touch their companion’s arm; the contact was subtle and didn’t go any further.
And if it wasn’t the cinemas, public buses were like mobile gay bars. Upon entering, I always looked for a seat next to the most handsome man. I knew that with the streets full of potholes and old, rickety trucks, one would end up on top of the passenger. “Excuse me, sir!” I would say deceitfully, while placing my hand on his leg.
Jews did not have a division between theory and practice. The rigidity of Polish society and the obsession with respecting religious laws, which made us the people of regulations, created an intolerant attitude.
My religion was inflexible when it came to anything sexual and had severe condemnations against adultery and illegitimate children. If the parents were mamze-rim, meaning they were married to someone they shouldn’t be, the children were considered non-persons, without identity. Illegitimate children were perceived as defective, just like homosexuals.
Finally, there were no exemptions for the active partners. The Hebrew view of homosexuality was not based, as indicated by the biblical story of Jonathan and David, on couples imitating heterosexuality.
These two famous biblical heroes who loved each other
“more than women” were both warriors.
The famous Buko, whom my classmates disdain-fully called Cápale, was seen as a confirmed bachelor and therefore a sexual maniac. He was the only openly 44
gay Jew in the 1950s, owning one of the two cafeterias in the capital. My classmates used to pile on top of each other, shouting Cápale, which became synon-ymous with “sodomy.”
Even more serious was the case of another homosexual compatriot. He was a friend of my family, and his name was Otto, a handsome boy with black eyes, wavy hair, and sharp intelligence.
Oh my God! They found him one day in bed with two companions. The beatings were so horrendous and the interventions by specialists so accurate that soon I hear in my house that he tried to commit suicide. Two days later, as if nothing had happened, he came to visit us and told Elena that he had eaten some spoiled shrimp. On another occasion, he arrived with bruises on his face and his metal cigarette case split in half; he told me that he was attacked by thieves.
Derek told my mother that his parents decided, as a last resort, to send him to a military school in Florida, United States: there, they would reform him.
Of course, nowadays, this is considered bullying and socially condemned. But in the fifties, bullying was well-regarded: through beatings, they made men out of the queers.
One day, after his departure, we were invited to Eulalia’s house to meet the puppies that had been born. Her house was full of relatives and friends.
Additionally, my friend Lisa was there with her cousin, and we took the opportunity to play with the 45
fluorescent lamps. As we turned the lights on and off, the phone rang: Lisa’s mom answered, and the most horrible scream was heard.
It wasn’t just one scream, but dozens, followed by banging on the wall, fainting, crying, and fragmented phrases: “Eulalia is unwell, call Alexis, better bring a doctor, I don’t know what to do. After a few hours, Elena came in search of a sweater, and I asked her what had happened: “Otto killed himself!”
My world came crashing down. “Mom, mom, how is it that he killed himself? Why? Why?” Elena who was in a bad mood, irritable, confused, and in pain, clumsily replied to me: “He was a homosexual.”