For ever, let this place be a cry of despair and a warning to humanity, where the Nazis murdered about one and a half million men, women and children, mainly Jews from various countries of Europe. Auschwitz – Birkenau 1940-1945.
So reads the plaque, translated in multiple languages, at the far west end of the Auschwitz II (Auschwitz-Birkenau) compound.
As is human nature, when you start to feel uncomfortable, you start to let random thoughts seep in just to ease things up a bit. When you show up to visit the Auschwitz–Birkenau camp outside Krakow, Poland, you know from moment one, there will be plenty of times you need to ease things up a bit.
Like a zillion other people, I am obsessed with Hamilton: The Musical and for the past several days, I’ve been humming the tune “The Room Where It Happened” nonstop. For those not hip to Hamilton, the song is Aaron Burr’s lament that he was not invited into the room when Madison, Hamilton, and Jefferson enter into an agreement that would move the nation’s capitol and move Hamilton forward in the world of finance.
Imagine the twisted irony when that’s the song running through my head during this particular tour. The refrain “I wanna be in the room where it happened,” is the last thing that I “wanted.” But, here I stood – on the grounds, in the buildings, and in the rooms where IT happened. The systematic elimination of 1,500,000 Jews and others persecuted by Nazi Germany.
The tour is broken up into two parts. The first 2 hours you are on the grounds of the “original” Auschwitz. Walking through the famous “Macht Arbeit Frei” gates, you are shuffled along with your tour group, surrounded by numerous other groups – the tours being given in Polish, English, French, German, Russian, Slovenian, Czech, and others.
The famous gates of Auschwitz.
Visiting barracks, remains of crematoriums, and other outposts, the tour feels a bit “manufactured.” It’s not without impact, but it’s definitely a tourist site. Even through the best attempts of our tour guide (and she was beyond phenomenal), I don’t think I reached the level of emotional emptiness and sorrow that I felt in my two visits to Yad Vashem or the the museums in Dallas or Washington, DC. It’s not that I wanted to feel gutted, I just wasn’t as overwhelmed as perhaps I thought I might, or even should, be.
Shoes taken off of women and children when they entered the camps.
An execution wall outside one of the "Death Barracks."
The crematorium.
Dog run.
At the end of that portion, we were taken via bus to the Birkenau side of the camp – just a few kilometers away. That’s when the emotional bottom dropped out. It’s certainly not the “museum” that the first part was. It’s literally a walk amongst the ruins and remains - untouched for the most part. But what levels you is the sheer scale - it simply takes your breath away in the worst of ways. It takes your heart away. In the worst of ways. Nearly a square mile in any direction, the vast compound is split right down the middle by the infamous railroad track. Some barracks still standing, some leveled to the ground. All a haunting reminder of what went on here.
Main gate, Auschwitz-Birkenau.
Prisoner's quarters, view 1
Prisoner's quarters, view 2
A single boxcar sits on the track, a symbol of the vehicle that delivered millions to their death. We placed rocks on the boxcar – our attempt at paying respects to those who died – and even that gesture felt small in attempts to grasp the largeness of it all.
At one end, near the rubble of one of the main crematoriums, rested a large hole in the ground. It was no secret what it was. One of many mass burial plots where the ashes and remains were tossed in to – with pure disregard.
There is simply no way to prepare for this visit. I’ve studied the subject extensively. I’ve seen the movies – both documentary and fiction. I’ve read the poetry and the literature. But, simply being in the room where it happened made it feel all that much more real.
Going back to the quote etched on the memorial plaques, the word that struck the deepest chord is that this place stands as a warning. Strong amongst Jewish upbringing is the cry of “never again” and “always remember.” But, the fact this memorial chose to call itself a warning upped the ante.
I am proud of my heritage. And I stared across this landscape trying to imagine the unimaginable: those first thoughts when stepping off the train, the harshness of winter, the whim of the single Nazi official who was judge and jury to your fate with a swift wave of a hand. Left you live. Right you die.
One of the last bits of information shared with our group was the existence of a “role” I was not previously aware of. The term was “Scheisse Commando.” Literally translated, Shit Commander. As Nazi soldiers would never bother themselves to enter the primitive latrines to clean out the excrement and haul it to the opposite end of the camp, it was seen as a prize job to be the prisoner in charge of transporting shit. For if you were the Scheisse Commando, you made yourself valuable in the working mechanics of the camp and were likely spared a different fate – if only for awhile. Mind blowing.
I am sure everyone walks away using the same refrains: It was eye opening. It was devastating. It was horrific. It was a wake up call. And while it was all of those things (and then some) I posit it was most importantly a reminder of our own responsibilities. Atrocities on this level can only happen when authority goes unchecked or unquestioned.
We all need to open our eyes. We need to evaluate the world closest to us and even take a moment to evaluate the world outside our reach. It’s all still too raw for me to know exactly what I will do differently, but I can guarantee you this – I won’t stop talking about this day for quite a long time. And if anything, the hardest part of the day was being 5,703 miles away from the three people who mean the most to me - and not being able to hug them.
Put politics and religion aside for just a moment. Heed the warning of what man has been capable of doing in the past and vow to never let that happen again – to anyone. Look to your left – hug someone. Look to your right – hug someone. In the end, perhaps the thing that matters most is for people just to know they aren’t alone.
David, dear,
What a moving testament to witnessing the horror of The Holocaust.
You have said what needed to be said, anything from me would be extraneous.
Just know that I will share your blog for those who I feel will appreciate it and let me send my sincerest thanks for the opportunity to read it.
Warmest regards,
Hazel Pizette
Posted by: Hazel Pizette | 08/19/2016 at 08:34 PM