Happy 1938

When you start collecting Czech ex libris, you will also be offered PFs. These are New Year cards and usually feature the letters PF (which stands for the French greeting pour feliciter) and the year and perhaps the name of the family sending the card. The Czechs refer to these cards as peefko. Sometimes families will make their own cards and sometimes they will commission artists to produce cards for them.

Some cards are humourous and many reveal the interests of the family sending the card, which is another reason (other than their artistic value) why they are fascinating to collect. This signed card in our collection is by the well-known artist Alois Moravec. As you can see it is a happy new year card for 1938, which was to be a far from a happy year for the Czechs. The choice of subject matter for this card would seem to be indicative of the impending Nazi invasion and Czech determination to resist.

This is a picture of Jan Zizka, the one-eyed military genius who successfully resisted a series of anti-Hussite crusader armies. These invading armies were for a large part made up of the Teutonic knights - the panzer divisions of their day - and on the face of it the Czech Hussites didn't stand a chance in the face of such military superiority. But the undefeated Zizka shattered the knights' reputation and in so doing entered into the Czech nationalist pantheon. No wonder he features on this 1938 PF.

The Destruction of the Golem

 Statue of Rabbi Loew, Prague

In a previous post I told of the Golem's creation, but the story does not end there.

For a while the Golem performed his duty well, patrolling the Jewish ghetto and protecting its inhabitants from attack. And then something changed - the different versions of the story vary as to why Rabbi Loew destroyed his creation. In one version it is said that the Golem ran amok because of unrequited love. In another the Rabbi fails or forgets to neutralize the Golem on the Sabbath as instructed. Or simply the danger was passed and that the Golem was no longer required. But the time had come for the Rabbi to undo what he had made. There are two ways of disabling a golem - the first is to remove the paper from the golem's mouth, thus taking away the gift of the true name of God, and the second is to change the word that is written in the clay of the golem's forehead, “emet” truth, deleting the first letter to form the hebrew word for death, “met”.

It is said that the Golem lies in the attic of Prague's Old New Synagogue, waiting a time when another holy man will place the true name of God into his mouth. At such a time he will rise and become once more the protector of the oppressed. There is even an Indiana Jones-style tale that Nazi soldiers broke into the attic and were destroyed. But therein lies the true sadness of the story. When the Jewish community of Prague faced its greatest danger, the Golem did not rise.

I have no doubt that the Golem has a similar appeal to the Czech psyche. For any nation that has been oppressed as the Czechs have been, the legend of a superhuman being rising to defeat your enemies is bound to appeal. The Golem has the added value of being a superhuman underdog. The Golem is there alongside King Wenceslas waiting in a hollow hill with his sleeping knights or the drum made of Jan Zizka's skin. All three are symbols of the Czech nation’s hope for freedom.