everyone.

The Good Samaritans of Markowa

The Holocaust, one of the darkest chapters in human history, was a period marked by immense suffering, persecution, and the loss of millions of innocent lives. Amidst the horror and cruelty, there were individuals who defied the Nazis and upheld the values of compassion and humanity at the cost of their own lives.

There are thousands of unsung heroes but one family’s heroism is being recognized. Józef and Wiktoria Ulma and their seven children will be beatified on Sunday, September 10 after being killed by the Nazis for hiding a Jewish family in their home in Poland in March of 1944. Their story serves as an enduring example of the power of love, kindness, and courage in the face of adversity.

Ordinary People

Józef Ulma was born in 1900, in Markowa, a small village in southeastern Poland. Wiktoria Gniatczyk was born in 1912, in the nearby village of Huta Brzezna. Both came from humble backgrounds and grew up in close-knit, religious families. They met in their local community during the rehearsals of the Amateur Theatre Company in Markowa, since both Wiktoria and Józef performed there. They fell in love and were married at St. Dorothy’s church in Markowa in 1935. The Ulmas settled in Markowa, where they started their family.

Markowa was a tight-knit rural community with a predominantly Catholic population. The Ulmas were devout Catholics who attended church regularly and instilled strong moral values in their six children: Stanisława (8), Barbara (7), Władysław (6), Franciszek (4), Antoni (3), and Maria (2). Józef worked as a farmer, and Wiktoria took care of their home and children. They were active members of the community.  Jozef was remembered by neighbors as an amateur photographer, while Wiktoria was a promising actress in a local theater group. Despite their modest means, the Ulmas were known for their kindness and willingness to help those in need.

Father Witold Burda, the postulator for the Ulma family, says the Bible inside the Ulma house had underlined the parable of the Good Samaritan in red pen. He added that Józef and Wiktoria were known in their community for being “willing to help anyone who knocked on their door.”

Most probably, this family would had a peaceful, fairly unremarkable life except for the outbreak of World War II on September 1, 1939.

The Outbreak of World War II

In September 1939, World War II erupted as Germany invaded Poland, leading to the country’s occupation by Nazi forces. Life in occupied Poland became increasingly difficult, with the Nazis imposing brutal restrictions and persecuting anyone they deemed undesirable. Jewish communities, in particular, faced horrific violence and discrimination.

According to Yad Vashem, the Ulmas witnessed the execution of the Jews in their small town in the summer of 1942. The Jews were taken out of their homes, shot, and buried in a former animal burial ground. Some managed to escape and went into hiding in the surrounding area.

In the fall of 1942, while the hunt for Jews was going on in the entire area, a Jewish family from Lancut by the name of Szall and Goldman came to Markowa to find shelter. Fearing for their lives, they came to the Ulmas seeking shelter and a safe place to hide. They didn’t hesitate to help. For over a year, eight people lived with the Ulmas.

 “These Jews stayed on the premises of the Ulmas and slept in the garret of the house… They never hid in particular, since all of them were busy helping to run the Ulmases’ farm,” reported Stanislaw Niemczak, a neighbor of the Ulma family. Although the Ulma house was on the outskirts, they were discovered.

The Ultimate Sacrifice

On March 24, 1944, their worst fears were realized.

Sources are very unclear who exactly denounced them to the Nazis, but it is clear that someone in the community betrayed them. In the early morning hours of March 24, 1944, the Nazis descended upon the Ulma home.

The first victims were Jews who were shot immediately. An article from Yed Vashem describes the incident further:

The rest of the execution was witnessed by the cart drivers, summoned by an order to watch the punishment to be meted to every Pole for hiding Jews. One of the cart drivers – Edward Nawojski – testified that he saw Józef and Wiktora Ulma let out of their house and shot in front of it. As he recalls: “During the execution we could hear terrible shouts, wailing, children calling out for their parents who had been already killed. All this made a shocking sight”. After having killed parents, amid crying and shouting children, functionaries started to deliberate what to do with them. After conferring it with his colleagues, Dieken decided to shoot them. Nawojski saw Kokkot killing three of four children himself. The words this Germanized Czech addressed in Polish to the drivers, left a deep imprint on his memory: “Look, how Polish swines die – who hide the Jews”. The victims were: Stasia, Basia, Władzio, Franuś, Antoś and Marysia and the seventh child in the mother’s womb, few days before birth. In several minutes seventeen people died. After killing the last child, the leader of Markowa village arrived, called by the Germans. He brought over few persons to bury the bodies. He asked the commander whom he knew from the frequent inspections of Markowa why the children were killed. Dieken gave him a cynical answer” “not to trouble the village with them”.

… Despite a rigorous ban, in a week, under the cover of the night, five men opened the Ulmas grave, laid the bodied into coffins and reburied them. One of them testified: “Placing a body of Wiktoria Ulma to a coffin, I have realized that she was pregnant. I base my statement on the fact that half of the baby’s body with head was protruding from the mother’s genitals”. In January 1945 the Ulmas bodies were transferred to the local cemetery where they rest until nowadays.

The youngest Ulma child, Maria, was just two years old at the time. The Nazis showed no mercy, even to the children.

Legacy of Courage and Compassion

In a world often marred by hatred and prejudice, the Ulma family’s sacrifice stands as a beacon of hope. Pope Francis encouraged people to learn from their example and grow in holiness through faithfulness in everyday actions.

Pope Francis approved the decree on the martyrdom of the Ulma family and their beatification will take place in Markowa on September 10, 2023. Never in recent history was an entire family beatified including an unborn child.

Józef and Wiktoria Ulma and their family may have perished, but their legacy of compassion and heroism lives on. Their memory is a testament to the enduring power of love and the belief that, even in the face of the darkest of horrors, humanity can prevail.