In Memorium...

I’m sitting comfortably in an ultra-modern apartment, in a newly renovated building in the heart of what once was Krakow’s vibrant Jewish Quarter. I can’t help but think…what would life be like if this was 1937? It likely would feel very familiar to my comfortable upbringing in New York.

But what if this was 1939? I would be writing this from another part of town – behind the walls of the ghetto. And 1941? Well, who knows if I would even be here.

Our trip thus far to Poland has been quite enjoyable, and there will be another blog post on that at another time. I cannot help but reflect on today – the day we visited Auschwitz-Birkenau.

When we first planned this trip we didn’t have any intention of going. I have been to two camps in Germany and my mom, well, she just didn’t want to see it. Completely understandable. Nonetheless, we went.

The drive from Krakow was somber. We went with a group. There was no introduction from the guide, no shaking of hands or exchanging the polite “where are you from?” that we’ve grown accustom to on the other historic tours we’ve taken on the trip. We simply boarded the bus and sat in silence as the guide put on “The Liberation of Auschwitz” – an uncensored documentary made with footage shot by the Soviet troops as they liberated the camp in 1945. 

It was graphic. I will not describe it further.

We left the sunshine of Krakow and headed deeper into the dark forest. A thunderstorm approached. The world outside grew bleak as the forest grew thicker around us. The outside world disappeared as we were swallowed back in time. I noticed the phone signal on my phone cut out. Still, no one said anything.

I’d be lying if I said the town of Oświęcim, the nearest town to the atrocious Nazi death camp, was completely barren. No. Today it is lined with road signs pointing to the nearest KFC and McCafe. There’s an outlet mall with advertisements for Nike, ADIDAS, H&M and more.

We approached as I shuffled in my seat. My head a bit itchy from leaning against the insignia on my chair. The Mercedes-Benz logo. The irony was not lost on me.

We filed out of the bus and broke into smaller groups. After a security check we went towards the entrance. And there it was. The infamous wrought-iron gates with those three German words: "Arbeit macht frei” or “Work will set you free.” My stomach dropped. I felt the heat beating down. The world started spinning. And then we walked through the gate. 

We started at Auschwitz I – originally erected decades before the Nazis invaded Poland for use of the Polish military. The original intended use by the Nazis was to house Polish political prisoners and Soviet prisoners of war when it became operational in 1940. These plans quickly changed between 1941-1942 after the Nazis decided to implement the final solution, or their plans to exterminate Europe’s Jewish population. It was then that the original camp was expanded to include Auschwitz II (Auschwitz-Birkenau) and later a third section. The ghettos in the 5 main cities in Poland were slowly liquidated, with hundreds of thousands of Polish Jews sent directly to Auschwitz. Around 1943 transports from all over Europe were sending prisoners there.

A lot of the camp remains. This is because the Nazis retreated fast upon learning that the Red Army (the Soviets) were approaching. They didn’t have time to destroy the evidence like they did with Treblinka and several other camps around Europe. This is why it is able to serve as a memorial and museum today. 

At first we were brought into barracks that once housed thousands of prisoners. Meant for 200-300, a single barrack could have held way over 1,000 people. These barracks now house the museum which provides an introductory timeline on the history of the camp, the types of prisoners who were imprisoned there (Jews, gypsies, monks, political prisoners, POW, etc.) and the locations of where they came from. 

You see the numbers on the wall, but it hits you when you enter the next barrack. Here you see the possessions of the prisoners. Some taken straight from them upon arrival, some found buried in the rubble. Glasses. Suitcases. Everyday household objects like pots, pans. All the goods the Germans told the prisoners to take to begin their new life. If only that was the truth. 

The piles of shoes are haunting. I’ve seen this before. When I was 10 and we went to the newly opened United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C. This was different. For starters, I understand things on a much deeper level now than when I was 10. But no, this was different. This was the site of the crimes. I was standing where these shoes once stood. 

We moved on to the living quarters. It was dark. It was hot. It smelled. There were two single-file lines – one going in and one going out. Each person stood on top of the next. Each line rubbing shoulders with the other as we walk. I can’t help but think the layout is intentional. My stomach dropped again. I feel as if I am suffocating. 

You can’t help but notice engravings on the walls. Names of the prisoners. Did they know they were marking their own graves? Did they hope someday someone would come and pay tribute to them? Or did they hope they would be able to come back themselves? Once the atrocities were over, once they were free. Would they come back to remember? Would they ever even be able to forget? 

We moved on to Birkenau. A mass grave. This was the site of the majority of the gas chambers and the crematoriums. Sickening. All of it. 

A dog barks in the distance. I jump. We see the train tracks that led the cattle cars in. There is a car on display. Closed off to the outside world. No light or air coming in. Packed with 100+ people. No air to breath in the summer. No protection from negative degree temperatures in the winter. They didn’t know where they were going. They didn’t know their fate. 

There’s a smell. I can’t place it. Like a fireplace type of a smell that would be coming from a household. But it’s mid-August and 80 degrees. Maybe it is all in my head.

And then the memorial. A single tombstone commemorating the lives lost. I place a rock on top, as is Jewish tradition. 

I look up at the sky. The sun is setting. It’s beautiful. Streams of light are beaming through the
clouds. It brings hope as we turn our backs and head towards the bus. 

We get back on the bus. Again, no one says anything. What is there to say, really?

We’re back in Krakow. The air grows fresher. I can breathe freely again.

But can I?

‘They Spit When I Walked in the Street’: The ‘New Anti-Semitism’ in France
https://www.nytimes.com/2018/07/27/world/europe/france-new-anti-semitism.html

In Berlin, a Show of Solidarity Does Little to Dampen Jewish Fears
https://www.nytimes.com/2018/04/25/world/europe/anti-semitism-germany-jews-kipa-solidarity.html