Numerous scholars have analyzed the Kielce pogrom of July 4, 1946. One might assume that no fresh insights could be added to this tragic narrative. Yet, the book under review convincingly demonstrates that no monograph can be considered definitive. Historians will always uncover untapped primary sources, ask new questions, and propose innovative conclusions. This is precisely what Joanna Tokarska-Bakir has done. A professor and chair at the Polish Academy of Sciences’ Institute of Slavic Studies, she specializes in cultural anthropology and religious and literary studies. While her scholarly contributions span various fields, her research on violence, prejudices, antisemitism, and the Holocaust stands out as particularly significant.

Initially published in 2018 as a comprehensive Polish edition spanning two volumes totaling 1,575 pages, the reviewed book sparked intense debate. Although on a smaller scale, it resembled and continued the public discussion that followed the publication of Jan T. Gross’ Neighbors. In its English iteration, Cursed excludes the second volume of the Polish release—comprising 807 pages of crucial documents on the pogrom. The reviewed work represents a slightly abridged version of the Polish first volume. Nevertheless, its portrayal and interpretation of events remain chillingly consistent.

Cursed presents a “social portrait” of the pogrom, or, in other words, the biographies of both victims and perpetrators. It challenges the oversimplified narrative of a struggle between supporters and opponents of the newly established Soviet-controlled regime after 1944 in Poland. Rather, it reveals that the local police (MO), the army (WP), and the security service (UB) were saturated with demoralized, antisemitic individuals with backgrounds in various pre-war and wartime right-wing organizations, many of whom had perpetrated violence against Jews previously. The rivalries between these institutions further exacerbated the situation, hindering effective intervention.

Multiple factors contributed to the outbreak of the pogrom. Many Kielce residents had appropriated Jewish property during the war and were afraid that survivors would try to recover it. Opportunistic individuals exploited any pretext to plunder Jewish assets in the post-war chaos. Even the new local administration members engaged in the “privatization of power,” state-supported looting. The Catholic Church was unfriendly towards Jews, disseminating rumors and blaming the victims following anti-Jewish incidents not only in Kielce but also in other locales. Ignorant segments of the population embraced blood libel accusations, alleging the illicit transfusion of Christian blood into exhausted Jews. As the author observes, “During the Kielce pogrom, shops and restaurants functioned as social networks through which flowed vodka, murder, and robbery” (321). For various reasons, the central authorities, the ruling party, and even the Central Committee of Polish Jews “turn[ed] a blind eye to, or even den[ied], the alarming reports about antisemitism” (161).

A “pogrom tinder” appeared in Kielce. “This tinder consists of four ingredients: traditional antisemitism, with blood libel at its core; a supply of easy-to-mobilize social experiences, i.e., the widespread wartime murder of Jews; as well as two sources of fear, namely the fear that owners of post-Jewish kamienice [apartment houses] would return and the outrage associated with ‘Jews acting above their station’” (476). A coincidental trigger started an avalanche. No provocation was necessary, and the author did not find the slightest indication of it in the primary sources.

Approximately 600 Jews lived in Kielce before the pogrom. Most likely, forty-nine were murdered in various parts of the city. The pogrom triggered panic, and only 168 Jews remained in Kielce, housed in the UB building. However, the threatening news came from nearby towns. Jews were murdered there and on the trains before and after the pogrom. Following the decision of the Polish central authorities: “All Jews from the Kielce region were forcibly dispersed across the entire country” (71). “In police accounts and situation reports from the first months of 1946, attacks, robberies, and murders are recorded almost every day” (177); “ . . . it appears that in 1945–46, despite the end of the war and the encroachment of the Soviets, Jews continued to be excluded from the law in the Kielce province” (158).

Cursed is a meticulously researched micro-study that offers a hyper-empirical reconstruction of events. It elucidates the identities and motivations of perpetrators and interprets the pogrom through anthropological, social, and psychological theories of violence. The text is richly documented and expertly crafted, effectively conveying the escalating horror of the pogrom. It represents a scholarly work of the highest caliber, essential reading for anyone interested in Polish-Jewish history, while specialists in the field would benefit from consulting the original Polish version.